How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the World Cup
I’m not a soccer guy. At all. And nothing was going to move me.
About a month ago, a new pandemic swept through North America – World Cup Fever. I was not going to get it. But protecting myself and my loved ones would take diligence. My 5-year-old plays soccer. Several of my colleagues at the office were already showing symptoms. Matt is raising soccer wunderkinds. Sean coaches the game. Anna seems to know everything about it. Even Nikki (GASP!) smiled when the conversation turned.
Not me.
But. I mean. Bonding with the kid? Knowing what people are talking about at the office? OK, maybe I’ll try a game or two.
I even started working on a blog to share my soccer-skepticism to a broader audience. It was good. I was proud of it. I was working in the subtle digs about all of the things I didn’t like or understand about the game.
The complaining. The falling down. The pretending you got shot. The lack of scoring. The super weird and super-secret clock mechanics.
Then a funny thing happened. My social media feed was absolutely filled with people from other countries singing the praises of the U.S.A. Not our soccer team. Our country. Free refills. Texas BBQ. Safe streets. Open roads. Rental trucks that are big and drive fast. It kinda got to me a little bit.
If Europeans could swallow their pride and admit we’ve got something pretty awesome going over here, maybe I could swallow mine and try watching their stupid game for a minute or two.
I turn on Capo Verde against Spain. The Spaniards were, what, 7 goal favorites? And does that goalie have gray in his beard? What? He’s in his 40s?! WHAT A SAVE! WHAT ANOTHER SAVE! DUDE IS STANDING ON HIS HEAD!
Zero. Zero. And it was… thrilling. Exhilarating. Glorious.
I don’t want to say I was hooked, but for the last month if there’s a World Cup game being played it’s been on the TV or running in the background on the laptop. (Sorry, Matt.) Turns out it’s a little bit like the Olympics meets March Madness.
They got me.
When those guys get cleats in the back of their calves, it makes sense that they fall down and hold their legs. Ziah stepped on my foot once in his soccer cleats and it felt like I got shot, too.
I’ll go a step further here, though. The more I watched the more I realized… those guys playing dead on the field? Nobody else on the field really cares. Everyone else just keeps running around them. The play continues. Someone took a chunk out of your thigh? OK. Just lay there and die. The rest of us have a soccer game to finish.
That’s tough guy stuff. I like it.
The clock thing is still weird, but nobody on the field complains about it (much). They just keep running and when the referee blows his whistle they stop running. Everybody accepts the results and moves on. Except Egypt, and they haven’t mattered since 1967.
No complaining.
There’s one referee on the field. One. Can you imagine one referee in any American sport?
The game is about the athletes, not the officials.
Instant replay takes all of 15 seconds. Major League Baseball has proven this is possible, too, with the strike zone challenges this season. Learn from them, NFL.
It’s fast paced. And there are almost no commercials. Sweet.
I still don’t know why defenses don’t crash on ball carriers as soon as they approach the box thing in front of the goalie (to use those stupid “offsides” rules to make closer shots all but impossible) but I’m sure there’s a reason.
It feels like you really only need to know the names of one or two players on each team. That’s a bummer for everyone else. Are the rest of them really that unimportant and interchangeable? Why isn’t “extra time” sudden death? Can we all admit that goalies actually play zero real role in stopping penalty kicks?
See, I’m not completely bought in. You won’t find me channel surfing for the Premier League. I can admit it, though. I was wrong. This soccer stuff isn’t terrible.
World Cup in 2030? Count me in, I guess.