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June 28 O Podaspheria, Where Art Thou?I've had difficulties summoning the soccer muse for the past few days. She's as proud and flighty as her better-known sisters: dancers owe their grace to Terpsichore's blessing, Erato gives voice to love-struck poets, and my favorite, Clio, inspires those who wish to record and understand the past. Muses, of course, are often lamented for their absence. Artists of all sorts tend to blame their fickle nature for their own lapses in creativity.
Many of you may be aware that the giant athletic equipment company Nike is named for the Greek goddess of victory. You may rightly wonder why football gets its own special Muse. After all, can't the victory goddess reign over the most important aspect of the beautiful game--success on the field of play? Let me see if I can explain Podaspheria's--sorry, that's her name--rather amorphous and complex role both on and off the pitch.
First of all, there's a bit of Aphrodite (the Greek goddess of love), in Podaspheria. Unlike Nike, bringing about victory on the pitch is not her sole concern. This explains why the intense passion of soccer fans worldwide is not merely the result of having the good fortune to be born in a country that fields a strong team. Yes, yes, of course it is true that Brazilian fans are blessed with a winning team that plays with magic in its boots--but look at the devoted supporters of Ghana, Trinidad & Tobago, or Cote d'Ivoire. These were all sides for whom success at the World Cup was defined as leaving Germany with at least one point in group play, yet the citizens of those nations poured their hearts out cheering them on. It is obvious that the Ghana team found favor with Podaspheria!
It is rumored that Podaspheria has been greatly influenced by her sister Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom. You may have learned in school that Athena sprang from her father's--that would be Zeus's--head, fully-grown. Her scholarly influence on Podispheria is the reason why writers from all over the globe feel compelled to spill ink in sometimes tortured scrutiny of practically everything related to football. Indeed, according to a recent article by Slate's Bryan Curtis entitled "Among the Brainiacs," there is now such a person as a soccer intellectual! (Thanks to Josh over at throughball.com for bringing this to my attention). Football supporters never tire of engaging in earnest inquiry into the source of the game's artistry and worldwide appeal.
It is important to remember that Athena wasn't just a brainiac goddess--she also ruled the battlefield. That may have something to do with the game's amazingly universal appeal among ruffians and consequently the many tiresome "football as war" analogies, to which I will not add.
Podaspheria, like her dear sister Thalia (the Muse of comedy), is not at all the serious sort--her sly sense of humor has given us the well-known practice of diving. She finds it hilarious that referees continue to be conned by the anguished writhing that follows a tackle so slight that it wouldn't take down the average eleven-year-old girl. Of course, the resulting fouls, penalties, and cards both red & yellow demonstrate that our soccer Muse understands the role of tragedy, which is usually the bailiwick of her sister Melpomene, the singing Muse. Come to think of it, maybe that's why soccer supporters worldwide join together in singing during matches! Perhaps it's Podaspheria inspiring them to celebrate the game's drama and beauty, and band together to stand firm against its tragedies--as when Liverpool supporters raise their voices in their signature anthem You'll Never Walk Alone.
I suppose that Podaspheria has been too busy overseeing the events in Germany to have time to visit me. I haven't been able to find the words to describe what's been happening on those far-off pitches, all of them witness to a fair share of blood, sweat, and tears. There was both adoration and tragedy in the France-Spain game yesterday and the Brazilians played with their trademark joie de vivre when they defeated the valiant Ghanans. But Arjen Robben's clever elegance was tragically wasted in another match that was given over to cynicism and anger. And England plodded along until Podaspheria sprinkled her own equivalent of fairy dust on one of David Beckham's fabled boots. I'm hard pressed to remember anything else about that game--except for an odd moment that saw Wayne Rooney crashing through two Ecuadoran defenders, rugby-style. The Mexican side stood its ground against mighty Argentina, and left Germany with its collective head held high. No one ought to feel shame when a loss results from an undefendable strike such as Maxi Rodriguez's.
Beneath the waving flags, the fans sang, beat drums, shouted, laughed and cried.
I am glad that Podaspheria has no time for me. I hope instead that she's too busy brainstorming with her sisters, imagining more special moments for the final eight games in the 2006 World Cup.
June 25 Joga Bonito, Chicago StyleMany thanks to Siobhan for helping me to fix up my banner. Doesn't it look muito bonito now that it's centered? Is that proper Portuguese, Fabiola?
Another area where I'm not so much technologically impaired as lazy has to do with digital cameras. Or any cameras, come to think of it. I just returned from the quasi-inaugural game at Toyota Park, the gorgeous new soccer-specific home of the Chicago Fire. And though the game was played in front of a sellout crowd of over 20,000, and the Fire won the game, and the pitch was a lush, deep green and I had a panoramic view of the Barnburners--MLS' top fans--outdoing themselves as they welcomed the Fire home...I have no pictures.
I have a digital camera, but it's rather clunky. I don't find its features to be very user-friendly (it was a gift), so consequently the pictures I get out of it aren't worth the trouble of lugging it around.
I should admit that I forgot to bring a camera the first time I went to Disney World.
