I married a German and quietly seethed through their triumphs – until my mother in law showed me watching football need not be so fraught
football rivalry begins in 1990. I was living in Rio de Janeiro and throwing myself with wild abandon into the Brazilian way of celebrating the beautiful game. I watched that World Cup penalty shootout in an English pub in Ipanema and then went home to call the handsome German I’d met a year earlier, the tension of the match soon dissolving in good-humoured teasing on both sides.
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