As the burr of the vuvuzelas leaves the stadiums in South Africa and rings out from the TV into my living room, I feel all the excitement surrounding the World Cup, but also a sense that something is missing. There is one avid fan who isn't watching this Cup: my father.
David Phoon, my father, was a football tragic. During the 2006 World Cup in Germany, my father was up in the early hours of the morning watching any and every game he could. I, who watched soccer occasionally but was no fanatic, sat at an amused distance, mystified by his deep love of the game.
Seventy-five years old, he would catch up on sleep during the day, often sitting in the same position on the couch where he had watched the soccer just hours beforehand. You could tell he was asleep because he emitted a loud snore that rivalled the din of any vuvuzela.
The World Cup wrapped in July, with Italy crowned as champions. Later that year, one night in September, the unthinkable happened. My father, up late at night as usual watching the soccer, suddenly passed out by the kitchen sink. He briefly came to, telling my mother and brother, 'I can't breathe.' My father, we were later told by the doctors, had suffered a 10cm aortic dissection, which led to cardiac tamponade. Blood was leaking from his heart and causing organ failure.
After a couple of hours at Sutherland Hospital, my father was transferred to Prince of Wales, where there were better facilities for cardiac patients. Nine hours later, he died.
My father, who snored loudly, also laughed loudly. A doctor with a long-running family practice, he is remembered by his family and friends for his gentle humour and ecstatic guffaw, which had to be heard to be believed.
As the World Cup rolls around again, I'm thinking of my father, his laughs, and loves. He loved my mother, to whom he was married for 42 years. He loved his kids, his daughters-in-law, and his grandkids. And he loved soccer.
I've learnt to love soccer. During this World Cup, I've become nocturnal, like my father. No doubt I'm trying to commune with him, trying to efface his absence and bridge the gap between my indifference to soccer and his devotion to it. But also: soccer just makes for compulsive viewing.
Take last week's match between Switzerland and Spain. Spain was dominating Switzerland with its