BLOG 112: Brazilian Dreams

“That’s great, tell him he’s Pele and send him back on.” John Lambie, Legendary Scottish footballer and manager – and Messiah-like legend

Adriana Lima is a Brazilian Supermodel with FANTASTIC hair. I want Adriana Lima’s hair. Even with all cheats known to mankind I cannot achieve this. It seems I will never be mistaken (even from the rear in a fog) as Adriana Lima as far a hair goes. I celebrate my colourful heritage daily but there are days when I wish just ONE of my ancestors could have got it on with a Brazilian. It would have been good for the gene pool.

During the early part of this week, I once more set off to achieve the Adriana Lima look that has always escaped me. I was held hostage in hairdressers for ages while they tried to make something gorgeous out of my unruly mop. While I pushed hairdressing technology to the edge, Latino ladies with glorious silken tresses came in and glided out. They needed but an 8^th of the time to achieve a far superior finish. Thus, feeling bitter and twisted towards my Latin neighbours in this cosmopolitan city of ours, I popped into the bookies on the way home and put £15 on Holland to thrash the buggers in the football. That’ll teach them for being folicially superior. (My hair despite the attentions of London’s best was still busy paying homage to the coiffeurs of the 1974 Holland team).

This morning I woke up to note it was quarter final day World Cup 2010. I reminded myself that 4-time winners Brazil would this afternoon (GMT) be going head to head against the their arch rivals Holland. Battle of the yellow and orange…again. It would be the 4^th time they have met in this competition (oddly it’s always in the knockout stage). When they first met Brazil were World Cup holders having enjoyed the Brazilian legend Pele’s last world cup in 1970. And yet all I can remember is the orange fellas kicking the flash South Americans butts in 1974… while the yellow shirts wins of ’94 and 98 have completely faded from my recollection.

So as I said, I woke up today and acknowledged that today the outcome of my rage against the silken heads of Cochabamba would be played out with drama, excitement and aggression…and some bloody good footie. Going purely by historical stats, Brazil has the upper hand. I said a prayer that we can see Holland emerge with 1974’s victorious 2-0 score sheet. However for a tournament which has already seen golden teams like Italy, France and England, take an early plane…everyone else believed the final would obviously be staring the remaining giants of Argentina and Brazil. Everyone else was just dog meat on the way… so Holland were a certainty to lose today.

But for me (with my hair looking not unlike Wim Rijsbergen circa 1974)... I just wanted to believe. Brazilian girls are blessed with some of the best genetics in the world… but as this girl had spent 7hrs under the ministrations of the finest of London’s hair technicians… that genetics are not necessarily enough to keep my hair looking like a spaniels ears. Brazil certainly have some of the best players in the world… but as this world cup has shown us over and over again… that being the best is not necessarily enough to keep you in the tournament.

Besides £15 at 20/1 is £315 in anyone’s calculations – it was worth a punt.

It is now 18.41. (that’s 18 minutes before 7pm to my US readers). I have been celebrating …dancing like it was Mardi Gras.

Brazil are OUT of the 2010 World Cup, despite going into half time beating Holland.

It’s not the 2-0 from 1974 … but then the Holland team seem to have better hair… so things HAVE changed.

It’s 2-1. They came back in the second half and WON. For all of us who support underdogs, for all of us who want to believe it isn’t all over till the final whistle blows… and for the little girl who cheered them in 1974 who in 2010 had poodle hair. They beat the odds!

There is nothing so certain as being outclassed by people who just have naturally stuff better than you. Be it Brazilians born with the golden boot or London Latino chicks with Pantene locks. But in the second half the Dutch came back and clawed their way to the finish, and in the second half of this week… my hair finally corkscrewed like Adriana Lima’s! It was a miracle… for both of us!

I don’t know what happened in the Dutch dressing room at half time to send those defeated boys back out there with fire in their belly. I don’t know what happened to make my hair suddenly give up the spaniel ears either. But I suspect in both cases it was like a football match a long time ago in which the great John Lambie was told that a concussed player did not know who he was he responded…

“That’s great, tell him he’s Pele and send him back on.”

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