I’m tingling with anticipation. I’m commentating to myself in the MTR (“We’re here in Sheung Wan awaiting the train on this auspicious occasion.”). Aeroplane goal celebrations ensue every time I successfully place something in a bin. I’m burning up, and my doctor tells me I’ve got World Cup fever.

It’s the same every four years. This kaleidoscope of emotion permeates my every waking and sleeping breath, leaving me nauseous, excited and distracted – not unlike being in love or listening to Europe’s The Final Countdown.

Of course, it is the final countdown. It’s the period where I fully entertain my pre-tournament rituals, many of which haven’t changed since I was seven. I’ve spent a small fortune on the Official World Cup Sticker book, immaturely giggling over players with awesome names (I particularly like anyone called Jesus). I occasionally dress-up in full kit to simulate a game or two on the Playstation. Such is my dedication, I’ve even negotiated to sell my soul to the devil (i-Cable) for a month of football ecstasy.

In this excitement, I’m clearly not alone. The final countdown is where anyone and everyone – businesses especially – happily pile onto the merry football bandwagon, latching onto any tenuous link to football they can muster and bombarding the general public with World Cup products. Emails about the latest World Cup guitar flood my inbox, while shopping malls flaunt the latest in high-art-meets-sport with an exhibition of specially crafted designer footballs. And, a menacingly-heeled football-exploiting poster touts Carrie Bradshaw’s latest adventures. Banks are even getting in on the act, putting their sophisticated statistical modeling to good use to declare England or Brazil the likely victors.

There’s been no shortage of anecdotal prediction either – perhaps rather less scientific than that of the big swinging dick publications, but delivered with a fair bout of passion. Walk into any pub around the city, and an Englishmen will be declaring, “This is our year. (No, really.)” The Dutch too, maybe more cautiously. Even Americans are making brazen predictions about their chances.

Indeed, everyone has their opinion. Including me. Brazil and Spain will contest the final. My beloved Socceroos will crash out in the group stage, having failed to earn a point. And England will lose in the second round to Serbia (due to a woeful Glen Johnson error). On all of these fronts, I’ll probably be wrong. But, despite the ribbings that will no doubt be forthcoming, I couldn’t really give a shit. Ridiculous predictions are all part of the final countdown, and I feel safe in the knowledge that the rest of the world – in their own special way – is revelling in the same silly fun.

Mark Tjhung

Follow our 2010 World Cup Sticker Book progress online on the Big Smog Blog.