The 19th FIFA World Cup is already advancing into its quarterfinals stage. It is without a doubt one of the world's most popular sports events and has a ridiculously large audience across the globe. Just a month ago, I judged Astro a little too soon, making such a fuss over this sports event as to start a countdown to the opening date a month in advance and showing multiple World Cup advertisements over and over again. I would cringe at the repeated ad starring a Malay lady dancing out of the blue, Chinese women practising an exercise, a clown, a barber, a bread man and everyday office people all miming football moves and not to forget, our very own Cempakans as well. The ads simply showcased our multiracial community's anticipation towards the World Cup.

Needless to say, I got tired of all the hype and various commercials. I thought of the World Cup as just another sports event. Sports was something I lacked interest in and I was especially not a fan of football. Of course, I had general knowledge of a few players who had their caricatures in The Sun, but truly I had never watched an entire game without falling asleep or seeking other forms of salvation from a painful 90 minute game. To me, the sport itself was quite pointless. If you asked me, I would have told you that football is like a life-size Foosball trading game utilising humans no less. To put it simply, I thought that players were traded by clubs and the many leagues were just tournaments for each club to lay down the players in their hand. That round ball being kicked around the green field would determine their fate and well, I felt that it was nothing so great. My mother decided to watch the match between Argentina and Nigeria on Day 2. We had missed the opening ceremony and Day 1's matches. At my grandmother's house, I finally watched my first complete football match. For the first time, I cheered along with my family when a player clad in light-blue and white scored a goal and sighed in disappointment when the ball missed the goal. I even recognised Messi from the Astro and Maxis commercials.

The thrill was an entirely new experience for me and I did not even miss a second of the game, something highly rare for me. I was mesmerised by the ball travelling past the feet and the swift footwork of the players. Maybe it was the sound of Vuvuzela horns mixed with the usual cheers of spectators or the mere excitement of watching the ball making its way to the goal, I could have just fell asleep on that comfortable couch that evening, but I sat on the edge of it, seeping in the commentary, my cloud of pessimism towards the sport cleared up rather fast. Now, I can proudly say that I know the difference between corners and penalty kicks. I have been watching World Cup matches almost every night.

There have been letdowns and frustration at times, but that adrenaline rush from watching a goal being scored is truly addicting. The memory of me seeing my father wear his shrunken Manchester United shirt to watch their matches is now something I can't laugh at. Instead now it feels like we have reversed our roles in a similar situation, him raising his eyebrow at me when I plead him to buy me an Argentina jersey. Well, at least now we can both agree on a channel, almost always anyway. My current goal is to get my hands on a Vuvuzela before the finals, not just to annoy my family members, of course.