No gusto today

'Guten morgen' says the happy yellow sun printed on my paper serviette at breakfast, and a guten morgen it is. It’s the day of the Italy game, the round of 16 match that represents if not the Everest for a team that has lived in the foothills of Australian sport for so many years, then at least the notion that we have reached the Himalayas.

The German breakfast is the same as it has been the whole way through. Cereals, milk, a plate of cheeses, and a plate of processed meats – some of which look salamish, some of which look luncheonish. I veer towards something that is hammish, but with flecks, and attempt a nervous nibble. The coffee is as filtered as ever, and the boiled eggs come thick and fast.

I told Julia Zemiro on ABC radio 774 that I thought we’d lose. She said something along the lines of, ‘At last! A realist,’ and then I pattered on about what a great journey it has been, and how I’ll love the boys whatever the result. It was like I was sucking on the pill of defeat, just to see how it tasted, attempting to prepare myself for the realities of a match against the mighty Azzurri, the country with the strongest domestic football league in the world, and a three time winner of the Jules Rimet.

But really, I’m not ready. Any reality dose is heavily laced with a dash of flamboyant hope, and as I stare into the rich Australian gold of my egg yolk, I’m imagining the stands in just a few hours, bouncing with the euphoria of a surprise goal. Right now, if I could order that goal from room service, I’d make it a trap and turn from the grand old Duke of St Albans and barring that, an unjust penalty. One that has the Italians running from the other end of the field to scream, and gesticulate and chest the referee, until eventually, he tires of their rantings and has Luca Toni seeing red of a slightly different shade.

I’m scanning around for signs, and again I look to the little paper serviette. Guten morgen, serviette sun. Do you think we can do it? The sun smiles its happy smile, and has little crease marks around its eyes. In fact, guessing from the smile marks, the sun looks to be about 35. Guten morgen, its says, by way of reply, in a pleasing Helvetica font.

And then I see my sign. Next to 'guten morgen' is written ‘good morning’. Spin the serviette further around, and there is ‘buenos dias’ and ‘bonjour’. In the good morning stakes, English, German, Spanish and French are all represented. In terms of the top five European languages, only one is conspicuously absent.

There is no bongiorno. I repeat, there is no bongiorno.

I finish my egg with gusto, and then castigate myself for doing anything with gusto, because that is an Italian word too.