I'm watching the World Cup to learn more about life
WATCHING the World Cup late into the night, woken by the dawn chorus a few hours after my head hits the pillow – last week's binge has left my brain in benign but mushy mode. So apologies in advance for any mellow aura around my column.
Let me start by admitting I don't watch the World Cup just for the football. Because football bores me, despite the DNA of a father who was a player, a referee and later a fanatical fan of soccer, as the game was then generally called.
My father played Cork club soccer at centre-forward, with a Rooney-like ability to literally rise to the occasion and clinch a goal from a corner. Behind the bouncing net, I did my best to look loyal. But I never found football as riveting as rugby and never as hypnotic as hurling.