Monday, July 26, 2010

Soccer in America Series 2010: A Response to Paul Simpson of 442 Magazine

Last summer, we reflected on the state of the game and culture in the United States in this podcast. It is my intention to address the issue to some extent each summer, and the World Cup finals provides an excellent interval to do just that. Unfortunately, I was rochambeaued last week by a well-respected (by us) journalist from 442 magazine. Usually, you can bank on his analysis like you can bank on Manchester City overpaying for a player. His article entitled "Why (some) Americans loathe soccer", however, was not as much trite as it was short-sighted.

The article stipulates that because there are a few Americans of the conservative persuasion that may have a limited world view, that "many American patriots can’t contemplate the sport..." without associating it with European Socialism. Besides this statement being insulting to Americans on both sides of the political divide, it completely disregards the notion that anything successful has detractors. I would ask Mr. Simpson if it is beyond the capability of "many" Americans to look beyond what the "experts" he cites are saying. If the argument is that Americans don't have free will or even comprehensive thought processes, well, that is a different article altogether.

Naturally, this all has evoked some spirited responses on the part of Mr. Simpson's readership. To be fair, nothing Mr. Simpson says is inclusively wrong. It's just not as right as it could be. The diminution begins in the title of the article where the word 'some' is offered to be easily removed by the parenthesis in which it is placed. Even though in the first paragraph he cited one American personality's struggle to grasp the oft-confused origins of the sport, it doesn't mean that the quotes and citations provided didn't happen. This is why, when speaking in terms of America's perception of the association between soccer and socialism, it would have been more appropriate to present such an article as an indication of America's past with the sport rather than it's sole future.

I myself once alluded to the same principle suggested by Mr. Simpson. Here is an excerpt from that paper:

"During the 1860’s, a game was invented in the United Kingdom that would sweep the world over the next 150 years. The game was football. The English popularized the game in part because their economy and vast empire afforded the average citizen to travel all over the world. In the early 20th century, they had used their domestic mold to open football academies and sporting clubs all over the world. To this day, clubs in Brazil, Italy, Portugal and Argentina still have their original English names (Fédération Internationale de Football Association, 2007).

Despite what may seem logical, the United States did not escape this net. Soccer was making its mark on Americans. The U.S. placed third in the first World Cup, an international soccer competition between nations, in 1930. In 1950, the U.S. team defeated one of the strongest national sides of that period, England, 1-0 (United States Soccer Federation, 2007).

Unfortunately, soccer’s fate in America was decided by something other than merit. The Cold War affected much more than the nuclear program. Congressmen such as Joe McCarthy, in their attempt to cleanse society of the [Communist] presence, declared cultural war on many aspects of life. Soccer to them, because it was embraced on a global scale, was a communist sport. To them, it was a sport that was fundamentally un-American. It seemed the whole concept went against the ideals of America. Instead, those lawmakers pushed Americans to watch sports with a higher emphasis on the Individual athlete. Sports like baseball, America’s past time, glorified the individual performance. American football was gaining popularity as well. This sentiment continued for decades. In 1986, congressman Jack Kemp spoke in front of the U.S. Congress to oppose a resolution to support an American bid to host the World Cup. In his speech, he mentioned that football is 'democratic, capitalism, whereas soccer is a European socialist [sport]' (Foer, 2004, p. 241).

There was a large gap between that game against England in 1950 and the arrival of Pele to the New York Cosmos in 1975. However, the presence of Pele and European stars such as Franz Beckenbauer and Johan Cruyff exploded soccer into the American consciousness once again. Over the following five years, the North American Soccer League thrived. Americans, lured by the star names came out in droves. The Cosmos sold out Giants stadium for their 1978 Championship game (United States Soccer Federation, 2007). Regrettably, the league folded in the mid-eighties due to league over-expansion and the controversial decision to award the 1986 World Cup to Mexico. Nonetheless, the league’s existence is regarded as the catalyst to the rise in popularity of the game among the country’s youth. When these young Americans grew up and had children, they realized the value of their children learning a competitive, team-oriented and non-violent game. The soccer mom phenomenon was born, and to this day, soccer remains one of the most popular sports among American youths (Foer, 2004, p. 237). This is a trend that was recycled when the U.S. hosted the World Cup in ’94. The Americans unbelievably went through to the second round before losing 1-0 to the eventual champion, Brazil, widely considered the best team of the time (United States Soccer Federation, 2007).

