The epilogue.

What happened in Brazil today. The epilogue. One week later.

The German flags are still flying proudly on the cars and houses in Toronto, one of the best places to follow the World Cup. Every country is supported, 32 different communities coming together individually to form a mosaic of World Cup support probably seen nowhere else, other than Rio or San Paulo. The early elimination of Italy and Portugal took some of the buzz out of the city, but at least Brazil kept going and going and....boom! What the hell was that? Oh, but ok at least the Argentinians will keep the party going. Right now....Higuain..no...Messi...surely....no... Palacio....he must....no. Ok, then, the Germans. But did the Germans in Toronto erupt in a celebration to rival the Italians street closing, all night party of 2006. Your's truly doesn't know because here is the World Cup final story that took place far, far away in a return to the place where the source of all the last year's inspiration was first viewed and enjoyed......Falcao, Socrates, Zico on a hot summer night in Malta.

After a few hours sleep, from sunrise to full sun up, with the scars of the all night wedding festivities too fresh in the mind and body, plans were afoot for an outdoor viewing of the Final. Three brothers, one father happy to have his boys together, wives and semi interested children came together for what Brother number 2 called his dream...TV set up outside to watch World Cup Final. The extra cable had been purchased, the chairs and couches still conveniently in place from the previous evening, pizzas ordered, mosquito spray sprayed. The night was perfect, an un-typical, almost cool July night in Malta. The setting was spectacular, yet maybe only appreciated by the visitors. Beyond the TV, lights twinkled all over Malta, fireworks periodically lighting up the sky. Within the overcrowded craziness of this loud Island, the only sounds here were from the pre-match, ignored Maltese analysis on the TV and the fun being had by the cousins who sub-consciously were enjoying each other's company, knowing or not knowing, depending on their age, that these moments don't happen very often when they are spread out across the world.

There had been a few pre-match nerves. The cable extension was attached with emergency tape, the fault being blamed on the "man in the shop" who didn't provide all the right connectors. With the wires taped down in the right position, and the picture finally stable, the hope now was that none of the kids would decide to run over the wires. Every close call was greeted with a yell of "stop, no, don't go there". Brother number 2's dream was evaporating as more time was spent admonishing over exuberant children then lounging in his specially chosen couch. We made it though the first half with pizzas devoured, salad enjoyed and sparking wine washed down. With there being a few lost picture moments, it was decided that Brother number 1, him with the greater knowledge, would, in 15 minutes, secure a better connection. The clock started and with a few minutes to go, the thought of "never change a winning formation " sprang to mind and was voiced in hindsight. Would we make it? Father was getting nervous, but thought he was hiding it , wives were enjoying the entertainment of Brothers number 1 and 2 getting a little heated in their exchange of opinions, and Brother number 3 sat back, enjoying the uniqueness of it all and watching for little glimpses of what was happening in the second half..."oh, Aguero's on".

After we decided that one person holding 2 wires together for 45 minutes was not a good idea, the executive decision was made to abandon the dream and make a run for it....inside with the twenty year old, heavy as you can get TV. Running soon became a labored walk. Are we going to make it...this way around the pool...help, we need help...who has the cable box. Inside, wires were connected, plugs plugged in and chairs hastily rearranged. And it was still 0-0. Surely, we hadn't missed anything. Of course, a quick phone online check was needed to see if anybody had been sent off, or missed an open goal. All we missed was the future Golden Ball winner messing up a golden chance to put Argentina ahead.

So there we were. The dream had been good while it lasted. And, that it did happen for 45 minutes was probably the most magical 45 minutes of a World Cup final. Sister 1 and 2 couldn't be with us to make it even closer to perfection.

Now if only we could have heard...Zico, Falcao....Eder...goal. Or the modern version...Neymar...Neymar....Neymar..Fred...Fred?...he's on the floor...but Neymar has scored!

Good night. See you in Russia.