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"Our country has been through difficult experiences in terms of unity. Sport — football in particular — has the power to help that. It is a special feeling." - Gareth Southgate

On 27th June 2016, English football was clouded with the ash of an Icelandic boom. As eleven players collapsed onto the pitch in Nice, fury raced its way from Lands End to John O'Groats. In its wake, the rage left shards of victimised pint glasses in puddles of beer-drenched tears. Football wasn't coming home, England were. The nation's disconnect with the squad had never been worse.

Fast forward 145 days, and words of disconnect continue to pollute the country's papers. Teresa May's frail Brexit proposal has left the country hanging from a tightrope, with her own teammates scything away at the rope one resignation at a time. With the country in need of a hero, English football’s candidature is no more than low-hanging fruit for satire. Right?

Flip to the back pages and fall into a utopian parallel. On Sunday afternoon, England beat Croatia to qualify for the UEFA Nations League finals in Portugal next June. The national stadium finally became a cauldron of passion, representing a euphoric microcosm that banished the fear and uncertainty of the outside world. 

The victory at Wembley topped off an incredible year of transformation for the national team, who became arguably the first people ever to stick to the concept of 'new year, new me'. Kittens became lions, and it becamse, dare i say it, ‘cool’ to support England again.

fight

"Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face" - Mike Tyson

It's 6:15 on Sunday morning. Two hours have passed since my confused alarm chimed on its day off. My tired eyes fixate on the screen illuminating the room, and the peace of dawn is broken by high-pitched growling of Joe Rogan and co. The television pixels construct an image from over 5,200 miles away, in Las Vegas, where one of the most important sporting events of the year has descended into unadulterated chaos.

Conor McGregor is not a personality associated with calm. The Irishman is the shot of whisky that so often fuels a late Saturday night - a figuration that has become a commercial reality through his Proper 12 venture - and one of few people on this planet that can get me to set a 5:15am alarm on a Sunday morning. His opponent, Khabib Nurmagomedov, personifies everything expected with a bruiser from the Dagestan region of Russia: unaesthetic, rough, robust.

Three minutes and three seconds into the fourth round of the biggest UFC fight of all time, the tactical skill of Nurmagomedov choked the ego of McGregor. After months of media attention, hype and cash, the Russian bear suffocated the octagon's green and gold oxygen supply to the point of blurry-eyed submission. For ten seconds, Khabib was the golden boy and his legacy was stamped in the blood-stained canvas of the UFC.

Then the Dagestan fighter initiated a riot. As he flew over the cage and towards McGregor's team, the glitz of Las Vegas descended into a brawl outside your local Wetherspoons. The technical quality that illuminated a championship fight became a distant memory as wild, un-calculated punches were thrown from all parties. It was raw violence,  but I couldn't stop watching.

The YAftas

  327 days ago, I sat in Heathrow airport. I had a beer and a fancy pie in front of me, and was just tucking in as Ian Wright and Glenn Hoddle walked in and took a seat on the table next to me. I was almost too engrossed in my own mind to really take into account how random it was at the time; I was suddenly facing a year of living in South America ahead of me, after all. Yet as I look back on this adventure, per say, that moment set the tone.

Predictably, this last 11 months have been the best of my life. In reality, who would go and live on the other side of the world and come back saying otherwise? It is true though. Everyone always tells you that this will be the case, but you're too worried to accept this gleam of positivity in the mist of the worrying and over-thinking. The prospects of being kidnapped by a cartel or of not being able to get 3G on your phone are far more realistic than actually having a good time.

 Low and behold I actually have had a rather good time, bar the odd barbarity or bump in the road, and I am glad that I decided to type it all out on this blog. Even a quick glance back at some articles triggers the recollection of some small peculiarities that I had already forgotten. Whilst I never wrote this for views, so not to raise my hopes, the feedback has been unreal. I set a very broad target of 10,000 views back in August, and as we now sit on over 11,000 it is safe to say this has been a nice success. A big thank you to everyone and anyone that's ever read or shared the page!

It's not about the blog though. It's time to honour those who made this year what it's been. Whether a thing, a moment or a person, they deserve to be commended for affecting my life in the best/worst/most bonkers way possible. This is what it's all been leading up to (you just haven't known it until now).... welcome to the YAftas*.

Flares, Paint and Ayrton Senna: My Brazilian Easter

  I was stood on the the streets of central São Paulo staring up at a sporting icon. It was the middle of the afternoon, yet I was a number of beers down and grasping at a bottle of catuaba (a.k.a. liquid gold). I knew I was feeling a bit tipsy, yet I started to question just how much so when I realised that I was listening to a Brazilian questioning why this sporting icon was so important. A Brazilian questioning the greatness of Ayrton Senna? Maybe I'd missed the hallucinations warning on the side of this bottle. The motoring legend stared at us, judgingly, from a vibrantly coloured mural that covered the side of a nearby building. What he was witnessing was a group 50+ charity workers wetting the head of another successful project. It was an authentically Good Friday, just as Jesus intended... minus the beer.