So a combination of laziness and forgetfulness means that the notion of borrowing The Girl's extremely portable and capable new Canon never occurred to me until we arrived at the game. Our next game is July 4 and I will have pictures then. Promise.
I am pleased to report that the stadium was populated with the usual suspects: soccer moms & dads, children and teenagers dressed in their team shirts, a sprinkling of supporters wearing the shirts & scarves of their favorite European, Mexican, or South American clubs. The Guy wore his Manchester United #10 in full support of Ruud van Nistelrooy, who was inexplicably omitted from Holland's lineup in today's loss to Portugal. (Gee, Marco van Basten, I guess you showed Ruud a thing or two. Satisfied)? For the most part, though, the stadium burned with the Fire's dominant color: red.
I would like to mention that on a quiet Friday evening at a nearby outdoor mall, I saw an Ireland shirt and a couple of Brazil shirts. And they were on the backs of a boy and two young men, respectively. Last night at our local pub, Quigley's, I noticed an England shirt and what I think was a Barcelona shirt--but it was a bit dark and I wasn't sure.
So there, all you naysayers. Our numbers may be small in absolute and relative terms, but they're not imaginary. They will continue to rise. Young and old--men & women--people who have played the game, who grew to love it when they lived abroad, who became mesmerized while watching the top European clubs on Fox Soccer Channel, who faithfully support their local MLS side--they are all threads in the motley fabric that constitutes soccer's small but exuberant following in America. June 24 Orb di Calcio, futball, fussball, football...and soccerI was shocked and delighted to discover that a visitor to this site had used Babelfish to translate it into Italian. It became Orb di Calcio and a phrase that I had used to describe my personal football fever--a beautiful disease --was transformed into the much more melodic una mallatia bella. It's so lovely that I'm going to keep the translated page bookmarked so I can look at it again and again...
In case you're still out there, signor, signora, or signorina, I would like to offer you my most sincere apologies. My entry of June 19, written under the influence of the high emotion that was inspired by the US-Italy match, included some unflattering commentary regarding the Italian team. In fact, I sometimes enjoy watching calcio on Fox Soccer Channel, I have twice visited Italy and I think that gelato blows away American ice cream, especially crema, amarena, and stracciatella. My daughter (sometimes we write her name as Giulia Caterina), has long owned an azzurri t-shirt emblazoned with Allessandro del Piero's name and #7. (I don't understand why she likes him, as I'm convinced he wears eye-liner and mascara). In fact, the only bad thing that I can say about Italy is that I have noticed that the number of dives (flops, if you will) on the Italian side exceeds the overall average in the World Cup. I am not, of course, alone in reaching this conclusion.
I would never, ever make overreaching generalizations about Italy's national character because I find that aspect of their football to be unsporting. I wouldn't do it about any other nation, either. I'm not making these disclaimers because I fear an Italian flame campaign on this insignifcant little blog, as I could hardly be so fortunate to generate that much interest. It's because I have a genuine curiosity about the rest of the world and I try to be fair-minded. I simply don't hate the part of the planet that lies outside US borders. It is my fervant wish that any Italians who happened upon that postgame post will understand that any expression of negativity toward their country was entirely limited to the azzurris' diving.
I will plead guilty to an exception: Saudi Arabia. As a female, I feel a deep-rooted contempt and revulsion for its culture and traditions. I'm pleased when its football team gets thumped. This is no doubt unfair to the players. Then again, are their wives forbidden to drive or to reveal their faces in public? So I am not entirely fair-minded. Sorry.
Since the US team went down to Ghana the other day, I've had a hard time coming up with any sort of original post. Everyone's calling for Bruce Arena's head and I'll add my voice to that chorus. Other than that, I don't have a single thought or emotion about the USMNT that hasn't rattled around in my head or heart one too many times already. And today I am thoroughly tired of reading or thinking about any aspect of "American exceptionalism" with regard to its (non)-relationship with soccer. Anyone who is reading this blog knows all too well that most Americans are disinterested in the World Cup. So what? There are millions who do care about it with a passion that's typical of recent converts. The usual combination of stiff competition, coaching errors, weak play and mysterious refereeing sank the US team--as it will a number of other teams in the tournament. Case closed.
I believe I'll sit back and enjoy the rest of the tournament. Germany looked quite strong this morning, don't you think?
June 22 Booze Cruise!Wow--it's Thursday night and NBC has inadvertantly provided the perfect antidote to my soccer-related malaise:
Two episodes of The Office.
Even better, one of them is the "Booze Cruise" episode, which I missed the first time it was aired.
Plus, I just remembered that Wimbledon--a gift bestowed by the sporting gods--starts on Monday.
Who says you need Ben & Jerry to help you drown your sorrows?
Plus, my teams are doing rather well in the World Cup office pool...
Cheers!
Judgment at NurembergI am rarely willing to admit when I don't understand something.
I want to figure everything out for myself. The practical import of this character flaw means that I will not ask questions: not in a classroom, not from my husband when I'm struggling with a crossword puzzle*, and never, ever, ever will I stop and ask for directions.**
*If the clue has something to do with an obscure sport, like baseball, then I will ask him.
