My name’s Mike, and I’m a second-screener.
I’m not alone in this habit, doomscrolling on the small screen while half-watching the big one, and even the quadrennial men’s World Cup cannot grab my sole attention for two hours.
In particular, with reactions of a cowboy duelling at dawn, I draw my phone out any time the adverts come on, any time there is an injury, goal kick or throw-in. The new hydration breaks? Awful, but they equate to more, needless time spent looking at memes on X and wishing I was a Scot in Boston.
Yet during the Netherlands’ match with Japan the television dared to snap me out of my trance. The first half had been perhaps the dullest 45 minutes to date at this World Cup, but one man’s voice enticed me.
It was Ange Postecoglou. Sure, it was that recognisable rasp which piqued my curiosity, but beyond the gravel there was weight behind what he was saying, all with an authority that makes him the best pundit at this World Cup.
