Have you ever wondered why the rest of the sporting world plays a ball game with their feet and we don’t… well that’s not exactly true… we’re learning.
But you know what I mean. Maybe it goes back to the Founding Fathers? Isn’t that what we usually attribute stuff to? Maybe it’s a Constitutional issue… there is something buried there that says playing “footsy” with a ball is unconstitutional… it’s un-American. It violates our sense of independence, pioneering spirit and our commitment to Democracy.
And then there are the whispers that it is “un-manly.” Besides, it’s plain foreign!
The fact remains that in any village or city on this planet Earth, look for 8 year olds at play (boys in particular)… odds are they are kicking a ball against a wall, practicing “juggling” the ball with their feet, and if there is friend or two, one is put into an imaginary goal… let the games begin!
In any village or city outside the United States, that is. In this Country? More often than not, the same scenario: boys at play… and the ball is being thrown against the wall, or guys are working on their cross over dribble (with a basketball, not a soccer ball).
Dribbling with either hand becomes a second nature skill to our kids… dribbling with either foot becomes a second nature skill to the rest of the world.
Is it any wonder that we are behind in the sport that the rest of the world calls “Football”? But what we call “Soccer.”
Every four years, the World comes to a standstill for the World Cup. 32 Teams that have gone thru all the pre-qualifying rounds represent Nations from all the inhabited Continents (they haven’t taught polar bears and penguins to kick a ball yet… when they do, my money’s going on the polar bears). To even make it to the tournament is an honor (sort of like being nominated for an Academy Award).
And then its Nation against Nation. That’s the way it appears. Fans in the stands waving huge banners, faces and bodies painted in the appropriate team colours, songs being chanted… cheers and shouts of glory for goal scoring and the countering jeers and accusatory fingers being pointed by the not-so-loyal opposition.
There is much at stake… National honor being primary. One would think that the losing teams (and their fans) had to return to fill out “hard time” in prison or something. There was a case of a goalie, who gave up an unfortunate goal, returned home to be murdered by an enthusiastic fan (if the killer was ever caught he probably would have gotten off… you know, a crime of passion… easy to accept).
So perhaps its understandable when a player is tripped on the field (which is surely a foul, if the defender didn’t touch the ball first), he will writhe in pain as if he had been struck by shrapnel from a claymore mine… the histrionics are for the benefit of the referee, perchance he didn’t see the foul, or if he did, to coax a “yellow card”, or even better, a “red card” from his pocket.
Of course this brings the partisans fans, of either side, to come to their feet to shout, hoot & threaten the opposition… and of course the “man with the whistle.”
I guess this obnoxious display is supposed to be exciting.
Forgive me… is this an athletic contest, or is someone auditioning for the Yale School of Drama?
As Zack has pointed out… a hitter in baseball gets drilled in the ribs with a 95mph fastball, or a wide receiver in football gets nailed chest high by a crossing 200lb safety… and these guys shake it off, not wanting the other side to think they have been hurt.
Still, there is no denying that soccer players have to be some of the best-conditioned athletes anywhere. And to see a well co-ordinated attacking team move the ball with crisp well placed passes — a midfielder deftly moving the ball thru a defender, then finding a streaking wing, putting the ball to his strong foot, in stride, as he is hitting the box, the wing then sending a laser shot to the far corner into the twine. Goal!!
Well… I guess that’s soccer at its best. And maybe you get it once in 90 minutes. Is it worth enduring the other 89 minutes? If the goal scorer is wearing a jersey that matches your face paint, I suppose so…
This is the World Cup… it happens once every four years (like the Olympics)… but unlike the Olympics which opens its competition to all Nations with fewer qualifications, the 32 contesting teams who have made it to soccer’s main stage warrant fan support.
Even for us Yanks. Even if we are below the premier level in the sport… it’s time to tune into the game when our team is involved. And the U.S. made this year’s party. Each team is assured of competing in 3 matches in the first round of play.
This year the American team faced off against the Czech Republic, Italy & Ghana. I was able to watch the first and third games over at my “second” Office (for those of you not in the know… that’s the Ash Creek Saloon).
There may have been other watering holes that attracted more of a soccer crowd… and afterall, the games were taking place during the day (two of them on “work days”) & not during the evening when fans can enjoy the camaraderie of following the fortunes of their favorite team, exchanging some insightful observations & downing a few brews.
But there, John, Ash and myself (aided by Sean for the Ghana match) cheered on the American team. Ash and John born & raised in Cape Town, had a background in the sport, although their sporting taste today is completely American… which is to say Football, Basketball & Baseball (in that order).
And when Reyna’s header hit the post in the match against the Czech’s we jumped up from our stools in anticipation of the goal. It was the closest the American’s got… a game where you had to wonder about the hype about how good we were.
I didn’t see the match against Italy.
The match against Ghana was disappointing. After the Yanks had tied it at one, the referee awarded a penalty kick to the Ghanaians… a call that was dubious to say the least & after the penalty kick was successful, the starch came out of our sails.
Sure… it would have been fun to see the U.S. advance into the next round. But I guess I am still of the mind that it was good to get to the tournament in the first place… and not advancing doesn’t sting the way getting beat in basketball or baseball does…
Aye, there is the rub. We are getting beat at our own games!
I think that for next World Cup it will be time for us to turn the tables on the world! Yeah, we’ll open a can of “whup ass” on the world. Brazil and the rest of them better watch out… the Yanks are coming!
p.s. By the by, the English refer to the soccer field as the “pitch”… and they also refer to an elevator as a “lift” and the hood of a car as a “bonnet”. And do they expect us to take them seriously when they have these funny names for stuff? I don’t think so!