BONDING OVER FOOTBALL

 BONDING OVER FOOTBALL

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts as we begin our descent into Frankfurt, “the flight attendant announced.

 

Harry peered over his glasses, closing the latest John Grisham novel “The Exchange” with a satisfied sigh. Seated next to him, Conrad was animatedly recounting his latest adventure to a pretty young brunette flight attendant, who was all ears.

 

“So, there I was on a desert safari, looking at the starry skies and making some great memories, with nothing but a bottle of water and a camel for company,” Conrad announced dramatically. The flight attendant smiled, clearly impressed by his charm.

 

Harry cleared his throat, drawing Conrad’s attention. “You know Conrad, not everyone has a fancy for nightlife and sandy beaches or crossing deserts on Quad bikes to find excitement. Some of us find it in quiet pursuits like reading than climbing atop the Burj Khalifa.”

 

Conrad laughed, an infectious laugh that drew the attention and stares from nearby passengers. “Oh, come on, Harry: you and your books. Next, I might find you reading a book on Burj Khalifa and then actually taking the pain to visit it. By the way, good verbal communication skills are far more challenging than reading it. It’s an art.”

 

“Speaking isn’t that hard,” Harry replied, pushing his spectacles back with his forefinger. “Writing is where the challenge is. It requires clarity, structure, precision, choice and economy of words.”

 

Conrad patted him on the shoulder. “Spoken like a true introvert. Anyway, we both know Messi is the superior player. His dribbling, vision, foresight, strategy is unmatched.”

 

Harry smirked. “Ronaldo’s achievements speak for themselves. His tenacity, drive, work ethic, courage, dedication and love for his mom, well, he is the ultimate. But let’s agree to disagree on this.”

 

As the flight began its final descent, the brothers paused, reflecting on their conversation. Harry, the analytical, introspective artist, appreciated the calm, methodical, theaurapatic process of writing his thoughts, where every word mattered. Conrad, the extroverted, daring adventure seeker, thrived on spontaneity and the extempore and immediacy of the spoken language.

 

“You know,” Conrad said, nudging Harry, “despite our differences, we have something in common. Our love for football and the English language.”

 

Harry nodded, a smile forming on his face. “True, we might debate who is a better player, Messi or Ronaldo, but at the end of the day, the beautiful football game brings us together.”

 

“Exactly”, sighed Conrad, “And maybe we both complement each other; we balance each other out. Your caution and wisdom, my impulsiveness and confidence: we make an unbeatable team.”

 

As the plane landed, Harry chuckled, “I know, we certainly do make a team. Now, let’s watch a game. Maybe we will find something new to argue about.”

 

Conrad grinned. “Sure, big bro, but one thing we won’t argue about who pays for this bucket of German beer pints? I’ve got this one.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow, “We’ll see, but the next round is on me.”

 

With that, the two brothers, different in nature but complementary, stepped onto the streets of Frankfurt, ready to mingle and immerse themselves in the excitement of the Euro Cup, united by their shared passions, dreams, and unique perspectives.