Adrian Frater | Of being a ‘wagonist’ and jumping ship

So, the 2018 FIFA World Cup is finally here, and while I am planning to watch as many games as possible, for the first time since the 1970s, I am not rooting for any particular team because, while I have always had a preference for Brazil and Argentina, at heart, I think I am a 'wagonist.'

In my early teens, I was a staunch supporter of Brazil because, after watching the movie, The World At Their Feet, which catalogued Brazil's dominance of the 1970 World Cup; and a regular diet of Pepsi commercial showing Pele's breathtaking bicycle kick, it seemed natural to support the Brazilians.

In fact, even today when I watch the film again, the artistry of the likes of Carlos Alberto, Pele, Jairzinho, Rivelino, Gerson and Tostao is still awe-inspiring, bringing back the cherished memories that still linger on over 40 years later. In fact, it was the phenomenal impact of that film and commercial that had me supporting Brazil until midway the 1982 tournament.

In 1982, nobody could come close to convincing me that Brazil would not win the tournament. On paper and on the pitch, they had the best team by far. The likes of Zico, Falcao, Socrates, Eder, Leandro and Oscar evoked memories of the brilliant 1970 team. They were every bit as magical and they looked capable of doing everything, except losing.

My support for Brazil began to waver for the first time after I saw the incomparable Argentine Diego Maradona in a game against Belgium. He was simply exceptional. Suddenly, the likes of Zico, Falcao and Socrates began to look ordinary as Maradona continued to run defenders ragged as the tournament progressed, leaving little doubt that Pele's reign as the greatest was coming to an end.

When the Brazilians and Argentines met in the tournament, I was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. I found myself wanting Brazil to win, but at the same time, I wanted Maradona to shine. As the game progressed and I watched the Brazilian defenders ill-treating the Argentine maestro, I felt as though the Brazilians had dropped the beauty from their game.

In the end, a frustrated Maradona was red-carded after he retaliated with a karate kick against Leandro for a crude foul on him. Brazil went on to win the game 3-1 but strangely, I was not happy because all my sympathy was with Maradona. In fact, when the Italians, behind a Paolo Rossi hat-trick, ousted Brazil 3-2, I felt it was divine punishment for mistreating Maradona.

NOT MY HERO

For the first time, in 1986, I started a World Cup tournament not rooting for Brazil. After watching Maradona in the Italian league for Napoli, coupled with my memories from 1982 tournament, he was now my hero and I felt obligated to support his team. Maradona did not disappoint as he all but single-handedly won the tournament for Argentina, leaving some cherished memories behind in the games against Belgium and England.

In 1990, I was again in Argentina's corner and was absolutely delighted when they clipped Brazil 1-0 from a goal created by Maradona but scored by Carnegie. While I was crestfallen when Argentina loss 3-2 to Germany in the final, I left with many happy memories, including the rich, unexpected entertainment by Cameroon's Roger Milla and the dreadlocked Cyrille Makanaky.

With Maradona testing positive for cocaine and kicked out of the 1994 World Cup, I was basically left without a team, as to be truthful, it suddenly became clear to me that it was Maradona I was supporting and not necessarily his team. Late in the tournament, I climbed on the Brazilian wagon and really enjoyed their 3-2 win against Italy in the final.

Since the 1998 World Cup, where I naturally threw my support behind Jamaica and basically got value for my support when my 'brethren,' Theodore 'Tappa' Whitmore, scored twice against Japan, I have been like a wandering sheep, or more precisely, a 'wagonist,' at World Cup time, switching between Argentina, Brazil and whatever African team that looks good at a particular time.

In the last tournament in 2014, I reluctantly climbed on the Brazilian wagon after watching Neymar in the early games. However, after Neymar was ousted by injury and then Brazil was soundly thrashed 7-1 by Germany, I was left hurt and disappointed. This time around, I am sporting a Brazilian flag on my car, but at heart, I know I am a 'wagonist,' who is prone to jumping ship once things are not going good.