Sipping from the World Cup

I played soccer for five, maybe six seasons as a kid. I was well-liked and I could sprint like a champ, but my skill set consisted mostly of jumping up and down when we scored a goal (perhaps the first indicator I would become the Flying Dutchman blogger.) Luckily my team, the Hunter Knights, later the Skyhawks, were an excellent team and I always felt like a winner even if I wasn’t exactly a contributing member. I have a shelf full of plastic trophies proving my worth as a player.

I wore my soccer uniform proudly. I liked putting the styrofoam shinguards under my tall, thick socks. My nylon shirt was tucked dutifully into my short shorts, per league requirements. I remember feeling like my legs were chunky--this was before I understood that soccer legs were a thing--but I felt pretty sharp when the whole team gathered in our matching gear. 

If you looked beyond the smart uniforms though, the eccentricities of prepubescent kids emerged, often to painful effect. There was Danny, the pudgy one. His undersized jersey stretched over his belly like the cooked skin of a Thanksgiving Day turkey. Then there was Angela, the clumsy one. Any time the ball came near her, she tripped on it like it was her job. She wore glasses that constantly slipped down her nose then launched onto the field when she inevitably fell. To her credit though, she played aggressively. And finally there was Timmy, the weirdo. In the strangest pattern of OCD behaviors, he would remove the wedgie from his tiny butt with one hand followed by the other, then lick each hand as if it needed to be cleaned afterward. Timmy's father was the assistant coach, and I frequently got the impression that Timmy wasn't exactly the apple of dad's eye. In fact, I think little Two-hand Timmy was an embarrassment.

I'm sure I had my own quirks on the field, but I don't know what those would be. I'm probably remembered as 'the girly one' or 'the fast one with no other discernible soccer skills'. I played goalie for a while but don't recall saving any games. I do know I could kick the ball almost to the other goal post with my thick legs. I also played 'sweeper' but to this day, I don't know what the sweeper's job is. For two seasons I played Forward. I am certain that I felt more necessary than I actually was. Perhaps there were a few passes that resulted in goals, but mostly I just ran a lot and tried to look open.

But in international football I never quite understood why fans riot, why players kill themsleves for botching a game, or how national reputations are formed or destroyed at the word GOOOOOOAL. Then I spent some time outside the U.S. during the 1998 World Cup.

In Guatemala, working as a missionary, I had the chance to experience futbol fever first-hand. On any given day I could walk down the street and hear the game in every house, bar, and tienda. There was a fire, a true passion for the sport that bled into the streets. You see, this is a game that any kid from any country in the world can play. Most don’t even use a ball. There is an equality that doesn’t exist in any other sport. Every kid has a chance to be Pele.

But in a country where kids can, and often do, play several sports, soccer tends to get the shaft. It’s not America’s Favorite Past-time. (Snore.) It takes patience to watch. (It can end in a tie?!) It doesn’t have Lebron James. (Maybe that’s for the best.) But as Team U.S.A. continues to defy expectations abroad, so does football itself here at home. More people are watching. Maybe it has to do with globalization or the internet. Whatever it is, America is finally catching the fever. And so am I.

I get it. I understand the mania. Perhaps it’s in my blood. The Dutch are famously zany in their fanatacism. And the Dutch team? --it’s been good for decades. Football is an integral part of my national identity. The Dutch side, I mean. I look forward to the time that it becomes a part of the American national identity as well.

So, in the meantime, if you’re afraid of soccer because you don’t know the rules (who determines how long the match is???), or you don’t get the appeal, go ahead, watch a game. Take a big gulp from the World Cup... You might just find yourself rioting with the rest of the world.

-The Flying Dutchman-