**Yes, I really am a woman. (I'm not at all like Cal in that tremendous novel, Middlesex. Do read it, if you're in the mood to try some different entertainment).
Today, however, I am puzzled. I have two burning questions to ask. Go ahead and shoot me down for being stupid. Who cares at this point?
Why would a strategist want, say, one striker up front--instead of two--when only a win will advance his team in a tournament (any tournament, not just the biggest one on the planet)? It seems that I just don't get 4-5-1.
If, say, your team was down by a goal and only a win will do the trick, why would you wait fifteen minutes into the final half to bring on another (dangerous) striker?
This last question doesn't matter, as it was not within the US team's control. Is there one of you among my multitude of readers who believes that Onyewu committed a foul and the resulting penalty was justified?
The 2006 World Cup is over for the US. It's hard not to view it as a total debacle right now, but in an effort to not sound too much like Eeyore, I'll try to look on the bright side of life.
The US fan support in Germany was tremendous, by all accounts.
The DaMarcus-Dempsey goal was beautiful.
We got our first point ever on European soil in the Italy game.
That's about all I can come up with at the moment. My hopes for an interesting World Cup now rest on the performances of my other two favorites: England and Holland. To be honest, it's easier to enjoy matches when you're not as emotionally involved in their outcome.
And congratulations to Ghana for advancing to the second round. Too bad it came at our expense.
June 20 Jazza, Where Are You?A Beautiful Disease
Here's a line from Pete Davies' Twenty-Two Foreigners in Funny Shorts that frequently pops into my head:
Once soccer gets a hold it's like a disease.
Davies attributes the quote to a college student whom he met while traveling through the US conducting research for his book, which was timed to coincide with the 1994 World Cup. My better half (better three-quarters, actually), had long urged me to read Davies' book, but I took my sweet time. Conversion to soccer fanaticism was a slow process for me.
I am struck by a sudden ephiphany: soccer was Elizabeth Bennet (you blokes will know her as the character portrayed by the magnificent Keira Knightley in Pride & Prejudice), and I was Mr. Darcy. And everybody knows who he is.
By that I mean that I didn't recognize soccer's charm and superior qualities at our first introduction. I was dimly aware that I should like it, because the rest of the world is obsessed with it and I am, well, obsessed with the rest of the world. And soccer was the only sport that I ever enjoyed playing as a teenager, although admittedly that was before I first felt the delight of wrapping my hand around a tennis racket.
When I attended a Chelsea match at Stamford Bridge I was more interested in the fact that The Girl and I appeared to be the only two people in the stadium in possession of two X chromosomes than I was in the progress of play on the field. I do remember that Chelsea defeated Everton two-nil on two goals by pint-sized Gianfranco--or is it Giancarlo--Zola. Cigarette smoke wafted through the oddly glum crowd on that November evening, adding to the sense that I'd landed in alien territory. At the end of the evening we marched off to the Tube, where I grasped The Girl's hand tightly, crushed among a group of glaring supporters whose physiques betrayed a taste for pies. I was in England for nearly six months and that evening represented my entire exposure to the sport. On the weekends I wanted to, you know, go to museums and old houses and stuff.
Slowly, my indifference was transformed into something that Miss Austen would have called ardent admiration. It took a combination of the England team's dramatic World Cup debacle in 1998 and ESPN2's generous coverage of Manchester United's successful Champions League run in 1999 to elevate my interest into the stratosphere. There were lots of Chicago Fire games (and more to come in their new soccer-only stadium beginning Sunday)!
I suddenly recall that this household had no Fox Sports Channel (now Fox Soccer Channel), until 2000. I am all astonishment!
This fond reminiscence floated into my mind as I anticipated today's England-Sweden game. Jazza was one of The Guy's coworkers in his London office. She's the only other woman I've ever heard of who liked both soccer/football and Jane Austen. No doubt there are other such women in the world, but they are thin on the ground in these parts. I realize yet again how much fun it would be to share my diseased ramblings about all things soccer with another female. Even if she is an Arsenal fan.
June 19 The future of Team USA: La dolce vitaAfter a day and half to stew about Saturday's Italy-USA game, I'm still unable to erase its emotional aspect and think about it in objective terms. Come to think of it, why should I want to focus on the sober black and white of the final scoreline? Maybe the true significance of the 1-1 draw lies in the equal parts anger, indignation, pride, and elation that it generated. And not just for me. I've yet to see anything about TV ratings, but I have to believe that even the most marginal US soccer fan who watched the game was surely drawn into its intensity. Will the Italy-USA World Cup match of June 17, 2006 represent a turning point in America's conflicted attitude toward the beautiful game? I believe it will.
Me, I'm in conflict about the Italian side. It stirs up that green-eyed monster that lives deep inside even the best of us. Why? Their players don't have to fight for respect. They swagger onto the field with an unquestioned arrogance. All products of the Serie A, they never need to leave their homeland, much less continent, to ply their trade. No one questions their right to take the field at a World Cup match.
