If you had to do a spot of time-travelling, which period in time would you go to?
Without any blinking hesitation I'd go to the Roman era. Just think about it: the roads, the underfloor heating, the unbreakable bridges, the flowing outfits. Ave Cesare, I say.
Most of all, the Romans lived by the adage that all work and no play makes Romolo and Remo dull boys. Which is why throughout their whole empire, every weekend, there was some grand scale entertainment of some sort.
Yes, it was bloody and gory - but what fun! It was all about being together in one collective moment - posh and plebs together - shouting in one euphoric, tuneless union, "Down with the lion!" (or whoever).
The stadium is a legacy of the Romans. Our modern day gladiators are opposing teams of 11 men. And Friday marks the start of the greatest show on Earth: the World Cup. Hurrah!
Surely, football is the best ice-breaker? I've cheered on impromptu matches of footie in the remotest Albanian villages, in Tunisian school playgrounds, in sweltering Bahraini yards and in the deluxe sports fields of Luxembourg.
I'm positive that if, one day, aliens do land on earth (and according to Stephen Hawking, the mighty physicist, there's a good chance of that happening any time soon) it won't be at all like the films would have us believe; we'll just challenge the ETs to a game of football, and they'll be off, scratching their oblong heads and muttering "what was that all about?"
Football can be a political statement. I was living in England during the World Cup 2002. My college friends were all over the moon by a 5-1 win over Germany in the qualifiers. The Germans are still England's favourite enemy: the English beat them in the 1966 final and have never forgotten it.
After a bit of booze, off they go, chanting: "Two World Wars and one World Cup, England, England". Erm, of course it's not the best time to point out that Germany won the World Cup three times.
Even in Malta, footie was used to make a point every now and then. One of my most favourite Maltese poems, by Rużar Briffa, is an ode to an emotional moment in local football.
It's about a 1945 football game, Malta vs Hadjuk Split, a Yugoslavian team, which was then an international name. Before the game, the King's Own Band played the national anthem of Yugoslavia, followed by God Save the King.
The crowd was furious that the Maltese national anthem had not been played and patriotically 'rose up as one', singing Dun Karm's ditty in one solemn voice - and Malta went on to win the game.
So football is more than a sport: it's the world's lingua franca. No wonder 204 nations tried to qualify for this year's World Cup (for 32 spots). Please note that there are only 192 countries in the United Nations.
Which is why the World Cup is great fun, whether you love football or not. Because the whole wide world seems to stop for a whole month, and everything takes a back seat, as we watch the nations battle it out.
A report in Vanity Fair on the beautiful game said: "Countries seem to play with their national characteristics. They become stereotypical."
So, it went on: the Germans are disciplined and relentless; the Italians drama queens and cheaters; the French attractive but petulant, and so forth. I wonder how our boys would play if Malta ever got to qualify?
In fact, dare we ever dream about it? We've climbed Everest - how about making the World Cup our next goal (excuse the pun)? Even just thinking about it - chanting our sombre anthem and waving the flag for our boys - makes me go all weepy.
But till that happens we have no option but to support a nation with whom we sympathise. Or a nation with the most handsome men on the pitch.
As a French actress once said: "Women will not talk about football unless one of them is in love with a football player, and then suddenly you discover that they know everything that is to be known about it." You see, we like multi-tasking.
To those bores who pontificate that we should not support other nations during the World Cup: oh shut up - go and buy yourself a couple of pints and loosen up.
I will be, by family inheritance, not by choice, supporting England. As I wasn't yet around in 1966, my natural state as an international football fan is of disappointment. But I have a feeling this will be the year the lads in white will give us, as the Romans had it, a magnum opus.
Come on, England!