The Italian Job

I can’t recall feeling so emotionally deflated after seeing a team I was pulling for win. But you can’t say that one didn’t have it all: tragedy, farce, glory, ignomy and—as has been championed by some on this blog all along—redemption. As sad as Zidane’s red card was, you have to respect the way Italy, a true ensemble outfit, heisted this World Cup in front of everyone.

Okay. That’s it for me until the end of the month. Forza Italia, Allez les Bleus—South Africa, here we all come. Hope you’re ready.

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About zachdundas

Freelance journalist. Author of The Renegade Sportsman (Riverhead Books). Thank you.
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