“Fairy tales still exist!” Prime Minister Sigurdur Ingi Johannsson told the Iceland national football team when they arrived back home to a heroes’ welcome in Reykjavik.

In a world of Isis, Dallas shooting, Baghdad attacks, Brexit, Panama papers, Trump, Zika and Maypole boobs it is becoming increasingly hard to believe in fairy tales. Watching the news is a nightmare.

Which is why I am thankful for football tournaments. This Euro Cup came at a much needed time for our collective sanity. We were all aching for some normality and football is just that. It is at par with comfort food. Everything around you may be shifting and collapsing but you know that come what may, just like the way pastina with Bovril will always taste the same, the structured rules of football will never budge.

I have a feeling that this time round even people who are not tuned in to sport, were following, purely because watching 22 men chase a ball is therapeutic, anti-bad-news. I confirmed it when a friend of mine who barely knows the difference between a tennis ball and a football, started eagerly discussing Simone Zaza’s penalty.

This is not to say that football does not spring surprises. Case in point: Iceland and Wales, delightful surprises that warm up the soul. The game allows for David to occasionally beat Goliath and we all rejoice for it gives us hope that wishes do sometimes come true.

The story of Icelandic football is one which is very particular and I have been following it for several years now. This is a country with a population smaller than ours and where it is too cold to play football outdoors for eight months of the year. As they steadily progressed year after year, I kept asking myself what is it that they have that we don’t?

Now after much reflection I think it is more of a case of what it is that they don’t have and we do: Iceland does not have an army, navy or air force; strip clubs were banned in 2010; there are no McDonald’s anywhere in Iceland. Oh, and they don’t even have a full-time coach: he’s a dentist with a dentistry practice in the village where he lives.

What do teeth and football have in common you may ask? “I am lucky I have an education in dentistry. In many ways, I think it helps doing what we do with the players. If you are a dentist, you have to treat a patient, sometimes they are scared,” coach Heimir Hallgrimsson said (hopefully this won’t JPO inspire).

Because only two teams can play at a time, we have to choose countries, other than our favourites, to root for. So we’re all the time asking each other: so who are you siding with today? Everyone has their reasons: “France, because I think they need support after the terrorism attacks”; “Albania, because they are poor”; “Wales, because Gareth Bale looks like he would wrestle a bear for me”; “Slovakia because I love their tattoos!”; “Humph. Every underdog except Russia.”

Football is a lesson in geography too. My daughter and her friends spent the whole month of June poring over maps and national flags and memorising players’ names and swapping their Panini stickers (which may I add, are very handy treats during exam studies).

Consequently I have had a walking Euro nations fact file sitting next to me at every game. “That’s Manuel Neuer, plays for Bayern, second best goalie in the world.” Information is further supplemented by the teenager in the house – our football guru – who’d add the little curious details such as the Welsh footballer without a club; whole teams who earn as much as Ronaldo; players who earn millions; brothers who play on the same team; the coach with a full head of hair who was bald up to a few years ago. We’ve talked football, dissecting goals, and made bets at breakfast, lunch or dinner.

The thing is that football may feel like war, but in the end, the competitors walk away (mostly) unharmed. They shake hands, exchange sweaty T-shirts (do they wash them after?), man-kiss and man-hug and are ready to play the next day. That is what is comforting about the beautiful game.

What’s more, each tournament always leaves us with a trademark sound. This time it was the Viking war chant – the famous “huh” – punctuated by thunderous hand-clapping. Never, in the history of the world did communal clapping stir patriotism in such a manner. If back in the day Vikings really huh-ed like that when they approached their enemy, no wonder they ruled half of Europe.

Can Maltese football every make it big? Will we, or our children ever live to flock in thousands at a Euro Cup stadium and hold our hands on our hearts as the Innu Malti is played out? I am not so sure. Maybe we take a leaf out of Iceland’s book: the majority of Icelanders believe in elves. Maybe that’s all it takes: believing that magic can happen.

Meanwhile, may the best team win tonight. Allez la France.

krischetcuti@gmail.com
Twitter: @KrisChetcuti

Sign up to our free newsletters

Get the best updates straight to your inbox:
Please select at least one mailing list.

You can unsubscribe at any time by clicking the link in the footer of our emails. We use Mailchimp as our marketing platform. By subscribing, you acknowledge that your information will be transferred to Mailchimp for processing.