It is hard to know you lost in this way, that it was not your skill, your passion, your determination that affected the outcome. To know that a bit of cheating and a bad refereeing decision cost you this opportunity.
I can remember the feeling of rage that boiled in the pit of my stomach as I walked off the pitch, I wanted to hurt someone, I wanted to hurt him. He had taken my dreams away from me. Somehow I managed to control myself, not even a wall or door felt my wrath as I walked, head down, off the pitch, through the tunnel and back to our dressing room.
I remember that day so well, I see the incident in my dreams nearly every night. The World Cup final, nil nil with only thirteen minutes to play. “Unlucky for some,” they tell me, but it was not luck that denied me the greatest achievement in my life. I have tried to prove there was some payment given to the referee to throw the game but my searches have proved unfruitful. I have been told that it was just a bad decision but I refuse to believe it, how could that decision have been made?
I close my eyes and see him now, the opposition striker running towards me, he knocks the ball to my right. As I turn I notice it has gone too far and my goalkeeper will gather it easily. Next I hear a whistle, as I turn round the striker is rolling around on the floor as if someone has run on with an axe and chopped his leg off, a mighty tree felled with one clean swipe. I wonder what has happened as the referee points to the penalty spot. As I look around I notice there are no players for miles, it is me who has committed the foul. I felt no contact, I stuck out no leg, I made no attempt to make a tackle. The referee walks up to me, his arm shooting up, I see a flash of red but it does not register. As it dawns on me what has happened I have lost sight of the referee, a crowd of my teammates around him.
I do not know what to do, my fists are clenched, I look at the player on the floor, I want to stamp down hard on his chest. Make him feel the pain I do at this moment. My central defensive partner notices what is going on and puts an arm around me, leading me away from the mob and the striker that is still laying on the floor feigning injury.
I open my eyes again, I am back in my living room but I still hear the roar of the crowd as I walked down the tunnel. I knew, in that moment we had been robbed of the World Cup.