But I do feel contempt for the Italians. How could a reasonable person fail to see through such theatrics? They dive. The refs buy it. Sometimes I wonder how I can care about a sport where teams not only get away with these antics, they thrive. Why does the football world tolerate the way the Italians (or anyone who dives), sully the sport? Instead they reveal their small-mindedness by speciously condemning Americans for referring to the game as soccer instead of football.
The game reminded me of a four-hour macro theory exam that I took once. I was well-prepared and my course grade depended heavily on the exam result. Each answer involved a lot of work to slog through and I needed every bit of time. But I learned something during that tension-filled exam (don't ask me what that was as, in the words of a favorite prof, I try not to clutter my mind with macro theory too often). By that I mean that there were some answers that I didn't know that I knew until I was forced to prove that I knew them. So what does that have to do with the game? Our team strode onto a European field, in the worldwide theater of the World Cup finals, facing a traditional football power, the object of derision to the sport's pundits and unloved by many around the world. And we played with a skill and determination that every fair-minded observer must acknowledge. How delicious that the Americans proved their worth at the World Cup, because they did not waste that moment. This is what I think the American team learned during its "exam" against Italy: that it can make the best of those precious chances that come around so rarely. For that reason, the game's importance transcends the final score, a fact that should make all American soccer fans wildly happy.
Will the rest of the world give us credit for that match? Some will, but others won't. Even The London Times couldn't resist the temptation to produce a sneering piece filled with phony horror at the "brutishness" of a match that it labeled an "atrocity." The English revel in irony, which must be why the premier newspaper in a nation so instrumental in associating soccer with boorish behavior could print an article titled The Beautiful Game Turns Ugly. (I write this, mind you, with the perspective of a lifelong Anglophile).
As to the title of this piece, I don't mean to imply that the American team can now look forward to a sweet, obstacle-free existence. Ghana will be very difficult to beat, as shown by their spirited and skilled performance against the Czechs. But if the team steps onto the pitch with the same presence and confidence that it did last Saturday, then it will have taken a giant step toward establishing an honored place in the hearts and minds of the American sporting public.
June 17 I'm as cold as ice...Can't write a thing. Have to pull myself together so that I can be civil at a social gathering this evening.
I think I could consume a full pint right now.
I will say that this game is proof that we do belong on the same soil with the big powers (much as the 3-2 victory over Portugal did in 2002). Ole Ole!! And the bad news is....We play them on Thursday.
Best game of the Cup so far: Czech Republic v. Ghana. THERE IS A GOD AFTER ALL!!Ghana scores in the second minute.
If only they didn't have to play eighty-eight more. June 16 Fan Types in the USSubmitted by Steve: Franklin Foer and others have commented about how American soccer fans are a distinct sub-species in the world. For one thing, there are very few of us interested in the type of sectarian jihad that Rangers and Celtic represent. Political divides are not a basis for our support either. Nor are we known for our disaffected warrior class always looking for trouble. Informal surveys have uncovered plenty of different fan types that do exist in the US, though. Here is a simple breakdown based on our observations.
1. Soccer Moms – Actually, this demographic that was deemed to be so important in past elections has very little to do with soccer itself. Still, even if soccer is only meant to typify the myriad of activities that suburban kids find themselves programmed to do, it’s important that sport is getting its fair share. Viewership in the US is way up for this World Cup in no small part because so many young people have grown up with it. For their own part, Soccer Moms seem knowledgeable enough about the game to understand why little Jamie is happy or sad at the end of a game. They probably know about Pele, too, after seeing his name in crossword puzzles.
2. Assistant Coach Dads – These are guys who in all likelihood never played the game, but who want to be involved in their kids’ activities. To their credit, they usually care enough to check books out of the library that at least acquaint them with push passes and trapping. They probably even know that Brazil plays better than their charges do, even if they can’t quite pinpoint in what ways. Inexperienced moms can be coaches, too, and often become better students of the game than dads do since they may feel they have more to prove. Outside the lowest level rec leagues, these coaches are a dying breed. More and more coaches have played before, and the experience really helps our youth development programs.
3. Cup-conscious coffee machine mavens – There are casual fans who will follow any big event they hear about at the office because they want to be in on any leisurely bonding that such chatter entails. They may have very little inherent interest, but when they hear Michelle ask Kevin if he saw Reyna’s near miss or Gooch’s stare-down, they’re curious enough to want in on the conversation. All sports have fans like this. They’ll even buy tickets to games on occasion if they think there’s any mileage they can get out of it the next day among true fans.
4. Pint drinkers – The image of loud, boisterous fans who lubricate their vocal cords at the pub before the game can be an appealing one if you’re looking for spirited conviviality. Ultras who sit in the special cheering sections often qualify. Many ex-pats from prominent soccer nations would count themselves among the imbibing ranks, too. They may bring some of their favorite traditions stateside with them, including a good quaff. It’s almost always under control over here, though, with very little talk of maiming rival tribes.
