Having watched the last 45 minutes of the Brazil – North Korea World Cup match on Tuesday, I now feel qualified to share my World Cup thoughts with you.

Several thoughts ran through my head as I watched the game, the first being, wow those vuvuzelas are loud! You know what I’m talking about – the giant kazoos that South African fans bring to every game. With enough of them vuvuzeling at the same time, it has been likened to the drone of a swarm of killer bees. Really loud, kind of annoying – but then that’s almost a perfect description of the typical soccer fan, isn’t it? Sorry, no offence meant. It’s just that soccer fans have been known to riot the odd time. Now, if they riot after any of the World Cup games, they have a handy vuvuzela with which to throttle their opponents.

Secondly, what kind of welcome will Kim Jong Il have for his North Korean boys when they return home? Yes, they held the powerful Brazilians to two goals and scored once themselves, but the second goal looked a little sloppy. Will goalie Ri Myong Guk find himself strapped to a test missile when he returns?

Thirdly, I appreciate the dulcet and soothing tones of the British play by play men. They do not screech like their North American counterparts, they do not assault the ears with a constant stream of sports trivia. Instead they carry on a civilized conversation with you, the viewer.

“(Brazilian name) leads the charge, oh a lovely pass to (another Brazilian name). Oh, he’s scored and it’s a beauty.”

“It truly was. Just delightful.”

Nice. And I do not mean to malign only North American sports announcers. That “Gooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllll” guy could take a lesson from the British sportscasters as well. However, I will reserve final judgment until I hear how they announce the game when England inevitably falls out of the tournament. They could be whacking each other with their vuvuzelas, you never know.

Finally, I really haven’t watched a lot of soccer but I can’t help but comment on the fine acting skills of all players. There must be a level of soccer where this skill is taught, for I do not see the boys and girls of Kimberley and Cranbrook Minor Soccer falling dramatically to the ground in a dance of agonizing pain every time another player brushes past them. Yet when they reach the upper levels of the game, all players seem to know that this skill is required. Even the mysterious North Koreans, in their closed society, have learned the art of turning a minor trip into a major disaster. They writhe, they grimace, they roll around on the ground holding the limb or appendage that has been so sorely wounded. And then when the referee ignores them, they rise to their feet and carry on.

Our esteemed British announcers deal with it thusly – they watch the performance and then say (in soothing and dulcet tones) – “And, he’ll be fine.”

There, soccer in a nutshell. The players are amazingly fit (have a look at the front of the magazine Vanity Fair the next time you’re in line at the grocery store – I’m just saying). The game is constant motion and not boring even with mostly low scores. The crowds are tremendous and vuvuzelate loudly and enthusiastically. So maybe there’s something to this soccer thing. Two billion people can’t be wrong. I’ll see you at the pitch. Bring your vuvuzela.