日记摊在手上，六月的日子一格格排着。祈愿文旁边，俄罗斯对沙特，埃及对乌拉圭，比赛的地方和时刻也排得明白。足球在这里有自己的位置。

二〇一八年五月，比赛还在后头，仁波切已经喊救命了：Am already stressed.. help!!!。一页日记，事情真不少。

书页底下也不空。盒子、袋子、细长的管子，挨在手边。日子尚未翻过去，眼睛先得在这么多场球之间来回走。

他对足球的兴致，有时直接写在脸上。脸上蓝、白、红三道颜色，横过两颊，到了嘴边仍连着；人一笑，颜色也随着笑。

那是二〇一四年六月。他穿一件红球衣，背后也有人穿红的。支持智利，他还给出一个别人未必想得到的理由：All chilli eaters must root Chile。

吃辣椒的人，都该替智利加油。chilli和Chile凑在一处，嘴里的偏爱，就这么分到了球场上。

球衣领口一圈白，一圈蓝，脸上的颜色向两边铺开。说起支持谁，他这一次是把话涂在脸上了。

也有只有球场亮着的时候。加德满都的塔美尔，他说是半夜的足球。四周黑，屏幕上一块绿色的场地，从暗里亮着。

人影在那一小块绿上跑。旁的东西看不大清，球倒还在踢。

看到不痛快处，他也不肯只做一个安静的观众。二〇一八年的决赛，屏幕上法国与克罗地亚正在比赛，仁波切给法国数出了十三个人。

France winning with 13 men。这是他看球时的气话，连数人数也带着意见。

不过，场外的一间更衣室，也会使他留心。一则报道说，日本队离开时，把更衣室收拾得干干净净，还留下感谢的话。他赞成的，正是这件小事。

他盼望人们多看见，也多学一学。赢球固然热闹，怎样离开一个地方，他同样有意见。

到院子里，球赛又小下来。红墙前，几个年轻僧人追着球跑，衣摆随着腿脚一齐动。没有看台把他们围住，墙上的窗子一扇扇开在高处。

这场球到了仁波切那里，叫作The cup 2。短短几个字，院子里的热闹也有了自己的名目。

球到了哪一边，人便跟到哪一边。一个人停住，另一个已经跑开。红墙很高，脚底下这一小片地方，还够他们把球踢下去。

The diary lies open in a hand, June arranged across its pages. Beside the prayers are Russia against Saudi Arabia, Egypt against Uruguay, with places and times set out for the matches. Football has a place of its own here.

In May 2018, with the matches still ahead, Rinpoche was already calling for help: Am already stressed.. help!!! A diary could hold quite a lot.

There is little empty space beneath the pages either: boxes, packets, a long tube close to the hand. Before the days can turn, the eye has all these matches to travel between.

Sometimes his enthusiasm for football is written directly on his face. Blue, white and red run across his cheeks and around his mouth. When he smiles, the colours smile with him.

That was June 2014. He wore a red football shirt; others behind him wore red too. For supporting Chile he had a reason that might not have occurred to everyone: All chilli eaters must root Chile.

Anyone who eats chilli ought to cheer for Chile. Put chilli beside Chile, and a preference of the mouth has found itself a side on the pitch.

A band of white and a band of blue run around the shirt collar. The colours spread across his face. This time his answer to the question of sides is painted on.

There are times when it is the pitch alone that lights up. In Thamel, Kathmandu, he calls it midnight football. The surroundings are dark, with a green field shining from the screen.

Figures run across that small patch of green. Little else can be made out. The game continues.

When the game displeases him, he is not content to be a quiet spectator. At the 2018 final, with France and Croatia on the screen, Rinpoche counts thirteen men on the French side.

France winning with 13 men. It is an irritated spectator’s verdict; even the arithmetic takes a side.

Yet a changing room off the pitch can also hold his attention. A report describes the Japanese team leaving theirs clean, with a note of thanks. It is this small act that wins his approval.

He wants people to see more of it, and to follow the example. Winning makes plenty of noise; he has an opinion, too, about how one leaves a place.

In a courtyard, football becomes small again. Before a red wall, young monks run after a ball, their robes moving with their legs. No stands enclose them; the windows are set high in the wall.

For Rinpoche, this game is The cup 2. A few words are enough to give the courtyard’s bustle a name of its own.

Where the ball goes, the players follow. One stops as another runs on. The red wall is high; the little space beneath it is still enough to keep the game going.