5. Cutting edge elitists – This is a difficult group to characterize precisely. They like to be in early on something that is trending up, yet they also like that the lowest common denominators are not attracted. The elitist label is probably too pejorative, though. As a group, they’re more open-minded, progressive, and predisposed to different cultures than most. Soccer, to them, is part of an enlightened, global perspective. Franklin Foer has more intelligent things to say about this group in the last chapter of his book.
6. Polysports – We all know the type – they’re conversant in any sport that’s covered. If the Olympics are on, they follow along intently. If it’s Tour de France, Wimbledon, or the Masters, they can tell you all about it. They’re soccer fans during the World Cup and have such high sports IQs in general that they could almost pass for full-fledged fans. The offside rule makes sense to them once it’s explained. They can remember past stars and winning teams, too. We have hope that soccer can take a larger part in the portfolio of this kind of fan’s interests. Champion’s League, MLS finals, or Euro 2008 may be the next step for them as their taste for the world’s favorite sport broadens.
7. Cultural cognoscenti – Intellectuals in and out of the classroom are always looking for metaphors and deeper meaning, it seems. Soccer attracts more than its share of this analysis because it is such a driving force in the world today. Sociologists talk about national sentiment, economists talk about market impacts, and writers find lyrical subtext all tied to soccer. These are often eggheads who like to show everyone that they’ve got a fun side, too. Their insights into the world, seen through soccer, can be very interesting when not completely obscured by academic rigor.
8. Crusaders – We must pity the poor crusader who thinks that the sports conservatives* in America will change their minds about soccer if only they could see a few good examples. How many of us have heard the clichés about 0-0 draws and lack of genuine excitement. The more we try to make them see the light, the more they dig in their heels to resist. It’s almost a sport with these detractors – let’s see how mad I can get the proselytizer by talking about how boring it all is. Pride in close-mindedness can be very real, and even self-perpetuating if the crusader takes the bait. It’s probably best not to bother with them. Let the mainstream pass them by as they programmatically root for 350 pound “athletes” of their choice to hold the line.
9. Total fans – Oh how we love the total fans – the ones who can’t get enough of the game. No matter how many articles written, how many games featured, how many conversations entered, or how many entries posted, the total fan is ready for more. It’s not just the aesthetics of the game or the culture or the lore; it’s everything about it. Even if the total fan can’t sustain the high level of interest forever (maybe they’ll eventually fast-forward through the Division 2 matches on FSC until a goal is scored), it is still great having a critical mass of them around, even if slightly jaded. They (we) are a growing minority, too, it seems.
If you don’t see yourself anywhere within this taxonomy, please let us know. We’d like to complete the set to offer a better understanding of ourselves. It seems the prognosis is good. More Americans now consider themselves fans, and the intensity of those who already are seems to be growing.
* Some may say “sports reactionaries” June 15 Terry saves the day; Crouch stands tall; Gerrard's aim is trueMarcelo Balboa, just after the final whistle: "I'm not impressed with England at all."
Two superb goals by Peter Crouch and Stephen Gerrard in the waning moments of the game are indeed impressive, in my opinion.
And now Eric Wynalda says that England "won ugly." Julie Foudy jumps on the bandwagon by chiming in about England's sup-par performance.
Why am I less critical of England? (I will insist that it is not because I've been an anglophile since the age of seven, that I am the only female--except for The Girl--Manchester United fan in this fair city, or that I live for those live EPL broadcasts each Saturday morning during the season).
It is because I recall that Trinidad & Tobago held steadfast against a fierce onslaught by the Swedes. That their defenders managed to hold England scoreless until the 83rd minute is more of a testament to their abilities than it is to an overall poor effort by the English. Yes, there were missed opportunities by Crouch, Gerrard, Lampard, and Owen; their finishing could have been much better. Yet the team did not go away. Beckham launched a picture-perfect cross to Crouch, who rose to the occasion and broke Shaka's spell. Then Gerrard, undiscouraged by a handful of bad misses, found the goal with a bullet-like shot to secure victory for England.
Interruption: Wynalda just said that Gerrard had "one chance." Huh? That Gerrard and Lampard should "switch positions." Say what?
I believe that I'll be listening to the Spanish-language station for the Sweden-Paraguay game. And I don't speak Spanish.
The lasting impression of this game has little to do with what happened on the pitch. I'm reminded instead of the absurdity of employing announcers who feel the need to overstate the significance of every play, to overanalyze each failed effort to score, to speak simply to fill the airwaves.
And so I will follow my own advice and say no more. Thoughts less sweet than a Caribbean breeze...I join you in the eleventh minute, as Beckham goes to take a corner...
Apparently T & T football authorities believe that a barrel of rum is necessary to incent the Soca Warriors. That's their reward for a victory over England today.
Terrific cross from Joe Cole to Crouch, whose long ghostly leg didn't quite connect with it at the post.
Not too much possession by T & T, but then another draw will only bring more glory, won't it?
Can Becks bend this one in?
Nope. It's a weak effort into the wall.
