Men of Influence magazine


Before glasses could be refilled, Chile scored. Alexis Sanchez with a screamer.

Oh well, I thought, that dampens the mood a bit, but y’know, let’s have another beer and see how it goes. However, I was misjudging the mood. This wasn’t just a setback, this was a catastrophe.

The smiles around the table were gone. Anger was howled at the TV whenever a Brazil attack broke down.

The patriarch with the lucky hat got up and walked into the house. It was half-time before I noticed he had not returned. I asked Rubens: “Where has the old guy gone? Is he OK?”

“He can’t watch any more,” came the reply. “He’s gone inside to listen on the radio.”

Ten minutes into the second half and Hulk scored for Brazil.

We were all up on our feet again, I was getting hugs and kisses. The patriarch ran back out of the house towards us. Phew. This day might end up being OK after all.

Amid all the celebrations it took a moment to realise that Hulk’s goal had been, quite harshly, disallowed for handball. The feel good vibes were gone again. But this time it turned weird.

The old guy began speaking coldly, directly at me.

I had no idea what he was saying in Portuguese and nervously glanced at Rubens to help me out. “He… he wants you to take off your shoes.”

“What?”

“Just do it, take off your shoes.”

I was only wearing sandals so I kicked them off and reached down to lift them up.

The patriarch gestured not to do that and barked something different at me in Portuguese.

“He wants you to lift your feet up so he can see them,” said Rubens.

Everyone around the large table was looking at me. I lifted one foot up and hovered it over the table. Surely this sombre mood was just the setup to a joke? But no, the faces remained deadly serious.

The patriarch reached out and touched the sole of my foot.

As soon as his finger touched my skin he jumped up and started shouting more stuff at me.

I didn’t know what was happening, but it was not good.

Rubens wasn’t jumping in to translate now, he was talking rapidly to his father-in-law.

Both men were on their feet by this stage. Exasperated voices raised.

In the background the game went on.

The patriarch stopped talking to Rubens and was back pointing fingers in my direction and spit-firing unintelligible words at me.

He turned and stormed back into the house. I felt the stares of the whole family burning down on me.

Rubens took a deep breath. “He says he you have cold feet.”

“What? What do you mean ‘cold feet’?”

Rubens explained: “It means he thinks you have brought bad luck.”

What follows is unbearably stressful.

The game went into extra time. The old man had not returned. One of his daughters went into the house and loud voices could be heard. She came back and threw angry eyes at me.

I wanted to leave. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know where we were, way out in the sticks.



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