From 1st to 10th June, columnist Marie Beck is a small private lesson in terms of football daily. One thing seems certain: Mr B. and I are married since six years, but honestly count you can not more than half. The rest is down. Because of football. Any Championship or any important preparation game on a Championship takes place always. Since I love Mr B., my life is a single sequence of important matches.
With horror, I am thinking of the next month. At the World Cup four years ago was all over Germany in a frenzy. This is no better this time. I see it before me, and I see nothing: no common walks, no common restaurant visits, no common movie night. Except for the quarter-finals in the multiplex cinema. I know what I’m talking about. At the last European Championships I ceded definitively the family living room after weeks offside foul gate roar in 120 decibels on the football. Then I was sweating very lonely in extinct sauna landscapes, hung around despite perfect mane at the hairdresser and stromerte by ghostly department stores until the bleeding blisters on my feet.
Mr. B. and his two sons, first realized that I was no longer exists, as the refrigerator was empty. Finally I started to hate Jogi Low, due to which and his tailor-made suits I my best friend had lost at the last World Cup to football. In my desperation I tried the hopeless: persuading my husband to a schedule, also I have my place. First, I presented my blank-eyed husbands psychologically model I-messages. Then I threatened to put another man me, at least temporarily. Mr. B. grinned gleefully: the guy who hangs around at the World Cup on the road, which I should be in the show but time! I’m afraid because he is right but I have sworn one anyway: as a World Cup as the last not with me! I want a life with Mr. B. just without football is nothing sure.