Another yellow for T & T (Wickley), as Gerrard was taken down. He then fired a shot i nto the crowd, but fortunately the ref blew it dead. The second chance was no more productive: Becks put it on Crouch's head, and it sailed far over the goal.
Balboa appears to have adopted the hypercritical attitude of the British press...England are controlling, but nothing is good enough. I have to say that I was mystified by the harsh commentary leveled in England's direction after their flat effort against Paraguay. The team did manage to walk away with a 1-0 victory. Is there no glory in winning, even though your game is far less than its best? There's something to be said for living to play another day. For sure another goal against Paraguay was greatly desired, as goal difference is critical in group play. But it's secondary to securing the victory.
Balboa is talking about pulling Crouch already? In the 24th minute? To put in someone who can get in behind the defenders? This is a perfect example of an unskilled announcer who feels that he must say something, must offer an opinion, must justify the salary with which he is being rewarded by ESPN.
Gerrard's performance in the FA Cup final apparently inflated his confidence in his long shot. How many has he sent into the stands in this tournament?
Yorke's perfectly placed cross to Stern John after the short corner was indeed chilling, but how could Balboa be taken seriously when he says that T & T have looked more dangerous than England? "Nothing is going right," he states, and "England is not playing well at all." How long has it been since Balboa watched a football game?
I believe that Balboa has fully bought into the American notion that soccer goals must be as numerous as basketball goals. Can it be true that he once played this game?
Better than even chances that we'll see Rooney, given the desperation for a goal.
Ouch. Crouch. All by his lonesome in front of the net.
JOHN TERRY!? Who made that save?? Yes, it was him. Awesome effort by the only Chelsea player who makes my fave list. His half-closed eyes give him the look of an aged punk-rocker, but on the field he's the fiercest representative of the three lions.
Balboa, just prior to the second half: "England looks like a bunch of players just happy to kick it around."
I'm gobsmacked.
June 13 Will Americans ever love soccer? Not a problem...The urgent call came at midday. A friend was out of town and had planned to watch Monday's game live from her hotel room. But her plans had changed suddenly and she needed my help. Could I please tape the game for her?
How gratifying to it was to help out a loyal American supporter desperate to see the US take the field against the Czechs. Not quite...
My young friend was concerned that she would miss the Italy-Ghana match, in no small part because of the charms of Luca Toni, 6'4" star striker from Fiorentina. She, her mother and her aunt are unapologetically supporting Italy. In fact, their avid interest in the 2002 World Cup evaporated after the Italians were eliminated. And, ahem, it's not just because they are of Italian descent.
May I advance a modest proposal to the good people at US Soccer? Remember how male interest in attending women's tennis matches was ignited when the lovely, if somewhat uncompetitive, Anna Kournakova appeared in a tournament? Perhaps the female segment of the US population would get on board with soccer if a couple of spots on the US Men's team were reserved for players whose presence "dressed up" the field--or the bench.
Please don't dismiss me as just another wild-eyed fanatic who has run out of ideas to get Americans interested in football. Remember those old films of frenzied American girls screaming and crying with joy when the Beatles made their first trip to the US? (I see this occasionally at my gym, where they show a video of I Wanna Hold Your Hand). All that talk about how red-blooded Americans won't accept anything foreign is just plain bunk! Way back in 1963, when most Americans shuddered at the thought of sitting behind the wheel of a foreign car or allowing even Molson beer to pass between their lips, we embraced the Beatles and a whole host of British rock artists. British invasion? We welcomed them with open arms!
Let me get back to my point, which is the need for a more intelligent approach to marketing the game. I have seen firsthand evidence that American women who are otherwise disinterested in all sports will embrace soccer--even foreign soccer--if they are given a good reason to do so. Why not set aside a couple of spots on each MLS team, and the US Men's National Team, for "public relations" purposes? Think about it. This is how Hollywood does business. Remember the film Pearl Harbor? I didn't think so. It was a real stinker that, in the words of one relative, "almost had me rooting for the Japanese." Of course, that was my brother talking. My daughter and all her little friends waited in line to see it because it starred Ben Affleck and Josh Hartnett.
It is true that Brad Pitt is kind of old and pre-occupied these days, but he seems like a patriotic fellow. Maybe he could be persuaded to pull on the shirt of the USMNT and take a seat on the bench at a few exhibition games. And George Clooney has proven himself to be an internationally-minded guy who is willing to take chances with his career. He owns an Italian villa so surely he's familiar with the beautiful game.
The American media are constantly yammering about the relative Super Bowl--World Cup viewing statistics as proof that Americans don't care about soccer. Well, I know perfectly well that a lot of the Super Bowl "viewers" are women and they couldn't care less about the game. Everybody knows that Super Bowl parties are thinly-disguised vehicles for trying out new nacho dip recipes. Trust me--our women will drop American football like yesterday's news once they catch a glimpse of the well-marketed "p.r. player" representing our soccer team.
Ah, one more thing. Jan Koller look-a-likes need not apply.
