Futbol ao Rio

This afternoon, Peter and I took a walk along Rio's Lago Rodrigo de Freitas. On the way back to our flat, we got the feeling that something was happening here in Rio de Janeiro. Something big. Along the square crack-tiled sidewalks, we began to hear it. First, someone was dribbling the ball, (low, calm hum), then the ball was crossed, (dull roar), then someone shot the ball, (stark, white silence), and finally, the ball hit the back net, (screams, shouts, explosions, fog horns, bombs, har horns, blood-curdling and toe curling NOISE). Fireworks went off in the distance. I felt like I was actually at the game. I had to stop and look around me to see if I was in fact there. But the sidewalks were empty. I looked upwards through the labyrinth of the canopy to the apartment buildings above. Yes, the windows were open - voices blurting out of them. I glance back at Christ the Redeemer, and even he had a look of glee in his eyes. We turn a corner to see an open faced pub - overflowing with people. Inside, all facing the enormous flat-screens, a mob of raised hands, raised glasses, flashing flesh, grown men crying fat tears of joy. Women, men, children, dogs, everyone and everything in this city can feel that a goal has been scored. Even the enormous waves crash up against the beach a little harder for that minute or two of aftermath. Some sort of melody comes from the loud hubub - it takes me a few seconds to decipher it... and there it is : "Olè, olè olè olè....."