Showing posts with label World Cup. Show all posts
Showing posts with label World Cup. Show all posts

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Brasil v. Brazil

It took us some time before the contrasting spelling of Brazil—always rendered with a Z on the Canadian Broadcasting Company, whose coverage we’re lucky enough to watch but with an S when we see actual local names of Brazil spelled out.

A quite complete and persuasive discussion of this difference, with very nice illustrations, also comes from Canada, this time Uma Nota, which happens to be a music blog about Brazilian music. Here is the link.

It turns out that the original name comes from the Portuguese pau brasil, brazilwood, a reddish-hued tree (Caesalpinia echinata). But that word, brasil, could be and was also spelled brazil, all depending on the mood of the speller, not only in foreign lands but also by writers (or typesetters) in Portuguese—even on currency. The official change, Uma Nota informs me, came in 1945 when a Portuguese and Brazilian commission set the formal rules for the Portuguese spelling of words. We, meanwhile, clung to Brazil.

We are among a minority—with Hungarians (Brazilia) and Bosnians (Brazil). The Germans say Brasilien, the French Brésil, the Spanish Brasil, the Italians Brasile. So where does that Z get its original roots? Well, the original name of Brazil, based on the earliest Portuguese records, was Terra da Santa Cruz, thus Land of the Holy Cross. That Z from the cross keeps hanging in there at least in some languages.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

1-0! Bravo!

It happened in the 91st minute of a very hard-fought and tense game, thus in the extra three minutes of play added after the obligatory 90 minutes to make up for interruptions during the 0-0 game itself. It seemed like a miracle! The U.S. team moves on. Good show! This was the most sudden, the most surprising, and the most stunningly satisfying experience I’ve had watching sports in at least a decade.

Monday, June 14, 2010

A New Sound

The first African World Cup is off and running—and with it a new sound. Hearing it over the television thousands of miles away, it has an eerily pleasant bee-hive sound for us, for Brigitte and me, although Dawn.Com, a local media company there, ran a story (here with the picture shown on the left) a week ago titled “World Cup horn risks permanent damage to hearing.” No doubt close proximity to the plastic horn isn’t good for you, but my limited experience of stadia of all kinds, watching baseball and football, tells me that we need not be ashamed of the noise we’re capable of making on this subcontinent. Brigitte and I hail from the place where the Homer Hanky saw its original flutter. We were in the Minneapolis Metrodome at one of the crucial games played by the Twins in the hanky’s early days, and I hereby testify that the Minnesota human voice, waving the hanky, produced at least the same 127 decibels that issue from Africa’s vuvuzela.