June 12 Always Look on the Bright Side of Lifewords and music by Eric Idle Some things in life are bad
If life seems jolly rotten
For life is quite absurd
Life's a piece of shit
Small Country, Big PassionMy recently acquired knowledge about Trinidad & Tobago:
1. With a population of only 1.3 million, it's the smallest nation to ever qualify for the World Cup finals.
2. Keeper Shaka Hislop, who had the game of his life against Sweden, is a graduate of Howard University, where he earned a degree in mechanical engineering. I do suspect that his career as a goalkeeper for West Ham United in the English Premier League has been a tad more glamorous than that of an engineer. (My apologies to all the engineers among my readership).
3. Their nickname, Soca Warriors, refers to soca music. According to Wikipedia, this style is a blend of the rhythms and melodies of calypso and Indian music. I was surprised to learn that the song Hot Hot Hot is a well-known example of soca. Remember when the credits are rolling at the end of Bend it Like Beckham and the cast members are featured singing and dancing around to a delightful, Indian-influenced version of this song? Who wouldn't be inspired by all that energy?
4. T & T citizens are known as Trinbagonians.
5. Christopher Columbus himself laid eyes on Trinidad in 1498, according to my copy of The World Almanac (2004). This led to a 300-year stint as a Spanish colony which was then followed by a long period under British rule.
6. I really don't want to make this entry seem too much like something from a history book, but I would like to be fair to Tobago, the smaller of the two Caribbean islands. There were Dutch, French, and English settlements on Tobago. It was held by the Brits for 160 years before becoming independent, along with Trinidad, in 1962.
7. An Englishman called John Lee Lum discovered oil in Trinidad around 1900. This means that at least some Trinbagonians are not displeased by $70/barrel crude oil.
8. Trinidad lies only seven miles from the Venezuelan coast. Or is it thirteen miles, as another source states? No matter--it's closer than I had thought!
9. The country's ethnic composition is described by the CIA World Factbook as follows: Indian (South Asian) 40%; African 37.5%; mixed 20.5%; other & unspecified 2%. As in the United States, those of African heritage are the descendants of enslaved people who were brought to the islands to toil on (sugar) plantations. When slavery was abolished in 1834, East Indians and Chinese came to the island to work as indentured servants.
10. As befits a land that has developed from such diverse influences, Trinidad and Tobago has a long history of celebrating Carnival (aka Mardi Gras), in a style that's all its own.
11. Because I like to end my lists at eleven and on a sweet note, here's a recipe for Toolum. According to cookbook authors Dave DeWitt and Mary Jane Wilan, it is a traditional sweet that's popular in T & T. I haven't tried it, but how bad could anything that's so sugary be? (Apologies to those whose interests don't include cooking and, more importantly, sampling dessert).
What did I know about T & T before Saturday? I knew that it was comprised of two islands, situated in the Caribbean. I knew that it was the native land of Dwight Yorke (former striker for Manchester United), and Ato Boldon (world-class sprinter and Olympic medalist). Many thanks to its football team, the Soca Warriors, for providing such excitement in its upset draw with Sweden in its very first World Cup game.
Why do I love the beautiful game? Because it offers another window from which to catch a glimpse of a very big, beautiful world. June 10 Go Soca Warriors!!!Is anyone else supporting T & T here? That was an exciting first half and and I'm hoping that somehow they're able to pull off an upset of Sweden. And that's not just because I want England to finish first in their group--and it's not because I have T & T in the office pool! June 08 Some Thoughts on Fairy Godmothers and Soccer Moms on the Eve of the CupIf you have time to add a little reading to your entertainment plans during the coming month, I have a recommendation: Eduardo Galeano's Soccer in Sun and Shadow. Although I am only a quarter of the way into it, it's clear that the author's unhurried and poetic way of depicting the soul in the story of soccer is something special. Galeano's language resurrects long-dead South American heroes, with much affection reserved for those from his native Uruguay. Was there really magic in their feet, or was the beauty of those wonder goals embellished by the writer's imagination? It doesn't matter. Read it and be reminded of the joyful allure of a simple game long before the players grew to larger-than-life dimensions on the world stage.
In one vignette, Galeano describes soccer's role as a ladder to escape from abject poverty. "The ball is the only fairy godmother he can believe in. Maybe she will feed him, maybe she will make him a hero, maybe even a god."
I couldn't shake that metaphor from my thoughts last night.
According to the U.S. Soccer website, all but six of the twenty-three national team members in Germany attended college. This would come as a surprise only to anyone who forgot the raison d'etre of the soccer mom. And that is to manage the extracurricular activities of her offspring, her eyes kept squarely on the prize: building a quality resume to boost Junior's chances of admission to a good university. An offer of an athletic "scholarship" is icing on the cake. Club fees and expenses even for average "traveling" soccer clubs demand an investment of at least $1000 per year and elite teams that offer more training and advanced competition cost even more. It takes, you see, much more than a makeshift spherical object and a bit of open space to create an American soccer player.
It is true that those players who exhibit tremendous talent at a young age bypass the university route and accept professional contracts as teenagers. Landon Donovan, Bobby Convey, DaMarcus Beasley, and Jonathan Spector come to mind. Yet these talented players are the exception and not the rule because most Americans are loathe to let go of the dream of higher education.