Soccer remains one of the most popular youth sports in the country. Participation has consistently risen since the late 1980’s when 15 million kids played it (Higers, 2006). Many Americans have a natural attachment to the game that developed as a child and young adult. The point is that in the U.S., there are now two generations with a specialized relationship to soccer and a third one is presently developing on recreational fields all over the U.S."

As American soccer fans, it is our duty not to unqualifiedly reject how foreigners see our admittedly at times awkward embrace to the world's game. Instead, we must interpret the misguided historical notions that are introduced as just a small part of a complex relationship we have as Americans with soccer. In short, it would be difficult to create an article which can comprehensively answer the 'American soccer question' in 620 words. It would be fair to say that this sentiment, which translates to presumption, is what most negative responders find the most objectionable about Mr. Simpson's article.

I would direct Mr. Simpson to a piece written by a popular American blogger named Bill Simmons. In this particular article, the author responds to series of questions from his readers. At one point (about half way down the page), he responds to a reader's question about the popularity of soccer among Americans by asking his colleague, soccer blogger Michael Davies, to reflect.

"Davies: 'I completely agree that many die-hard soccer fans in the U.S. have learned to become just as annoying and condescending as die-hard soccer fans in England and all over the world. Globalization is a wonderful thing. But that doesn't seem to be the main premise of the Q from Zanesville. What BP is actually arguing is that soccer still isn't going anywhere in the U.S. And whatever Glenn Beck says, it's just tough to argue against the empirical data -- TV ratings, website traffic, bar tabs. They're all going up during and around soccer games. That seems to indicate that however annoying or casual the fans are, or however annoying they are to each other, they are still watching. Yes, the World Cup more than anything else. But U.S. interest in the English Premier League and Champions League and the ratings and website traffic surrounding those leagues is growing significantly, too. There are even people who watch Major League Soccer. And that may be the biggest miracle of all. And the biggest proof that soccer must be going somewhere here. It's like Daniel Kellison's [former executive producer of 'The Man Show' and 'Jimmy Kimmel Live'] heterosexuality test: Any man can have sex with a model, but only the most heterosexual of men can bring himself to have sex with a truly unattractive woman. The fact that American soccer fans can sit through 90 minutes of MLS is proof of a love of soccer beyond anything the rest of the world can possibly fathom.'"

His response, while humorous, also touches on the important point that the steady rate of growth of the sport of soccer in the U.S. is undeniable. One would do well to remember that the MLS is still a teenager. It seems absurd to me if the expectation is that Americans must apologize that our league is not a century-plus old. Despite the league's young existence, as Mr. Davies suggests, there is irrefutable proof that the game's footing is on solid ground in the U.S. I shouldn't need to cite that the Seattle Sounders have sold out their past 25 games at Qwest Field to prove that the MLS has found its stride with its latest expansions. Philadelphia, Toronto, Portland and Vancouver already have passionate and self-maintaining fan-bases. The MLS facilitates all of this while competing with four, possibly five, sports leagues which are older and more popular.

I was especially disappointed that Mr. Simpson decided to fall back onto the prosaic argument that Americans must hate soccer because Osama bin Laden has used it as a recruiting tool to indoctrinate young terrorist minds. It's interesting to me that this fact was shared in the same context that the rest of the article was cast (suggesting Americans and others assume bin Laden used soccer because its philosophy is closer to his values). This argument is completely preposterous. The author corroborates the ludicrousness of the proposition by mentioning that bin Laden is an Arsenal fan, as if al Qaeda didn't attack the London Tube as well (which has a stop called Arsenal). The truth is that industrial European football represents the same western ideals that Mr. bin Laden has sworn against, conclusively proving that:

1. Bin Laden is willing to hypocritically compromise his flawed ideals in order to advance his repulsive cause.

And,

2. If knitting and baking were the activities the youth of the Muslim world was most interested in, then ol' boy would distribute his malevolent jihadist propaganda via home-ec classes.

