lemon revolution

Three of us sat at our desk at 4pm. Second half about to start. Occasional check of the score. Then Sweden get one. Start listening to the radio commentary. They're still through if it's a draw though right? Yeah? Yeah. 2 minutes pass. Shit I've just checked the table they're out if they draw and Sweden win! Actually out if they draw! What? Fucking out? Out! Out if they draw! 80 minutes on the clock. About seven of us huddled round someone else's desk watching it in full screen. First Korean goal. Seven of us jumping and screaming red cherry faced like fans in a stadium. In an office. Offside?! Shit. Offside. VAR? Yeah he's off. Off. Slightly off. No wait. Nah he's off. Ah well. Still time. No wait. No wait Kroos touched it! Kroos passed it can't be off! Can't be off! Can't be off! He's not off! Goal given. Hear the roar from us. The roar from the office next door through the brick wall. People I've never seen and will probably nev

Banega was the key man here. Like a wire-ripped beyblade toy, always turning: turning on the ball, swiveling away from tackles, half-turning to catch his shadows, roaming across the midfield areas like a general in the first half. Where against Croatia and Iceland, the Argentine centre backs and Mascherano had pondered and lumbered, taking an age between each touch, now Banega was there a few yards ahead, finding space and demanding the ball. If the space wasn't there he'd be barking and pointing, telling those less capable how and where to shift the ball, trying to rattle the cage of that Nigerian defensive block, working gaps in the rails for himself and Messi to work in. The first half hour was the best Argentina have played all tournament and they were unlucky not to be at least two-goals up by the break. Messi looked interested and free - finally relieved perhaps, to have some help out there, someone else on the pitch who understood how to work the ball forward in a