Germany vs England

Oh In-GEER-lund, why do you do it to us? Why do you build our hopes up with stories of “Fabio can” only to brutally destroy them, our dreams left convulsing on the ground like the cockroach in the family bathroom this morning which I sprayed with insect killer, as it tired to flee down the plug hole.

Along with Darwit, the head of the family I’m living with in suburban-Addis Ababa, I went to my local bira bet (a pub of sorts) to watch England beat Germany. I had spent the day at the Institute for Ethiopian Studies, which if you ever get the chance, is well worth the visit. A large part of the Institute is dedicated to pictures of the martyrdom of St George (K’dus Georgais), who is the patron-saint of Ethiopia, as well as England. To further heighten any symbolism, I ensured I drank the (excellent) local beer, K’dus Georgais.

I confidently strolled into the bar. I had my Birr 100 note in my pocket (£5), enough to buy 25 pints. My plan was that on the final whistle and England’s inevitable victory over its arch-rival, I would walk up to the bar, slap my Birr 100 note onto the counter and order everyone in the pub a pint. What a jolly good Englishman I was planning on being, winning hearts and minds left, right and centre (where Gerrard should have played).

As the anthems ended, I explained to Darwit, in my broken Amharic, that we deserved to win. Bringing home the World Cup, or at the very least beating Germany, would have been a decent tribute for our brave lads in Helmand. And what a better way of softening the cuts and tax rises about to hit us all, than a bit of World Cup gold to balance the books. I talked to a few of the local “lads” about England, saying how this was going to be Rooney’s match (he’s called “Ronny” out here). They agreed, and showed me photos of their kids as further proof of their convergence.

And suddenly the rain came. Not any old rain, but true Ethiopia rainy season rain. Lightening, thunder, floods and hail - big football sized hailstones (well sort of). I sat there, in the middle of Africa, shivering, wearing my thick Hoxton hoodie, in AFRICA, shivering! At one point, it go so bad that I thought the pub’s mud/thatch roof was going to full in. Oddly enough, the lights went out by the TV stayed on.

I had literally only just finished explaining to Darwit that Shakespeare often used rain as a symbol of trouble ahead, when Upson failed to communicate with James and Germany scored a ridiculous first goal. And you don’t need me to tell you that things only got worse. I remember thinking that even with only 10 minutes left, England will fight back in true St. George style. And I remembered St. George later on in the evening when I put my (untouched) Birr 100 note, neatly back into my money envelope in my bedroom.

In fairness to the Ethiopians, they were a good crowd. Even despite the odd stares, they seemed to like the fact that I, a franji (foreigner/westerner/white guy), had come to their bar and was trying to speak a bit of Amharic. When England scored, they shouted and screamed (generally, screamed) as loud as they did the four times Germany scored. And they were as appalled as me at the Lampard refereeing decision, that had I asked them to break (the already broken) plastic chairs in hooligan rage, I’m sure they would have done.

Of course it doesn’t matter. I’m out here, with the opportunity of a life time, and no piss-poor England team (please, can we ask some fundamental questions about the nature of English football, rather than just sack the manager) is going to take that away from me. It doesn’t matter for the mosques and orthodox churches, which I grumpily passed on my way home, peacefully taking in people of a non-football faith. It doesn’t matter for my neighborhood's underfed horses, dragging heavy carts and bouncing and thudding along the pot-holed road. And it certainly doesn’t matter for the three sheets of ripped, muddy tarpaulin, sprawled out next to a puddle, covering two agonizingly boney legs which I almost walked on. Yes, of course the Match doesn’t matter. But it does not stop the hurt.