It’s almost over.
There’s two games left in the World Cup. The one to decide for third place, and the Big Game to decide who’s the best team in the whole fucking world.
C’mon Italy.

The strange thing is that, as the World Cup builds to it’s big crescendo, and I’m living in one of the participant countries, I’m not feeling the crazy excitement. I mean, don’t get me wrong, i’m excited as all anything about the Final, and if Italy wins, I’ll honk and go nuts with the nutsest of tifosi, but I’m missing the World Cup even before it’s gone. And it’s making me wistful. Pre-completion anxiety, or something. I’m lacking the sensory overload, the 4 games a day of the first round. The deluge of Fantasy League Points. The goals, the trip to Berlin, etc.
But I wouldn’t change the way it’s gone up until now for anything. Because the Italy France final is going to be incredible. And i’ll be watching it in the Centre of the city, with face paint on.

But four years until the next one? Shit.