Unfortunately, the assumptive theory of "Why (some) Americans loathe soccer" does not conclude with this defective example. The author suggests the cited article, "Jihadists Love the World Cup", was inspired by a comment to the U.S. Senate by anthropologist Scott Atran, who is an American, but also French, National. I wonder if intending to suggest that the Americans and the French finally agree on something could be considered Mr. Simpson's boldest statement! Sadly it is quickly negated when, astonishingly, he discredits his own point. We're told that this article, which supports his hypothesis, is in the same Newsweek magazine that has rapidly declining subscription statistics. Wouldn't a decrease in popularity suggest the weakening grasp that a periodical of this type has on the current mindset of the times?

Thankfully, after summarily marginalizing an entire country of fans, Mr. Simpson returns to the commentator we are accustomed to by concluding with an insightfully true statement about the nature of the game:

"The round-ball game has been used as a – oh go on then – political football for almost as long as it has been a sport. But so far, to the chagrin of many dictators, columnists and rabble-rousers, attempts to link the game with a particular political philosophy, government or terrorist organisation have all come to naught.

Football is too unpredictable, amorphous and organic to be easily tailored to a cause..."

The presupposition that we are not able to comprehend this concept across the pond is as oblivious and unworldly as any of the comments provided to us in Mr. Simpson's column. Antiquated perceptions perpetuated by respected professionals with a wide audience only make our task of silencing or dismissing those small-minded critics that they rightly single out more arduous. It is not convenient to the upkeep of this false position to mention that even Jack Kemp eventually developed an appreciation of the sport. If Americans have the ability to acclimate, Mr. Simpson, we would appreciate your support rather than your disparagement. If this is not a reasonable request, then maybe it's best then that the magazine remain entitled 4-4-2, as opposed to the more contemporary 4-2-3-1.

written by Mark Stevens, of thetruefootball.com

UPDATE (7/27/10): The New York Times seems to agree that soccer in America is not a lost cause. Thank goodness we've sorted that all out. Thanks to Offside Sarah for the link.

Foreign Advertisement of the Week 7/26: Umbro's Aversion to Animal Rights

There are so many things that are wrong with this commercial that commenting on it would only lead to me getting in trouble somehow. I will say that his face at the end when he's looking around to see if anyone noticed is priceless.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Regarding Spanish Unity and the World Cup Finals

Before we completely move on from the World Cup Finals, a most interesting potential cultural shift has come out of Spain's victory and should be addressed. That is why I asked my friend Ana, of Sevilla, to give us a little perspective from the source. Unbelievably composed in her first and second languages, she responded with this beautiful article that gives us a point of view to which otherwise many of us may not immediately have access.

...

Haber Ganado la Copa del Mundo de Fútbol ha sido un sueño hecho realidad para los españoles, un chute de optimismo y un aumento de confianza hacia un país bastante deprimido después de la recesión. Pero lo que es más importante; gracias al efecto de la roja hemos vivido esta semana como una y solo una nación unida.

España es uno de los países más antiguos de la Unión Europea y está dividido en varias regiones dispares con una gran variedad de estructuras socioeconómicas y diferentes tradiciones históricas, políticas y culturales, incluyendo diferentes lenguas que son cooficiales junto al español.

Algunas de esas regiones reclaman bien una mayor autonomía política o una total independencia lo cual hace de mi país un modelo incompleto de nación consolidada. Los movimientos políticos que adquieren mayor fuerza son actualmente los nacionalismos catalanes y vascos.

Desde 1978, la bandera roja y dorada española se creó para representar la unión de España cualquiera que fuera la ideología de cada uno. Sin embargo, en sus más de 3 décadas de existencia, siempre ha sido identificada con los 36 años de la dictadura de Francisco Franco, líder de los nacionalistas pro fascistas que lo apoyaban. Por tanto, a cualquier persona que osase agitar la bandera o colgarla en de sus casas le etiquetarían de fascista. Pocos son los países europeos, a excepción de Alemania, los que desconfían del sentimiento patriótico.

