Brazil

That game signalled the start of My love affair with the "catholic" football of the "Catholic" nations. An expressive game, a beautiful game of ritual and movement, poise and energy, with individual brilliance encouraged but never a threat to the solidarity of the team as a whole.

It was also the first time I became aware of "the sign of the cross" in football. To My mind the extent to which these players crossed themselves, not just coming on for the first time but also when they scored, or just missed, pointed to a certain humility in their thinking, perhaps too deeply embedded to understand. Dedicating his best endeavours to a higher and nobler end, the catholic player redirected whatever kudos he received away from the self. There was no cult of the self in the game and yet paradoxically the individual was allowed to express himself. Individual brilliance prospered because the individual knew deep down there was always something greater. As opposed to the "protestant" ethos in football, according to which the self was the be-all and end-all, the team an afterthought, and "methodism" or "tactics" the road to heaven. A barren game if ever there was one, devoid of beauty, overly muscular, ridiculously cerebral.

Of which we saw yet another prime example this evening.