By Broken hearted Munyaradzi Hwengwere
Heartbreaks come in different forms. Mine is increasingly coming from soccer and a growing awareness of the faulty thinking of over-investing my emotions in events whose outcomes I really can’t control.
My emotions have been stretched and turned upside down during Qatar’s ongoing soccer World Cup. What I thought was an assured love affair has turned into a disappointing flirt against an unlikely rivalry.
It all started on the first day with my beloved Messi falling at the hands of a third-rate Saudi Arabian team. My friends even lost houses due to the unfaithfulness of our dearly beloved Argentinian team.
Thankfully this pain could be stomached because it was still in the early stages of a relationship where even the best lover makes mistakes because they still don’t know their partner. At this point, a second chance is assured.
Messi still had time to redeem himself and the team.
More importantly, he has always been the second choice to our knight in shining armour. The supremely talented boys in green and yellow from Brazil had long stolen mine and many other people’s hearts.
They may not have proven themselves in the last two editions of the World Cup but we had noted how they had repented and pleaded for forgiveness. True we are told a leopard does not change its colours but anyone in love knows that you always believe, this time around they will be better.
An apology accompanied by chocolates and a trip to Mauritius is undoubtedly irresistible. Our boys have regained their status as the number one soccer team. The few acts of unfaithfulness as they had in COPA America against Argentina should be forgiven, because, well, no one is perfect.
In Qatar, they were coming merely to fulfill their ordination as God’s favourite soccer team. Sure enough, they demonstrated these qualities in their first and second games. True they lost against Cameroon but who cared, they had already qualified for the knockout stage, and in case, who blames their lover for kissing a pig during a night out drinking?
The quarter-final match against Croatia was merely one of those things we needed to do on our march to assured destiny.
As the whistle blew to start the game we took seats and like kings waiting to be crowned began confidently seeping our drinks “knowing” the moment for the samba touch was not far to silence the noisy fans in red and white.
While the confidence in our lover was strong, something seemed off-place. There are things you have come to be used to. They usually are early. On this day, it wasn’t happening. Still, you thought maybe they have been delayed and will soon arrive. Any knock on the door, a ring of the phone you think they have finally come and your spirits lift. It turns out to be a near miss.
As you begin to sink into depression your lover shows you why you always trusted in them. They appear out of nowhere, Neymar engineers a footballing move that sees Brazil weave the ball through the smallest of Croatian spaces. The poster boy of today’s generation of Samba players demonstrates why we fell in love with him in the first place.
In a second all the faults, the late nights and near misses are forgotten.
We, as we call ourselves are one up. We are in 9th heaven. Now we have proven that our love for our team and its destiny is not blind. Brazil are God’s ordained soccer team and it’s a sin for any team let alone boring Croatia to believe they can somehow stage a coup and get away with it.
Still even with the champagne bottles popping and a few minutes to glory our lover on this day seemed out of sorts. You would think after telling your lover to avoid being caught out with the same person, they have heard you.
It turns out you have forgiven too much and are now being taken for granted. They don’t listen anymore.
Instead of really holding on like boys from Casablanca they take their place for granted.
Our Samba lovers are caught with their pants down as Croatia with its first shot on target equalizes. Penalties merely prove that God does not like the arrogant and those abusive lovers at some point find their match.
Surely how can the best of the best fall to the least likely of seducers? It’s heartbreaking. Neymar’s tears said it all. The coach threw his hands down before the team departed back home. The fans, me included are looking for answers.
Our answers lie in understanding that while monogamy is the most preferred choice in modern marriage, in sports polygamy has advantages. It turns out, all men are the same. They cheat, lie, flatter and deceive. It’s dangerous to put all your eggs in one basket.
We will no longer bet on one lover. We still wish Messi could be the one. We now know though it might be Mbappe, or the village boy from Casablanca though he says he is now European, or even the unromantic Modric.
In a few weeks, the English premier league begins. I have been an ardent Arsenal supporter. They have disappointed time and time again. I am hoping this time around they will not do so. Qatar tells me, I must also accept it maybe the arrogant Pep Guardiola or even the German Liverpool coach with his poor English accent.
At least in Zimbabwe Norman Mapeza has been faithful. He has won us four consecutive premier league titles. But then again when I say this to my friends they point out my country‘s international isolation. They say it’s like losing your city girl only to settle for a fourth-rate growth point waiter where you are the only suitor anyway.
Say what you may, but together with many around the world, we have found a way to resolve soccer heartbreaks. The solution is never to go with one suitor. They will invariably break your heart. So Argentina, France, Morocco and Croatia in that order will take this one.