Personalmente, el hecho de apoyar a un partido de izquierdas no implica necesariamente que haya perdido mi identidad como española aunque debo admitir que hoy por hoy no sacaría una bandera española a la calle en circunstancias normales por el miedo a lo que un grupo minoritario de personas pudiera hacer especialmente en algunas comunidades autónomas (de todos es conocido el grupo de violentos asesinos de ETA).

Tristemente, al igual que me sucede a mí, hay un importante número de personas que no son lo suficientemente valientes como para presumir de los símbolos españoles como le sucedió al campeón del mundo de motocicleta Jorge Lorenzo, que lidera actualmente la categoría de MotoGP. Hace no mucho rehusó aparecer con la camiseta de La roja cuando estaba en Barcelona. “En Cataluña es difícil aparecer con la camiseta del equipo español”, “no quiero problemas”, dijo.

A pesar de todo, muchos catalanes siguen a La roja ahora sólo porque cinco de los jugadores que se enfrentaron en el partido contra Alemania nacieron en Cataluña y otro, Xavi Alonso era Vasco. Siete de los jugadores pertenecen al FC Barcelona, un club considerado por algunos catalanes como equipo nacional. “Gracias” a estos jugadores pude ver en la televisión muchas ciudades catalanas repletas de coches pitando, motos con banderas españolas o fans cantando y gritando por las Ramblas de Barcelona.

Al igual que en Barcelona y Madrid, nunca jamás había visto mi ciudad (Sevilla) empapelada casi en su totalidad con los colores rojo y amarillo. Gente de todas las edades llevaban (en inimaginable una celebración de españolidad) camisetas del equipo de fútbol nacional, enormes telas con nuestros colores y gritando al unísono; “yo soy español, español, español” con un sentimiento de orgullo desenfrenado.

Desde mi punto de vista, todo este orgullo nacional es ficticio y por desgracia tiene fecha de caducidad. Es una verdadera pena que la gran mayoría de nosotros tenga que expresar su apoyo a España únicamente cuando jugadores como Nadal, Fernando Alonso, Paul Gasol, Gemma Mengual, etc ganan una competición y no caemos en la cuenta de el hecho de que pertenecemos a un maravilloso país, con diferentes culturas y unos riquísimos antecedentes históricos.

Aunque respeto a los nacionalistas, se sientan españoles o no, éstos representan una minoría comparada con la población total de España por lo que pienso que deberían de igual modo respetar lo que la mayoría siente y no se atreven a decir, que en mi caso es el de sentirse española y aceptar la autonomía de las regiones dentro de España como nación.

Es sorprendente ver como vosotros los americanos alabáis y amáis vuestra bandera, que se encuentra en todos los rincones de norte América y nadie absolutamente se siente avergonzado de ello. Mi única esperanza, después de haber ganado la copa, es que nadie incluyéndome a mí se sienta amenazado o tenga miedo de presumir de los colores que nos representan. Porque nuestra bandera pertenece a uno y cada uno de los españoles. Espero que podamos aprender algo de vuestro sentimiento patriótico y comencemos a actuar en consecuencia a partir de ahora.

...

Winning the world cup has been a wish come true for Spaniards, a shot of optimism and an injection of confidence for a country that is terribly depressed after the recession. But more important than that, thanks to “the red effect” we have lived this week as a united Nation.

Spain, of course, is one of the oldest European countries and it is divided into several contrasting regions with widely varying economic and social structures as well as different historical, political, and cultural traditions that includes different languages that are co-official with Spanish.

A number of those regions advocate for either further political autonomy or full independence, which makes my country incomplete (in terms of) nation-building. The strongest political movements are Basque and Catalan nationalists.

Since 1978, Spain's red and gold flag has ideally represented the union of Spain, whatever the ideology. However, for the more than 3 decades of existence that preceded, it was identified with the 36-year dictatorship of Francisco Franco, leader of the pro-fascist Nationalists. Therefore, anyone who dared to wave or hang it in their own houses would be labeled as a fascist. Few countries in Europe, except Germany, have such an instinctive mistrust of patriotism.

