Once upon a time there was a small country in the north, a land of ice-blue fjords and high mountains that guarded the valleys like ancient giants. In this land lived people who shared one dream: that Norway would one day travel to the World Cup again. It had been so long since the last time that many children thought the World Cup was just an old legend – something their grandparents told them about while pointing to faded photos from 1998.
But one day something started to happen in the small country.
It started quietly. A team gathered – a team that seemed different from those who had come before. Not because they were bigger or stronger, but because the sparkle in their eyes shone like little stars.
In the middle of them stood the wizard, the captain with eyes that could read the game before it happened. Around him stood two Vikings, strong and fearless, with shots that could make the very ground shake. And who moved with a strength and calm that reminded them of the fir trees that never gave way to the wind.
And behind these three stood a whole host of heroes – fast as lightning, wise as owls, and brave as legendary warriors.
Then the journey began.
Match after match, Norway took to the field as if they had the whole country behind them. Sometimes they won big, as when the ball flew into the net so often that both children and adults had to count twice to be sure. Other times they won with precision, guided by the wizard's magical passes and the Vikings' powerful strides.
No matter who came – strong teams, fast teams, teams that thought they were going to surprise Norway – they were left wondering what had just hit them. Because Norway played like a team that refused to give up. As if every pass was a raised flag, and every goal a tribute to everyone who was waiting for this moment.
The joy came like waves across the country. The people cheered, laughed, sang, and several times you could hear children shouting:
"Mom, Dad – Norway is actually good!"
Every victory made the country a little brighter.
Every fight made the faith a little stronger.
And gradually a feeling that had been missing for many years began to spread: hope.
A real, warm hope.
At the last few games, you could hear little bits of a familiar song from various places in the stands — not loudly, just barely above the hum of the crowd. Some hummed, some muttered a few words:
"...everything for Norway..."
No more than that. But it was enough.
It reminded the players who they were playing for — and why they shouldn't give up.
But the journey was not over. For the biggest obstacle awaited at the end – Italy, in a mighty stadium where the atmosphere could shake hearts and minds. Before the match, all of Norway knew that Italy would have to win with numbers that only exist in fairy tales if they were to take first place from us. But still, what was at the back of the people's minds was not fear – but excitement.
And then the referee blew the whistle.
Italy came storming in.
But Norway resisted.
The midfield danced through the pressure with the ball.
The Vikings charged forward, fearless and unwavering. One of them took off – and when he shot, it was as if the wind itself shot with him.
And the goals came.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
When the final score shone across the stadium – Italy 1, Norway 4 – it was as if the whole world stopped in a single, enormous roar of joy.
Children started dancing on the living room floor.
Adults had to blink away tears.
The whole country knew that something big had happened.
For the small country in the north, the country that had waited for a quarter of a century,
was finally ready for the World Cup again.
The wizard and the two Vikings stood side by side, flags waving in the wind and teammates singing around them. And the people at home sang along, so loudly that even the mountains had to smile.
Snipp, snipp snout – Norway's kvalik was not out.
Because the adventure has just begun.
