She seemed to be totally unaffected by all the commotion around her. She kept working in a relaxed and sedate manner.
“Don’t be that harsh on yourself, join the party; after all how often do we win the World Cup,” someone tried to provoke her but his effort was half-hearted and pathetic. She knew that they were all deliberately fooling themselves and that, in fact, they were all very angry. But it was not a righteous anger.
It was after thirty years that the football team had a golden chance of winning the World Cup. They were hosting the tournament and they were in the final. Other team in the final was the weakest team in the tournament; it was just sheer luck and some patchy hard work that had enabled it to reach the final. The hosts were too confident of a thumping win.
The game was yet to start but everyone had begun to celebrate. The frenzy had to be seen to be believed. They had waited for many years for this intoxicating moment.
But to everyone’s shock and disbelieve the host team lost and lost miserably. Celebrations turned into one long dirge.
No one knew that she was fighting her own ghosts; her younger brother had been killed by riotous fans during a football tournament five years back.
She pretended to remain unaffected. But she was not aware that her sang-froid was provoking them.