“I will be rooting for Germany in Sunday’s World Cup final. Now, there’s a sentence I thought I would never write. I grew up with an intense dislike of German prowess on the football field. One of my first memories is of Harald Schumacher flying through the air, almost killing the hapless Patrick Battiston. (To this day, the Frenchman still carries a cracked vertebra and damaged teeth; Schumacher probably still carries his hateful smirk.) Four years later I saw Germany end Mexico’s World Cup dreams in Monterrey through a relentless display of intimidation. They then proceeded to eliminate my beloved French again. Oh, how I hated them, with their canine names: Rummenigge, Littbarski, Briegel, Augenthaler. Yes: almost 30 years ago, when I celebrated Argentina’s triumph in the Azteca as if it were my own, it would have been unfathomable that I, one day, would root for Germany.” New Republic