I rode down in the lift (elevator) this morning with a woman wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with 1966 across the front.

“What’s the significance of 1966?” I asked innocently setting my cunning trap.

“It’s the year I was born,” she replied.
The tension instantly relaxed. She had no idea how close she came. 🙂

Despite her blissful ignorance and, as I came to learn, her complete lack of football knowledge, she’s off to Argentina v Switzerland tonight.

It’s a familiar reality at this World Cup. Too many genuine fans have simply been priced out, while plenty of people who barely follow the game are able to go. That’s the modern commercial world for you

Interest in the World Cup in the USA has been patchy at best.

The contrast between the chaos of Boston, a host city, and the complete indifference in the small towns we passed through on our road trip from Indy to Kansas City couldn’t be more stark.

Even here in Gladstone, a suburb of a city that has hosted so many matches, there’s barely a hint that the World Cup is taking place.

Andrew and I watched Spain v Belgium yesterday at a local bar. The few regulars paying no attention, but occasionally looking up from their drinks, seemingly puzzled by my oohs and ahhs as Spain secured a tight victory to earn their semi final spot against France

At least our hotel has made a wee bit of an effort in the lobby!

(p.s. on later, closer examination, my dander was raised when I notice the Union Jack flag on that poster. Wrong for so very many reasons!)