It's not the taking part that counts...

Yesterday I reluctantly decided to support my son's decision to be outside (YES! without a small screen inches from his eyes!) and went to join in a family game of football in the back garden. Football is not a sport I excel at. Or even know much about. I was secretly praying for the rains to come...would you believe it! They didn't!

None of my family are very good at football, but we are competitive. There is no way I was going to let my husband win if I could help it.

My son decided on the goals: ours was a fence panel; my husband and daughter aimed for 'the wall between the windows'. My heart lost a beat every time they attempted a shot at goal.

My husband would get the ball, then my daughter would shout, 'Pass!' and tackle it from him. We had to explain that 'passing' meant actually kicking the ball to another player.

Due to an extremely muddy walk with the dog earlier on I only had my best shoes to wear. I slipped and slid all around inside them. Occasionally I could co-ordinate enough to kick the ball, though usually to a rather grateful husband rather than my teammate son.

Well, the game ended when my latest husband's tackle (grabbing my arm and holding me back) meant I fell to the ground in agony, having strained some muscle in my shoulder. That's not where you're supposed to get injuries in a football game, is it?

Never mind. Whilst I was lying on the grass in extreme pain my son took the ball and scored repeated goals against our fence panel. So we won!

And that's what counts, right?

Only one thing to say

W E   W O N ! ! !

Congratulations to Zambia,

Winner of the Africa Cup of Nations 2012

(0-0 after extra time, 8-7 on penalties)

Photo: copyright Getty Images, BBC website

The real news about yesterday's football

Forget Fabio.

Ignore Harry.

The real news came late afternoon. Zambia beat Ghana 1-0 to earn their place in the final of the Africa Cup of Nations, to be held on Sunday in Libreville, Gabon.

The Africa Cup of Nations is the pinnacle of achievement in football terms across the continent. Held biennially, it is much feted, much desired and (above all) much followed! Although many Africans have their favourite Premiership teams and footballers, this local competition is the one each nation desires.

Ghana must have been favourites yesterday. They made it to the World Cup in South Africa and (let's face it) most of the rest of the world hasn't even heard of Zambia. But it only takes one goal to win - and Zambia got it! In the other semi-final, the Ivory Coast beat Mali by the same margin. The only difference (and surely not an important one *ahem*) is that they have not yet lost a match in the competition, nor conceded a goal. Zambia certainly have stiff opposition on Sunday.

But the players may not be their biggest fear. That problem may lie with ghosts from the past.

Late evening, 27 April 1993, a Zambian Air Force plane ditched into the sea about 500m off the coast of Gabon, having just taken off from Libreville. It was carrying most of the Zambian football team on their way to a FIFA World Cup Qualifier against Senegal. All passengers and crew were killed.

Their bodies were returned to Zambia and are buried in "Heroes' Acre" at the Independence Stadium in Lusaka. The memorial is a poignant memory to a lost football generation.

Nearly twenty years on, the national football team are to return to Libreville to play in the final of the African Cup of Nations. The team now consists of players who were just children when the disaster occurred, some barely born. But, like Munich for Man Utd fans, it is an event that is never forgotten by the nation.

So on Sunday, bring out your flags for the Zambians, fighting as underdogs to win the continent's most prized cup in a land that holds such horrific memories. A win would be an emotional event for the whole nation. And delightful!

Go Chipolopolo, go!

Watch the match on Sunday from 6.30pm on ITV4.

Nations together for football

As I write England’s World Cup challenge is underway. This is my first and, probably, last post about it – possibly about football at all, given my general lack of interest. Yet every four years the World Cup sets a nation alight. There is so much hype that to have no knowledge of what is going on probably makes you socially less acceptable than sporting dandruff-covered shoulders or having professional triangle lessons. Thus I follow what is going on so that I don’t embarrass my son (or, indeed, myself).

Perhaps unusually, though, I am watching (yes, at the same time as writing this blog!) in church. Some bright spark had the idea of showing the match on the ‘big screen’ usually used to bring up the hymn words. We’re all here, although I think my daughter would be as happy at home having a bath and bed. My husband is busy designing the bathrooms for our house, calculating how many tiles we’ll need. My son has brought his best friend along as well, so they are happily ensconced with bowls of crisps, soaking up the patriotism that reigns supreme.

We have England flags galore, plenty of red and white emblazoned across the room. The popcorn is popped; the cans are opened. A dozen families have settled in for the evening. Out come the teams. Some stand for the national anthem, some sing. All are jocular, excited, full of anticipation.

Then trouble arrives. In walks our minister.

Collective breaths are drawn. How would he react to this English posse? Is this display of patriotism really allowed in church? Can you eat crisps and lemonade in the sanctuary?

He marches down the aisle as the Stars and Stripes is sung. In his hand is a small flag that he waves; on his cheek is painted the same flag; indeed it is emblazoned across his trainers and shirt. He begins singing loudly.

He is American. Bizarrely, he’s not supporting the same team as everyone else. (And he’s less happy that anyone else with the score after the first five minutes…) Thankfully he makes nearly as much noise in support of his team as everyone else in the room put together. (By half-time he’s cheered up a lot!)

South Africa, the rainbow nation, is hosting a magnificent world event. Let's hope every match can be supported with as much good humour and friendliness as this.

Final edit: At the start of church on Sunday morning our minister revealed the power of prayer. He was afraid that no-one would come to his service if the USA won so he’d prayed for a draw…