Time doesn't wait for anyone. But we have to wait for it. Even beyond midnight.
For some, this is the most important day of your life. You wouldn't even stay up even if your high school marks were coming out.
I will give you the hint. Twenty-three people on the field, and the just one does not play. He judges.
Yes, I am talking about football. Yes, what Americans call 'soccer'.
Let's take an example of the Champions League '08, United vs. Chelsea.
The table is set. Seats on the sofa have been reserved. Food has been decided. Beer is kept for chilling in the fridge.
Even the phones are switched to silent. The calls will be made, my friend. But the receivers will not answer.
The war has begun. You look at the warriors on the field. You scream if the squad is incorrect, you stay still if it's perfect. You jeer at the opponent, no matter how better he may be.
For the next two hours, nothing else matters. The beers will be drunk quickly. Food will be finished off. You will scream in agony, scream in joy. Expletives and abuses will not even matter. It's a matter of honour, respect and pride. Your team has to win.
The only person on the field, not playing, will be hurled with abuses and applauded. Rarely, both teams abuse and applaud together. Rarely.
The whistle is blown. Is it over? No, it's not. You may have won, and you make the calls. You may have lost, and the phone is not even looked at.
And if you have lost, you might as well avoid the next day. No chance that the opposite team won't jeer.
If they are kind, they may make a suggestion.
"Need a brown paper bag to hide your face?"