In my case, being a supporter for the left party doesn’t necessarily mean that I've lost my Spanish identity but I must admit that I would not wave a Spanish flag under normal circumstances for the fear of what those minority groups could do or say to you in some regions (we all know the violent and assassins group of ETA).

Sadly, there are a number of people like me who aren’t brave enough to flaunt the sporting symbols of Spain such as World Motorbike Champion Jorge Lorenzo, who currently leads the MotoGP category. He recently declined to put on La Roja shirt when he was in Barcelona. "In Catalonia it is difficult to appear in the Spanish team shirt," he said. "I don't want problems.”

However, lots of Catalans now follow La Roja because five of the players who lined up against Germany were born in Catalonia and one, Xabi Alonso, was Basque. Seven players belong to FC Barcelona, a club that some Catalans treat as a national team. Thanks to them, I could happily see on TV horn-tooting cars and motorbikes flying Spanish flags driving around the cities of Catalonia and chanting fans gathering on Barcelona's las Ramblas boulevard.

As well as in Barcelona and Madrid, never before have I seen my city (Sevilla) practically wrapped with red and yellow colours. People from all ages were in an unimaginable celebration of Spanish-ness, wearing shirts of the national soccer team, flag-waving and shouting joyfully “yo soy español, español, español” with an outpouring national pride.

From my point of view, this national pride is fictitious in nature and, sadly, it has an expiration date. It is a real shame that the vast majority of us express their support to Spain only when players like Nadal, Fernando Alonso, Paul Gasol, Gemma Mengual win a game and then don’t realize the fact that we belong to a wonderful country, with different cultures and a rich historical background.

Although I respect all nationalists whether they feel Spanish or not, they represent a minority group compared to the whole population of Spain and they should respect also what the majority feel and are scared to claim. In my case, feeling Spanish and accepting the autonomy of its regions with Spain as a nation is natural.

It is amazing to see how Americans worship your flag, which is everywhere and nobody is ashamed of it. My only hope after having won the cup is that nobody including myself has any fear to boast about the colours that represent us, because the flag belongs to every single Spanish person. I hope we learn from your feeling of patriotism and start taking some action, the sooner the better.


...

Written by Ana C., Senior Spanish Correspondent, of thetruefootball.com

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

A Rumination on the "Oranje Mass"

In 2004, the Florida Panhandle was hammered quite heavily by Hurricane Ivan, one of the 10 most intense Atlantic hurricanes ever recorded. I lived there at the time and worked as a hospital chaplain. As the storm formed over the Gulf of Mexico, it headed toward the Southeast of the United States. At the last minute, it swerved seemingly straight for Louisiana. On September 16, deep into the night, it instead turned once more and tore up the Florida Panhandle and Alabama shore. The prevailing “theology” emerging from the outcome of such a meteorological wobble was this: Apparently all the Baptists in the Southeast where praying the hurricane westward away from them, while all the Catholics in Louisiana were praying the hurricane eastward away from them, and so the poor hurricane got stuck in the middle and there it landed, on the white sands of Pensacola Beach and Gulf Shores. Of course, this theology was of little consolation to the unfortunate inhabitants of Pensacola and Mobile, whom I am sure, would have come up with their own spiritual turbofan had they not been so completely preoccupied by adolescent feelings of “generator envy” that they missed the wrecking ball.

This sort of religious maneuvering is not limited to atmospheric events. It is reported that Bishop Jozef Punt of Haarlem is disciplining a village pastor, Father Paul Vlaar, for celebrating an “Oranje Mass” in full orange vestments, orange flags, and complete with intercessory prayers for a Dutch victory over Spain in the World Cup final. By now, we all know that Spain won, albeit 28 minutes into supplementary time. One can legitimately wonder whether a Padre in some obscure Castillano village was perhaps also holding a “Misa Roja” concurrently with Father Paul’s orange liturgy and that is why the 0-0 impasse dragged on and on and on.


