Soccer, The Beautiful Game… Sort of
I am not even sure if we can call it a love-hate relationship. Soccer and I have known each other for a while and neither of us knows how it feels about the other. I am not sure if I am an actual fan while soccer has not looked my way for a whole lot of attention either.
I remember when we first met in summer of 1982 on our old 13 inch black and white TV. The Newfoundland summer had limited weather at best, the World Cup was on every day on CBC, and I watched a ton of it. I cheered for the West Germany’s and the near Golden Boot of Karl-Heinz Rummenigge but they ultimately lost to Paolo Rossi and the Italians. Soon after that my parents bought me a Nerf soccer ball and soon after that, hockey season started again. By the time the World Cup came around again in 1986, I had bigger fish to fry with puberty et al.
Ever since, I have cozied up to soccer on occasion. I have coached a few teams and played a few times. I have even gone out with friends to catch a game at a bar. In 2006, the day after my first wedding, I watched Zinedine Zidane headbutt an Italian defender; both of us would come to regret those decisions. Heck, I have even won bets based on my luck with the game. (Thank you Russia and 2000 Euro France) But in the end, I am always in opposition when people try to convince me that Football is the greatest sport in the world.
Argument 1
Them “But it is the World’s most popular sport…”
Me “Kim K. and Selena Gomez are the most popular celebrities in the world. Popularity obviously does not equate greatness.”
Argument 2
Them “Look how much they run…”
Me “So marathon running is the most impressive sport then?”
Argument 3
Me “How do you miss a net that big?”
Them “It is harder than it looks”
Argument 4
Me “Why do you need so many players?”
Them “Just shut up.”
Alcohol does not help.
But it is the beautiful game. Deep down, I know that the sport soccer is supposed to be can amaze like no other. Unfortunately, like many of the beautiful things in this world, we cannot allow them to remain so. Hooligans forget how to support their teams in a way that doesn’t seem ugly. Coaches rely on tactics that limit the game and stifle its potential. Players forget why they play and spend the whole game acting like they were shot or putting their palms up in the air like there is no way they could not have committed any type of infraction.
At it’s best, football is a sports orchestra. Players finding each other with precision and anticipation that should not exist at a human level. Passionate players spend 90+ minutes battling as hard as they can on a field while maintaining the integrity of the sport itself. Coaches calmly manning the sidelines know that they may play a role, but the game is won or lost by the players. Fans singing and cheering for they squad in a way that lifts their players beyond their known skill set.
We all have those fantastic ex’s. The ones who could make you feel as amazing as you have ever felt and just when you were about to recommit, could remind you what a toxic disaster your relationship had become. Yeah beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
But now to catch the second half of the English match.
