Hand of God Read Free Page A

worse, you know... The boy’s English is actually quite good.’
    ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’ve been reading his tweets ahead of Nigeria’s match in Group F with Argentina.’
    I wasn’t entirely in agreement with Viktor about this being a good thing; sometimes it’s actually better for the team if a player with a big ego can’t make himself easily understood. So far I’d resisted the temptation to bring up the fate of the mythological Prometheus. Punished by Zeus for the crime of stealing fire and giving it to men, he was chained to a rock where his liver was eaten daily by an eagle only to be regenerated at night because, of course, Prometheus was an immortal. What a fucking punishment.
    ‘Look, Viktor, since you’ve met him it might help if you could persuade the boy to stop tweeting about how talented he is. That will keep the British press off his back when he comes to England.’
    ‘What’s he said?’
    ‘Something about Lionel Messi. He said that when they meet on the football field it will be like Nadal versus Federer, but that he expects to come off best.’
    ‘That’s not so bad, is it?’
    ‘Vik. Messi has earned his chops. The man’s a phenomenon. Prometheus needs to learn a little humility if he’s going to survive life in England.’ I glanced at the TV. ‘Hang on. I think this is us now.’
    London City were drawn to meet the Greek side Olympiacos in Piraeus, for the away leg of the play-off round, towards the end of August. I gave Viktor the news.
    ‘I don’t know, is that good?’ asked Viktor. ‘Us against the Greeks?’
    ‘Yes, I think so, although of course it will be very hot in Piraeus.’
    ‘Are they a good team?’
    ‘I don’t really know much about them,’ I said. ‘Except that Fulham just bought their leading striker for twelve million.’
    ‘So that’s to our advantage then.’
    ‘I suppose it is. But I imagine I’ll have to go to Greece sometime soon and check them out. Compile a dossier.’
    Louise had kept quiet throughout my conversation with Viktor but when our Skype call was over, she said: ‘You’re on your own for that particular trip, I think, my darling. I’ve been to Athens. There was a general strike and the whole city was in turmoil. Riots on the streets, graffiti everywhere, the rubbish not collected, a vicious right-wing, Molotov cocktails in bookshops. I swore then I wasn’t ever going back.’
    ‘I think it used to be worse than it is now,’ I said. ‘From what I’ve read in the newspapers it seems to be a little better since the votes in the Greek parliament about the national debt.’
    ‘Hmm. I’m not convinced. Just remember, the Greeks have a word for it: chaos .’
    After the draw was over, Louise and I went to lunch with Bastian Hoehling, an old friend who manages the Berlin side, Hertha BSC. Hertha isn’t yet as successful a club as Dortmund and Bayern Munich, but it’s only a matter of time and money, of which there is plenty in Berlin. The recently renovated stadium was the venue for the 1936 Olympic Games. Seating seventy-five thousand, it is one of the most impressive in Europe. With people moving to Berlin all the time – especially young people – the club itself, recently promoted to the Bundesliga, is well supported. The English Premier League is without peer, and Spain may have the best two clubs in the world, but for anyone who knows anything about football the future looks decidedly German.
    We met Bastian and his wife, Jutta, in the ‘restaurant sphere’ at the top of the old TV tower, and when we we’d finished talking about the spectacular view of the city and surrounding Prussian countryside, the excellent weather we’d been enjoying, and the World Cup, the subject turned to the Champions League and City’s draw against Olympiacos.
    ‘You know, when the World Cup is over, Hertha has a preseason tour of Greece,’ said Bastian. ‘A match against Panathinaikos, Aris Thessaloniki and Olympiacos. The club owners