But who knows why the Providential balance tipped in favor of the Spanish? Indeed, it is true that the Spanish are known for their fervent faith and an efficacious prayer tradition. Spaniards make up the roster of some of the Catholic Church’s most important saints: St. Teresa of Avila, St. Ignatius of Loyola, St. John of the Cross, St. Francis Xavier just to name a few. There are 141 canonized Spanish saints versus 23 canonized Dutch saints! XVI century Queen Isabel, named “Isabel la Catolica,” is said to have been strongly opposed to being given in marriage, at sixteen years of age, to a man 43 years her senior. Alas, the man died of a burst appendix on his way to meeting his fiancée

On the other hand, I must say, in all honesty and on a more serious note, that I agree with Bishop Punt who said that the Oranje Mass did not do justice to the holiness of the sacraments.” Good Father Paul got it all mixed up. Why not have a joyful community Mass and then a parish dinner to root for the national team? My sense is that, after some time on the bench, he will be allowed to return to ministry with a clearer sense of boundaries and mission. As a sports fan, he is Paul. As a community leader and clergyman, he is Father Paul.

Perhaps this is one reason that soccer is so popular in so many Catholic countries. The word Catholic means universal. For all its human flaws, the Catholic Church at its best, does try to reiterate the “it’s not all about you” message that is clearly countercultural in our individualistic world. It's about the community. It’s about the common good. It’s about what’s bigger than the single subject. It’s about the team.


Written by M. Cristina, Senior Advisor on Catholic Affairs, of thetruefootball.com

Monday, July 19, 2010

Foreign Advertisement of the Week 7/18: Banned Swedish Commercial

I guess animal rights activists got to this Swedish commercial and banned it. Since this boy has no friends, I can only assume that it's little Zlatan Ibrahimovic.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

A World Cup Reverie: We Gave It A Second, It Went To Space

I am still in the process of digesting the multi-course meal that was the World Cup finals. If you can harness the notion, I am clearly not a professional writer. For reasons beyond my current understanding, I decided to prolong my career in the film business and assistant direct a small independent feature film that happened to exactly align with the run of the World Cup. We began on June 14th and ended on July 11th, exactly at 8am. It was a delusional marathon. Monday through Friday I was entrenched in 14-16 hour work days. Averaging 5 hours of sleep a night was the only way to unearth time to crank out the 70 posts written between May-July on this site. At a point now indeterminable, moments became intertwined and there ceased to exist any discernible arrangement of the hours I was spending awake. As the evaporation of chronological order continued, linear time became inconceivable. The Dutch would've called it "total time," because like the players in their the 70's football formations, moments could exchange with themselves and still remain time appropriate. If any structure did exist, like an insane coach with one hand on the wall in a pitch black room, it presented itself in the form of the World Cup fixture schedule. I became more reliant on it than I've ever done with any watch or calendar.

It is because of this gauntlet that I am indisputably indebted forever to the MobiTV telephone application. The ridiculous $9.99 monthly subscription I incurred for the privilege of watching World Cup games live from another continent was possibly the wisest money spent this side of Franck Ribery's underage prostitute. I abused my phone to such an extent that, the day before the final, it just stopped working. Dead. I'm not joking. When I brought it to the Apple store, it was so far beyond repair that the associate, Glenn, laughed and replaced it for free.


My new replacement phone paid it's dues on Sunday.

I knew my binge in excessiveness, as the bags under my eyes now reflect, would have it's price. Yet, it was always predetermined that the bender would end before the final. By the time I finally got off work on Sunday morning, I had had the first humbling experience of the day by witnessing the sun rise over the tired trucks and trailers. A month of mental preparation was about to culminate and I still had 3 hours to bargain with the light for a power nap before heading to what was sure to be a packed tight Finn McCool's.

Given my overtaxed psyche's tenuous grasp on reality, I'm not exactly secure that the illusory episode that occurred that afternoon actually happened. I certainly remember being smuggled into the bar, sealed of at the front door by an overabundance of patrons, through the kitchen by Pauline. Settling in to the tiny niche reserved by a couple of the True Footballist crew, I began the Siddharthan mental preparation necessary to take in the aggregate sum of my surroundings that would accumulate over the following two hours. I am fairly confident that I had regained illuminated consciousness at some point in the second half before the electricity, which had been flirting with abandonment all game long, decided to acquiesce to the severe rain storms that had surrounded our football-hysteriaed compound.

