Just a couple of amateur (very, very amateur — I am no photographer) iPhone snaps from my wanderings near home post-Spain’s World Cup triumph. As ought to be expected, New York stood still in the afternoon hours of Sunday and I can still hear the drone of vuvuzelas reverberating around my block. Football may not yet be America’s game, but, judging from the obsession that has gripped this global city, it certainly is New York’s.
