I had never in my 28-year oxygen-consuming spree watched a soccer match, not even at my village where the only Sunday afternoon entertainment is checking out rippling farm boys in action.  In times when I found myself in a room where the TV is switched on to a game of football, my vision automatically switched to interface CAN mode. That all changed on 11 June 2010, when something took control of my body, put me in an 11-car convoy that …  ( continue reading