In 1994 I was living in the east of Hungary, not so far from the Romanian border. I didn’t know much about Romania. There was some distant memory of Nadia Comăneci, but the contemporary knowledge was hardly positive: the only European country with a death count from the end of communism, the appalling orphanages, poverty.

Then one week in June the World Cup began. Romania was playing Columbia. I tuned in expecting a reasonably comfortable win for Columbia, an outside bet to win the tournament. I was wrong.First there was a Florin Răducioiu, and then this moment of pure joy.