Does it seem that Vancouver’s Brazilian community swells to improbable levels around World Cup time? Perhaps it’s just me, but I suspect that many of the yellow-shirted ‘South Americans’ I’ve seen strutting around over the past couple of weeks are of questionable legitimacy.

Personally, I have a strict protocol that I follow for the World Cup, something like a royal line of succession. It has to be stringent, lest one be accused of the kind of bandwagon-jumping that seems rampant in this poser-inundated city.

First, of course, I cheer for Canada. If, by chance, they fail to make the World Cup tournament, I cheer for Scotland, as that’s the next closest family tie for me; two of my grandparents are of Scottish birth.

If, by chance, Scotland fails to qualify, I go with England. I have one grandparent of English birth. The fourth grandparent (my maternal grandfather) is also of English parentage, although he himself was born in Canada.

If...by chance...the English team is eliminated earlier in the competition than expected, I then go with France, providing they themselves are still in the running.

Why?

Well, we live in a partly French country. So there’s an official connection on that level.

But it’s largely because I’ve always liked the French soccer team. When I first started following World Cup soccer, the French had a good squad that played with a lot of pinache. They’ve had their ups and downs over the years, but they seem to be one of the most consistently watchable of the various European sides.

I was delighted when they beat Brazil on the weekend, partly because it was a nice, if wholly inadeqeuate, kick in the ass to our local fake Brazilians, but also because it epitomized what I like about ‘Les Bleus.’

Unlike almost everyone else, the French don’t seem to fear the Brazilians. They go into their games with the South Americans without any sense of awe or deference, and it seems to work.

I think there’s a lesson in there somewhere.