With two all-South American finals—Brazil v Mexico in the women's comp and Brazil v Chile in the men's—the ultimate matches of the 2010 Homeless World Cup (HWC) couldn't have been better scripted, more fitting, or more ironic.

Hometown Rio claims it doesn't have a homeless population—Favelas? What favelas?—but their HWC teams did them proud, taking out both the titles in men's and women's. In truth, they even outdid their professional footballing counterparts, whose reputation for flair but not finishing strong hangs over them.

Although exciting, and although the Brazilians celebrated in tremendous fashion, it wasn't the fairytale finish I was hoping for. I was—and I think I wouldn't be overstating it to say that most of the other players and crowd were—wishing that the Chileans would get up in the men's. Bizarrely, the final also saw the tournament come full circle: it was a replay of the opening match.

The Chileans had played free-flowing football with South American heart and flair, scoring more goals than any other team and doing so in spectacular fashion. They were talented but not cocky, and played with skill meets hearts on sleeves. But the Brazilians defended hard in the final and prevented the Chileans from finding their rhythm. They went one goal down, then three in the first half and couldn't find a goal to kick start their comeback. It was a gutting loss, particularly as Chile had been the better team from start to finish.

In true HWC fashion, however, the finals were but the penultimate results. It was the off-the-pitch relationships and actions that proved the most crucial and inspiring, and which were demonstrated in true form in the awards ceremony. It turns out the language of break dancing is universal, with a Mexican and Norwegian wowing the crowd with an impromptu and surprisingly co-ordinated freestyle show. Every team, whether placed first or last, received a medal, and the excitement exuded by the less-skilful but crowd-favourite Canadian and South Korean teams, in particular, was as passionate as that of the Brazilians who won.

The Irish and Scottish, who'd earlier in the week absolutely brought the house down belting out the unofficial Scottish national anthem, The Proclaimers 500 Miles, prior to their face off led 'ole ole ole' renditions. The referees, whose patience, vim, and vigour in 35-degree heat and when players' tempers sometimes frayed when playing for their country was on the line, received something no referees elsewhere would ever receive: an extended, 500-odd person standing ovation.

Camilo Gonzalez, Chile's flamboyant #5, won male player of the tournament, which everyone agreed was completely fitting. Although he doesn't speak much English and I speak no Spanish, he proudly told me later as we ran, giggling, through the backstreets of Rio trying to unsuccessfully take cover under a dodgy poncho being whipped sideways by the wind (just in case I wasn't aware, and in the few mutually understood words we had), 'I'm Chile's #5'.

And so I find myself again beginning the 355-day countdown to the HWC, an event which has proven both so profound and life-changing for thousands (including me), I can't imagine living without it.

Obrigado Rio, it's been grand, and here's to more fantastic football in 2011 in Paris.