The Beautiful Game

July 2014.  Brazil is out of the World Cup final, losing 7-1 to Germany.

They will play off for third or fourth place.

Third or fourth in the world is pretty good.   But for Brazil this result seems to amount to national humiliation.

Brazil has spent about $12 billion to build new stadiums and improve its infrastructure.  And they didn't even reach the final, despite starting as the favourite to win.  The people are distraught.  Police are out in force to deter rioters.   German fans are asked to stay in their seats and wait until the match has ended so they can be escorted from the stadium.    

The report in my local newspaper quotes someone from Brasilia as saying "People will break everything.  They're going to be furious.  The Government spent a lot of money for the World Cup instead of investing in health and education."

A sports newspaper ran a headline "The Biggest Shame in History".

Apparently, the stock market was expected to rise on the back of a win.

A finance expert is quoted as saying "It's going to confirm to the people that 'Look, our economy is struggling, we cannot get any growth, now we don't even have a decent football team either."

It's a game.  Not everyone can win.  Will someone please explain to them the difference between embarrassment and ruin?

How can the fate of a nation's economy depend on a dozen men in T-shirts?  What about the economic value of all those international visitors and the multiplier effect of their spending?

Couldn't all that Latin passion be channeled in a more positive way?

After all its efforts to clean up its act, I don't want Brazil to descend into chaos.

I want my concert in Rio.

Into the Diva's Den

After finishing a show, there is usually a sense of anti-climax; you can feel a bit low in the aftermath.

I attend some of my friends' shows in the Festival, and on the last Friday in June, I'm enjoying a boozy end-of-financial-year lunch.  Towards the end of the event, I check my phone.  There's a message.

It's from the jazz diva who invited me to perform in the Piano Bar.  She is offering me a singing lesson.  I've been on her waiting list, and now she has a spare hour for me.  Tonight.

I type a quick message, explaining that I've got a ticket for a show tonight - "Sorry, another time".

Then I erase it.  Am I stupid or something?  The Diva is offering me a lesson!  If I decline, next time she'll offer it to someone else.

I think the show I've planned to see will be good.  But I don't know the performer.  And the Diva is offering me a lesson.

I'm going to dump the show.

I type a new message: "Thank you, that would be great.  Where do you teach?"

She has a home studio, not too far from the city centre.  After work I drive there in the dark and the pouring rain.

We start with a friendly chat.   She offers to help me to produce a better sound with less effort.  That's OK with me.  She plugs my phone into her charger and instructs me to press "Record".  I'll be taking her lesson home with me.

The hour I spend with her is intense.  She has praise for me: "You are not a s**t singer."

Apart from that...my neck muscles are weak; I must work them.  My jaw is tight; she massages it.   My tongue is "lazy"; I watch hers and copy the shape it makes.  My chin juts out; I must pull it in. There is an "elephant" sitting on my larynx.  I clear my throat too harshly; that must stop.  My sense of rhythm could be stronger.

So.  Just a few things to fix.

She beats a Brazilian rhythm and asks me to reproduce it.  I can't.  But ten minutes later I am dancing it as I clap my hands.  She asks me to select a song that gives me trouble, and helps me solve the problems.

As I drive away into the wintry night I marvel at the chain of events that has led me to her door.  I wished for a way to take my skills to the next level, and this wish has been granted.

My post-show "downer" will have to wait.