It started in the late seventies when I was a kid. Mario Kempes was his name. His face was printed on my T-shirt and my cousin’s. It seemed he was so famous at the time. All grown-ups I knew were familiar to his name. My cousin and I just laughed at his name. What? Kempes? What kind of name was that? In Indonesian language, when you say that name with different pronounciation on the vocal ‘e’, it means ‘deflated’, ’sunken’, or ‘flat’. It is used popularly when you say, " I had a flat tire on my bike."
Who was he? My uncle told me he was a famous footballer from Argentina. Mmm… okay. It’s so grown-up thing, I thought, and was never interested anymore.
Then in elementary school years later, my classmates talked about World Cup. I got the fever, too. I remembered playing soccer game on my Mom’s dining table with my brother. We used shirt’s buttons as players and a round pepper seed as a ball. My favorite footballer? Who else but Rummenigge!
Many years gone by and I had ‘fallen in love’ with many famous footballers like all women do, but no one campared to Gabriel Batistuta 
Anyway, I’ve been growing up to love the game. I remember those ‘un-sleepy’ nights and early morns when I’d watch the good matches with my brothers and my Mom would hopelessly wake us up the next day for school.
Now, I’m trying not to miss a good match on TV but… since my Mom is so far away to wake me up to work in the lazy morning, I give up watching sometimes. I don’t really have a faith in my alarm clock. Viva Soccer!
