Forward thinking: Brazilians in mourning

I'm in Brazil. All day there's been celebratory preparation - the ladies getting their hair done, car horns honking and firecrackers going off. It's a holiday when there's a football game on.

I can't say too much about why I'm here, but let's just say there's a bunch of Kiwi musicians here, making sweet, sometimes strange, and classy music with some Brazilians. They are holed up in a villa that they call Kiwi Casa, which is slap-bang in the middle of Sao Paulo (not that there is really a middle to this giant city). The album being recorded will be out soon, but that is another story (stay tuned in the next few weeks).

Back to the football: we're at the Jockey Club, a stadium set up for tens of thousands of screaming and raving Brazilian fans, to watch the World Cup quarter-final between Brazil and France on the big screen.

France have just beaten Brazil 1-0. Sao Paulo is no longer a happy place. During the game the crowd don't exactly boo, but they make it known that that was a terrible pass. Cafu made a few bad passes today. Roberto Carlos, the short fella at the back, battled hard, but Brazil lost. Grown men are walking round soulless and crying.

A bulky fella in front of me is still glued to the screen, he lifts up his green, blue, white and yellow football shirt and wipes his eyes. His girl hugs him lovingly round the waist but there is no consoling him. Being kicked out of the World Cup in the quarter-finals is non-comprehende.

I feel worse - and this is saying something - than I do witnessing the All Blacks losing a game. The passion here for their national team is extreme. I'd heard about it, but I can't believe that the 1950 World Cup final - when Brazil was beaten 2-1 by South American rivals Uruguay - is still an issue. Crikey, that was more than 50 years ago.

Of course, France beat Brazil at the last World Cup too. But they have long memories around here - Chico, our trusty guide, driver and all-around nice guy, remembers when France beat his team in 1986.

"Twenty years later, history repeats itself," he chuckles. At least he's laughing and not taking it too badly; it's the rest of the 18 million Paulistas that I worry about.