As I sit here under the spell of vintage claret, the good folks at l’Hostellerie de la Sanaga, my favourite watering-hole along the rowdy and loud thoroughfare linking Douala to Yaoundé and beyond, are busy
putting up a giant screen for the 60 plus games to be broadcast live these coming weeks. Chef Félicien is fixing a special beef stew with pinot noir, there will be beer on tap as well as an enjoyable South African white wine, the Overmeer. But I know I am in for weeks of boredom bordering on despondency. I am not in the mood and steadfastly intend to not be amused.
Now you tell me: where is the magic going to spring from? What ingredients are there to create madness? There are no surprises in store for us. Is there any single worthwhile player on the different
rosters that we have not seen in the last six months? Any coach? Any referee? We have seen them all, we know them all, they all have been regular guests on our TV screens most weekend nights in the past seven months.
The modern World Cup of Football is fast becoming a nauseating rerun of familiar fixtures. Barcelona v. Real; Leicester City v. Liverpool; Partizan Belgrade v. Bayern; Paris St-Germain v. Benfica, and so on. The mystery has been erased. I know, you know what to expect from Messi, Ronaldo, Mbappé, Kane, Ngolo, Sané or even the lesser talents from the Arab Peninsula. They have lived with us all year long. Basically, I consider that they are overstaying their welcome. We need a rest.
Léon Gwod