Much ink has been spilled recently in the search for answers as to why Americans remain, at best, standoffish about soccer. Deeply entangled in this indifference is the related issue of the national team's performance. It's a chicken-egg question to which no one has the definitive answer: do Americans dislike soccer because we've never come close to winning the World Cup, or have our teams underperformed because of national disinterest?
Maybe all that is beside the point. I began to wonder if Americans would ever be able to compete against players for whom the game is, quite simply, their only means of breaking free from the confines of the economic and social castes into which they were born. The soccer mom is always there to comfort her child and help him (or her) navigate through life well into adulthood. But does she--and the comfortable world of which she is merely a representative--rob those young players of an essential ingredient in the recipe for creating truly great competitors--hunger?
June 06 Was I Dreaming?A reverie from an otherworldly Cup...
We had bought tickets at practically the first moment that they had become available, but our seats were far from the best in the house. From my vantage point in a mid-level corner of the storied lakefront stadium, every seat was filled. The mood in the packed house was celebratory. Laughing supporters waved flags, unfurled banners, and cavorted in the hot afternoon sun before the opening whistle. It seemed that every other one of them was wearing the shirt of the player who had become the face of the U.S. national team.
The game didn't progress as scripted. The visiting side scored first, causing an indignant tremor to ripple through the crowd. Even I, always aware of the mercurial changes of fortune that can be visited upon any competitor in any sporting arena, was surprised. How could our team stumble in the face of such support? The pundits and analysts had practically guaranteed our victory in this match. Was it possible that our side was overrated?
Not a chance. A torrent of unanswered goals followed and joyful cheers could be heard up and down the lakefront. I pitied our friendless opponents as they continued to fight as the ninetieth minute approached. They could never dream of such support in their own homeland.
The next weeks of the tournament flew by, as they often do. The Americans continued to win, but I followed these events from afar, and with somewhat less interest. The prospect of a full summer month in London ironically dislodged most football thoughts from my mind. All the practical details of the sojourn—packing, the long journey, the new daily routine, a visit to Wimbledon—consumed the first days in England.
The U.S. advanced to the final game.
And somehow, in the country that had given birth to the sport, the championship game of the World Cup wasn't scheduled to be televised on one of the channels available in the flat. In fact, the game would be telecast on a somewhat obscure all-sport station. Inquiries at neighborhood pubs were answered with a bemused shake of the head—none of them carried this station. The solution? We’d wanted to take a weekend trip out of town anyway, so we booked a room in a small, well-appointed Oxford hotel whose promised cable TV lineup included the channel on which the game would be televised.
But disappointment dogged us. Not because our national team lost the Cup (the game ended in a draw, but the US won on penalties), but because the game was never televised after all. Our anxious inquiries were answered politely enough by the staff. Did I only imagine their restrained amusement, or was it real? Why are these Yanks so interested in a football game? Even the newspaper reports that appeared in the following days were scornful, hinting that the behavior of the American players was suspect (the keeper's actions during the shootout violated FIFA rules and the motives behind one player's celebrations were mercenary). A sour-toned London Times description of the football-mad crowd at the final match still rankles to this day: the writer described tens of thousands of frenzied Americans filled with such patriotic fervor that they seemed ready to “invade a small country.” Was that really necessary?
It hardly seems real today, but I wasn’t dreaming. It all happened as I have described it, during the 1999 Women’s World Cup.
June 02 Hell hath no fury...America’s famously indifferent attitude toward all things soccer could have led to a handsome payoff for its tourist industry during the upcoming World Cup finals. According to this report by Doreen Carvajal, European women are searching the globe for a “football-free zone”—one where their charms aren’t relegated to a (distant) second place behind the seductive appeal of a beautiful rival. Of course, the very same malice-tinged American disinterest in the sport means that few businesses—tourist or otherwise—have paid much attention to the World Cup. This is a pity. Only a handful of English and continental hotels and tourist bureaus have advertised special getaway trips for women hell-bent on a little retail therapy to soothe their slighted egos. American businesses should have foreseen this chance to market summer holidays in the States during the month-long tournament. Could soccer-sickened European women have resisted the blissful combination of cheap American goods and the vast population of proudly soccer-ignorant men? I doubt it.
Although greater numbers of women have embraced football, including les francaises after France’s success in 1998, there remains a vocal, belligerent, and grammatically-challenged sisterhood whose quixotic aim is to stop the World Cup! The English and Dutch creators of this site argue that football induces ugliness in their men and, ominously, threaten to “Vinnie Jones the opponent.” Stop the World Cup! is a manifesto of sorts, and, judging by the angry comments left by the site’s visitors, one that is taken seriously by at least some warriors on both sides of the issue.
The next time American (male) soccer fanatics are tempted to cry into their beer about their outcast status, they would do well to remember that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side of the Atlantic. Especially when they recall Vinnie Jones’s most notorious play against Paul Gascoigne… |
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