War games

A divided island, Cyprus is united in one thing: its passion for football. Especially English football.

Last week, in the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, at a café beside St Heraklion Castle, allegedly the inspiration for the Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs castle, a lanky teenager wearing a Steven Gerrard shirt sold me a beer.

Two days later on the other side of the UN-patrolled green line, which has divided the island since 1974, in Agios Giorgios a dusty, timeless village in the Troodos mountains, one boy braved the stifling heat â it was around 31C in the shade â to kick a ball around in his Chelsea shirt.

On the motorway, I spotted a car sticker that read: âÂÂEverton The PeopleâÂÂs Club.â The car had local plates. I assume the driver was a British expat. Around 75,000 Britons â out of a total population of nearly 800,000 â spend much of or all the year in Cyprus. As most Cypriots have an English second team, itâÂÂs just possible the Moyesiah is winning new converts for the Toffeemen.

In an empty taverna in Agros, a mountain village famed for its breeziness where I sought haven as the temperature reached 45C, I watched the highlights of Anothorsis FamagustaâÂÂs UEFA Champions League qualifier against Armenian champs Pyunik Yerevan.

Coached by the legendary Temuri Ketsbaia, the Cypriots hit the woodwork three times, shot with the profligacy of Arsenal at their most wasteful, but won 1-0 with a penalty. I donâÂÂt know if Ketsbaia kicked the hoardings afterwards because the channel changed to a sobtastic soap.

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