It all started with a match. One simple match. Just a match between Argentina and Saudi Arabia. The match on November 22nd.
.
Then, she discovered the thing called World Cup. The World Cup (with capital letters). The one thing that united the world...
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(Pinterest photo. Credit to ava)
"This guy is Robert Lewandowski," Liv explained while showing me the picture of the man.
"Number nine, striker, scored five goals in nine minutes, played for Bayern München," I stated, and Liv looked at me surprised. Soon, a smile appeared on her face. "Your favorite, right?"
"Well, I admire him," she said and took some popcorn in her hand. "A lot," Liv smiled and ate the food. "But he's actually not my favorite player," she finally revealed.
"Who is it then?" I asked, intrigued.
"Try to guess," Liv returned, and I looked at her with an amazed expression, and she just smiled innocently. "It's not a player of the substitutes, don't worry," she tried to calm me down, but I just turned my head to her like an owl.
"What?!" I almost shouted. "There are more players?!"
"Yep," Liv nodded. "But I decided to skip this detail because I didn't want you to despair," she laughed, and I slightly hit her shoulder, laughing too. "Come on," she said then. "You know me and my interests, so..." she said. "Who is my favorite player?"
I put my hand on my chin, kind of really thinking and joking. I was thinking about the players Liv just showed me, and which one would suit her personality. Of course, I didn't know they played, but something in the expression of her favorite player would give me the answer I needed.
"It's probably Gavi or Pedri," someone behind us said before I could even say anything in response to Liv. We just turned to the direction where the voice came from.
As we turned, we saw two boys with same red and blue jerseys as ours, Barcelona hats, hot dogs in their hands, and smug smiles on their faces.
"Excuse me?" Liv asked as she put her elbow on the back of her seat. "What was that supposed to mean?" she asked, and I turned my demanding gaze to the boys.
"I mean, it's obvious," the other one said.
"No, please. Enlighten us," I joined the sweet conversation.
"Oh, come on," the first one frowned. "Where are your boyfriends?
"Why do-" I started saying, but Liv interrupted me by putting her hand on my shoulder with a calming expression. She sensed that I could explode any moment.
"I don't have a boyfriend," Liv told them. "Nor does she," she said and looked them straight in the eyes. "You didn't answer to our question, by the way," she reminded them.
"We meant," the second boy took his turn to talk again. "What are you doing here if you don't have boyfriends that like football?"
"We're here to watch the match," Liv said one more time. "Just like everyone here. Just like you," I could feel the boys' gazes on us worsening.
"But we are boys," the second one said. "And you are girls," he stated. "Girls only like football because of the players' looks."
"Excuse me?" I added. "Girls have the same privileges as boys," I said confidently. "Liking football for football is one of them," Liv looked me proudly, and I gave her five.
"Then who's your favorite player," the first boy asked. "I would like to know that," he said, gaining his smug smile again as if she was going to prove that he was right.
Instead of answering, Liv moved a little her jacket sleeve only to reveal a the sleeve of a green jersey. At this moment, I could see the boys looking to each other with their jaws touching the floor.
"Marc-André ter Stegen," she finally said, turning to me with a knowing look.
"Number one, goalkeeper, German," I listed, sensing what she wanted me to do. She nodded, showing me that I got it right, and as a result, I hugged her tightly in a moment of sudden joy.
"Why am I getting so excited about saying those things all of a sudden?" I thought to myself, but my thoughts were interrupted by me talking out loud. "Look, Liv," I broke the hug, pointing to the pitch.
"The players are positioning themselves," Liv said in an...upsetting way?
"If you excuse us," I said to the two boys, who were still in the same position. "Liv, what's happening?" I hugged her partly through her shoulder.
"This is a dream come true," she managed to let out, still with the same expression.
"What do you mean?" I asked her confused for I don't even know which time today. She turned to me, and I could see tears going down her face. "Oh, Liv..." I said and hugged her tighter.
"Since I started liking football, I've always wanted to go to a real Barca match," she said through sobs. "Just a dream come true," were her words before she started laughing. "Look at me," she said through in the breaks between her laughs. "What have I done to my life?"
"You've become a better version of yourself," I sensed the rhetoric in her question, but decide to response. "I say it not because I'm your friend, but because it's true," she hugged me and wiped her tears away.
"You're right!" I could finally see the Liv I know. The Liv that I truly know now! "Let's enjoy the match and don't let it slip into a moment of time because we deserve that!"
***
"GOALLL," we both screamed as we stood up to celebrate the leading goal in the sixtieth minute. I hugged her while we were still jumping from joy, together with everyone on our side of the stadium.
Our moment of exultation was viciously taken from us just a few seconds after we heard the referee's whistle disallowing the goal.
"What happened?" I asked, giving a stop to my jumps as the other Barcelona fans.
"The referee says it was offside," Liv explained, looking focused at the direction of the pitch. Before I could even ask her what an offside was, the angry fans' obscene words toward the referee began rolling off their moths.
This made me feel sorry for the referee. What was he guilty of when there clearly was a misunderstanding on the pitch (Or was there a misunderstanding? I don't know actually. But if he says that there was, there was!)
"Why are they booing the referee? There clearly was a mistake from our side," I said to Liv.
"Rule number two," she only said. "Never blame the referee. It's never his fault," she told me. "I have the respect for the man, so I don't want to say anything bad about him. He's doing his job! That's it," she said as if mocking the ones booing the referee.
"Exactly!" I exclaimed, and deep inside me I felt something that I couldn't explain. A feeling that was whispering me its message so quietly that I couldn't hear it.
