The best of reasons

The new Soviet ambassador had arrived in Cairo a mere few days before, and lo and behold, the Egyptian masses -- tens of thousands of them -- were out on the streets hoisting red flags, spiritedly chanting slogans the meaning of which the ambassador could only guess at. The Proletarian Revolution? Should the ambassador dash out his first coded message to the Kremlin informing them of the momentous news? No such luck. An old hand at the embassy soon enlightens the newcomer. These are not revolutionary workers and peasants out to seize political power, but fans of Ahli, the country's most popular football club, celebrating its 3-0 win over archrival Zamalek. Ahli's t-shirt colour is red; hence, the flags.

Whether or not the story is true, or merely one of Cairo's many urban legends (like the one about Eiffel -- he of Eiffel Tower fame -- having committed suicide for building an iron draw bridge across the Nile that ultimately failed to be drawn), I shall never know. The story has been around for a long time, however -- though regretfully, the aforementioned bridge (with which Monsieur Eiffel had no connection whatsoever) is no longer with us, having been dismantled some 10 years ago to clear the way for a modern flyover.

Legend or real, the story is also indicative of my own relationship with football; for, by and large, it is only through the unusual emptiness of the city's perpetually bustling streets (a football match is in progress), or celebratory marches of the kind that presumably once got a Soviet ambassador's heart pumping hard (when a big match is over), that I find out that an important football contest has just taken place. My impression, though, is that with very few exceptions -- such as myself -- my countrymen appear to deem practically all football matches important.

And, for that matter, not only Egyptian ones. Ask an Egyptian taxi driver the name of the president of Brazil or the prime minister of Italy and most likely you'll get a "huh" in reply -- as you would from his counterparts almost everywhere in the world other than Italy and Brazil. This same driver, however, will almost invariably be able to recount the names of each and every important football club in these, and many other countries, as well as list the names of a good many of their more prominent players.

All of which is a continuous source of embarrassment for me in encounters with people who don't know me very well, and therefore are blind to my highly eccentric disregard of the game. "So what did you think of the match today?" the ubiquitous taxi-driver will ask me. "Err..," I mumble, frenziedly looking around for indications of what match it was, or better still, hope the question was rhetorical (they often are), and that I will soon be informed of the answer in no uncertain terms. On occasion, I've gotten away with it, able even to guess my way into making appropriate, if extremely brief, responses. I am not always that lucky, however, and bluff replies such as "Oh, it was great," might well lead to a disdainful, and for me, rather embarrassing, "What are you talking about? It was terrible."

Why then should a football scrooge such as myself be excited about Egypt's possible hosting of the 2010 World Cup? I could enumerate a great number of excellent economic, social, cultural and even political reasons, but the best one that comes to mind is this: it's going to be one hell of a street party. As much as Egyptians love football, they love to party even more; and in this at least, I'm at one with my countrymen and women.