Europe is taking a break from drab reality and, for the next four weeks, the whole continent will be more or less focused on the European Football Cup. I will call it football since we, Europeans, invented this sport and I see no reason to let Americans steal that name from us. At my age, I know everything about entertainment for the masses, bread and circus, and all that. On the other hand, football is something Europeans (and South Americans) have in their blood, it’s something we were raised on, and one of the things that unite us. And divide us, naturally, as there is no hatred so deep as the hatred you feel for your team’s adversaries.
Didn't get a T-shirt, but I did get beer. It's basically the law here - you have to have a beer while watching the game!
It is also a time for miracles, a time when believers and atheists alike pray for divine intervention. This came to me as I was wondering how I could answer 
Yes, you have to believe in miracles when your team is among the weak ones, those who are not expected to make it to the second round, the nobodies. During football season, it’s not uncommon to hear people invoke divine intervention, although the miracles that do happen have little to do with any god and are all about passion. Passion as in really wanting something, giving all you have in that game, believing in yourself till the very last moment. Such miracles are rare, in sports and life in general.
I’m writing this today as this time tomorrow I’ll be in front of the TV, alternating between prayers and the most profane curses. Romania’s opening match is against Ukraine, which makes it even more imperative that we win. (They’ve been using the war card to garner sympathy ahead of the competition!)
The magnificent Luka Modric - when Romania doesn't make it to a final tournament I take advantage of my mixed origins and root for Croatia. After all, my first memories of watching a football game are related to Sunday lunches at my grandmother's house.
Just to be clear - I am a fan only as far as European and world cups are concerned. Basically, every two years I will watch the most important games and suffer for the team I decide to support. Our national team was absent from the championships in recent memory so I don’t even remember the feeling of rooting for “our boys”. I don’t even know our boys. What I do know is that we’ll need a miracle to make it to the next stage.
The best part of any football cup is the knockout stage, when one of the teams advances to the next stage and the others pack their bags and go home. The all or nothing stage. This is the part when miracles start happening. I love the games when one team is so desperate to win they fight for every ball, they don’t waste any moment, they run like hell and try to score the goal that might save them even when the clock is ticking and there are only minutes or seconds left. I love it when players know they've got nothing left to lose, when even the goal-keeper abandons his post and joins the assault on the other side. Fighting to the last drop. These are the magical moments in football and also a good life lesson. If you don’t believe in yourself, nobody else will. If you won’t fight for your dreams, you’re forfeiting your whole life. If you believe you’re a nobody, you probably are.
I was in Naples around the time the one and only Maradona played for the local team. Decades later he's remembered as a god there.
In the knockout stage, you can’t have a draw. If there’s no winner, the fate of the game will be decided by penalty kicks. Not something you want to watch if you have a weak heart. This is the time when players and fans will be praying to all the gods that ever were. Should our team get there, you can bet the TV commentator will proclaim “God is Romanian tonight” if we score or our adversaries miss. Some say penalty kicks are a lottery or simply chance, but if it’s your team you will call it a miracle.
Another football miracle is how this sport manages to unite us. Wins are celebrated in the streets throughout Europe, cars honking, strangers embracing, beer flowing in crowded pubs. This is rare in a world where politics divide us and we’ve been taught to hate one another. It doesn’t change the fact that the next day we’ll be back to hating each other, but for those 90 minutes it’s nice to be part of something bigger. We are, after all, social people and we need to belong.
