Die Groot Trek
Cold beer in the dusty veldt. Veld, prairie, outback, pampas. The hinterlands. The place where the world breathes hot breaths of wind and sun.
Spain or the Netherlands. The bulls run in Pamplona, Hemingway’s rash bravura emanates yet. Wine squeeze the bota, hoist the porrón, sluice nectar of plenty for the planetary ball game. Holland canal meander on bikes, windmill stereotypes, herring galore.
But who will win the World Cup?