  When I was made aware of the upcoming bank holiday - Easter is not naturally engrained in my mental calendar - I envisaged a day of sleep, Netflix and maybe, at a push, a cheeky shower. Oh how wrong I was. Waking up to the sight of 11:00am on my phone quickly morphed into standing, awake, on the metro platform at 6:30am. I gave myself a slap but it was reality alright. Now why the f**k was I awake at such an hour on a bank holiday Friday? Not even a Monday, a FRIDAY. Well, it turns out the spirit of Easter is contagious. Not giving up anything for lent and claiming to be an atheist at any mentioning of religion is not enough to avoid the big man's powers, apparently.

Work Hard, Play Hard(er)

  So when I last left this blog, I was giving it all that about how the fun is over, I was buckling down and that work was the new focus of my life. Technically I wasn't lying... I've worked my shifts, done some decent work and am settling into becoming a productive member of the team. As any one that works a standard weekly job knows, you've got to use your time off well. If you stare at computer screens, documents and emails for too long your mind will slowly wipe itself of any hope. This blog has never claimed to be scientific, but in this case the science of common sense prevails. Anyway, the last week has been the epitome of using my free time to the max, with the aid of some good friends of mine: Neymar and The Weeknd.

  The weekend (the two days at the end of the week, not the singer) began with a spontaneous night out. That Friday ecstasy was rolling and I met some friends for a few homemade caipirinhas as the sun set over the highrise in front of us. We headed to my favourite neighbourhood in São Paulo, Vila Madalena, and to my even more favourite burger bar which loudly promotes its 'Cold Fucking Beer' on the hilly, cobbly streets of the bohemian area. We got some burgers - served on fancy wooden trays so tables aren't needed - and some of the local beers which were suggested by a waiter that had taken an interest in our foreignness on a previous trip and even reads this blog (shoutout Victor!).

  The beauty of Vila Madalena is that every bar offers something different, from live music, unique beers, quirky decoration and just generally positive vibes. The night carried us to a couple more bars, via a mini photo shoot of us four gringos drinking a bar's speciality beer, and led us onto the streets where a group of old geezers were playing some samba. By this point, we were pretty wasted and did not hold back in joining the maturer local audience in dancing along to the samba beats that created a mini Carnival bloco. Unsurprisingly, four foreigners dancing to some local music with some beers on a warm Friday night went down well and we were popular with the crowd of people around us.

  Fast forward 24 hours. The scene was different, the people were different, but the essence was identical. I was at a house party that I had been invited to by a guy at work. Me and fellow intern Tom, from Wales, were making the caipirinhas for the Brazilians (how that works I will never know) and once again we were causing a nice stir. As has tended to be throughout this year so far, natives immediately take a shine to you if you oblige with their request to say a word or do a dance move from their cultures. It's an easy way to make some quick mates and it worked a treat at this particular party. A night that I thought was going to be a few chilled beers turned into a 10 hour party, yet I got back home at 6:30am with my real plans still ahead of me.

Football Unites For Chapecoense

  I remember watching the Joga Bonito Nike adverts as a kid. Roberto Carlos, Ronaldo, Adriano and headliner Ronaldinho toying with a ball in a dressing room like a group of mates on a street corner. They oozed something we didn't have - and still don't - in England. A playful, cheeky and very likeable arrogance. The ball was their toy and they were only interested in entertaining. The Harlem Globetrotters of football. This Brazilian culture has always acted on the cherry on top of the football cake, as they paint the beautiful game with their own attitude to life. We're here to enjoy life so let's have fun and do it with a smile.

  Any true football fan has a soft spot for the Brazilians. Whether we grew up with Pelé, Zico, Romario, Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, Kaka or Neymar, they winked at us as we mesmerised at their creative flair. It's always been a dream to see the Seleção play in their home country. I remember seeing them play a friendly against Scotland at the Emirates Stadium in 2011, and the vibrant yellow and green support was a joy to behold. The bellowing, passionate support throughout both the World Cup (until their 7-1 spanking) and the Olympics strengthened this respect further. I wanted to be a part of it.

  With this in mind, I was hot on the case when I saw tickets still available for a friendly between Brazil v Colombia. The match was a tribute match for those that tragically lost their lives a matter of weeks ago in the Chapecoense disaster in Colombia. 71 people died in the crash, including all-but-3 of the playing squad. It's not something thats magnitude will decline over time, and is one of the saddest incidents that the sporting world has ever seen. It brought football together as one, united body and the nature of this friendly highlighted that with all proceeds going to the families of those that lost their lives. My ticket only cost £11, but it was an honour to be part of the supporting fund.