I am enduring the mild humiliation of having the sport of my people explained to me by an English-born 21-year-old
Ten years ago I took my middle son to Wembley to see England play Ukraine. It was my first international football match, and I had to endure the discomfort of having to have everything explained to me by an 11-year-old, in an atmosphere of extreme menace. Below us, a Ukrainian player with long blond hair was fouled and lay on the pitch bleeding, to the fury of everyone around us.
“Who’s he?” I said to the middle one.
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