Football

Footfalls of football. Got up at 5, prepared coffee decoction, lighted diyas and 5.30 was facing the TV. Weather report at Chicago read okay. In perhaps, the first 15 minutes, Chile were 2 up against Columbia at Copa America Centenario 2016; at half time electronic boards blinked bad weather, the crowds started out; after a long pause, second half of the game began and towards the last five minutes dropped to players kicking each other and refree out of charge; it was not a sight to see; there was no football; Chile had not the poetry of Pablo Neruda nor the statesmanship of Allende. Mood slipped. When a footballer eternally taps the ball back to his goal-keeper the game is in shock; three penalties missed with one by Ronaldo. Copa America and Euro seem to be stroked; the lone zen second when Messi seamed the sphere into a corner of the net; maybe he takes football lessons from Galileo. And what upset me was Messi pushing, taking the place of hero Maradona and me not being able to go with it; Messi has not brought down Maradona with a sliding tackle; he has dodged past the Great Man, did not feather his jersey, to become Great; the Hand of God goal was blessed by God; the free kick the other day carried the fragrance of God. Saint Andres Iniesta is easy, there is none like him, a mid-fielder unshutting a defence without their knowing, a stealth... Wish friend KB, ...K. Bhaskaran had been at home for technical explanations. After the match, me brooded, not at peace, Messi or Maradona... Rama offered a walk to the temple. It was not to be. Started re-re-re-reading Yevtushenko, Selected Poems, as poetry calms, always. He verses In Georgia:
....In the silent village morning
the gates playing like children,
and the old man with the silver head
leaving his piles of hay to open them....

And in Zima Junction,

...I felt sad and clean
and sad perhaps because
of having learnt something
and not yet knowing what....

That's what beautiful football, Messi, Maradona and Iniesta have done to me.