right as rain

nacional are, to all appearances, going to be thrashed by inter of porto alegre. the reigning world champions, though not the most sparkly brazilian players in the planet are still managing to make nacional look like a bunch of 30-year-olds playing for kicks in hampstead heath, looking forward to that pint after the match. nacional. so disorganised they make my bedroom look like the epitome of tidiness. so full of theatrics they've already had andrew lloyd webber on the blower asking them to star in his next gig. so far gone there is no hope in hell... but of course, this is south american football. and so 13 minutes to go and one red card later, somehow 3 goals are produced out of nowhere, and the hopeless 1-0 of the first 77 minutes looks like a long lost memory.

dad and i sit shouting at the screen, me in just-arrived-spanglish, him in full on uruguayan mode. he says i'm "entendida", i understand the game. i say i've had to learn, being married to an english guy. he stops for a moment, and then he nods. i guess he can't find fault with that.

and now i'm off to bed and a storm is coming from the river...