You know you like to dance after scoring a goal when…
You know this better than anyone: football is like show-business. And to make the net tremble is worthless without a proper celebration. For you, turning into dancing mode after a goal is more than tradition: it’s an obligation. Because…
You grow your moustache to look like your role model.
You wonder how people expressed joy before Roger Milla came about.
People take the piss on nights out when Je danse le mia goes on. Because of course you add two Ls.
Any chance to come up with a new move is good to take - birth of a kid, nickname of clubs… Doesn’t matter to you.
You’re also down with animals representing national teams, even though when you’re imitating a lion of Teranga and a Lion Indomptable people have a hard time telling the difference.
Yet you always comes out on top at Times Up.
You consider a nightclub a perfectly acceptable place for a vuvuzela.
You campaign for Didier Drogba to be acknowledged as the rightful inventor of the coupé-décalé.
You think knee-sliding is for losers and posers. Except if it involves a coupé-décalé.
You see it as the true basis of any collective.
You don’t mind stopping the game for 15 minutes until all the supporters know your moves.
You’ve always dreamt to see Robert Kidiaba as a striker.
When you were a kid, Brazil and its Joga Bonito earned a place in your heart forever.
The Macarena ranks pretty damn high in your list of classics.
You wholeheartedly support that red card. A dance must be earned.
As opposed to that yellow card. That twerk was legit, Kei Kamara.
You launched a campaign for a song to be played after each goal.
You’ll defend that Fimbu, the whip dance, is not violent in the least to your dying breath.
You overlook the cramps that are tearing you apart since the start of additional time.
You consider the birth of football video games to have happened only once you could select your celebration.
You think David Ginola and Djibril Cissé flunked their careers - and that’s why they’re trying to pick it up in Dancing with the Stars.
You insist there’s no proper age to dance. And that no dance really ever goes amiss - especially the spur of the moment ones…