As the seconds turned to minutes, the concept of the current's uncertain return was reluctantly confronted by the unsatiated multitude. One began to hear whispers of other locales that might have still have power glide throughout the establishment from an intangible source. It could be said that during the second half power outage, like listening to a conch shell to hear the ocean (or a vuvuzela), if you were to put your ear up to your glass of beer you could hear the list of alternatives: "Mid-City Yacht Club, Bayou Beer Garden, Banks Street Bar." Unable to resist the lure of live TV, the folks at Finn's cleared out faster than the usual college-kid exodus after Monday night Pub Quiz. Those that remained, out of adroit stubbornness or absurdly-bucolic modernist innovation, separated into podded viewing clans that huddled around the 2" inch smart phone screens emanating the final. If they were to watch the World Cup final in Mad Max, then this is how they would conceivably do it.

Surreal is not a word that could do this situation justice. When you were a youngin', the moment that the candles and boardgames would be cued, the radio turned on, had arrived. As Stephen and Pauline purposefully advised the stragglers on which bars still had power, the staff mobilized to combat the onsetting creep of the muggy exterior heat by serving persevering-cool beers to us holdouts. Describing the wave of emotion that flowed from one end of the bar to other between 6 or so different sects of viewers, all at various stages of time delay, as the games tribulations funneled into the bar from distant satellite signals is not something I truly have the faculty to articulate. I can say that from the back we'd first hear "OHHHHHH!" 5 seconds later from the front it was "AWWWWWW!" Then next to us came "OHHHHHH!" We quickly and obviously realized that we were about 30 seconds behind the first observers and last on the respective food chain. My friend Walter eventually discerned the specific affiliations of each camp and proceeded to accurately describe to our group what was about to happen about 15 seconds before it would. This wasn't as great as it may sound.



Louis CK: "Give it a second, it's going to space!"

I grudgingly admit that my posse eventually relocated during the break before the additional time periods. In the end, I was unable to come to terms with being last to know, my information at that point being dictated to me though crowd response. I have already posted my thoughts on the game. I watched too many replays to be encumbered by analysis in this post. I eventually came to accept the authenticity of what I experienced. We are living in a different time. This couldn't have happened during the 2006 final. Maybe this is what we all will be doing during the 2014 final. But the fact remains, a section of diehards remained in sweltering heat, drinking deliciously warm beer, because they were unwilling to compromise the time it would take to find a spot somewhere else. This is owed to the distinctiveness of the bar, final or not, a place I'm not easily consigned not to leave, but also the value of the content. As opposed to Louis CK's acquaintance on the airplane (see video above), no one was complaining at all. Most of us were in novelistic awe.

The World Cup Final happens only once every four years. I will forever remember myself, friends Twig and Walter sharing the tiny, dawdling screen. I'll remember Big Rab, Lynda and Mark H. were doing their best to accommodate us into their tight space so we could see what was preceding us by 25 seconds, a tiny glimpse into the 'future'. I'll remember Mike D. and his girlfriend Ashley calling to tell us they had held a space and a beer for us down the street. Everyone rallied to the cause. Everyone was always going to rally. By the time I returned to Finn's I could hardly stand. When I got home that night, I couldn't have told you my last name. I woke up naked, lying perpendicular in my bed with all the lights on, at 1:30 in the morning. For about 3 minutes, I wasn't fluent in English. I couldn't recollect the date nor my geographical position on the Earth, if indeed I was still on the Earth. All I remembered was that Spain had won. Spain had won the World Cup.

My first comprehensive thought that night was that my World Cup experience had been fantastic. My second was that, shit, it's actually over. From their mannerisms and tones, I can tell that the majority of folks have already moved on. I am now frequently asked what the hell I'll write about after the World Cup. Yes, the influence of this game is at its highest during the month of the World Cup finals. That does not mean it will diminish to a degree of insignificance afterwards. The True Football is based on the fact that this sport acts as a medium to discuss and explore a variety of philosophic, political, social and religious concepts. The interactive awareness of these ideas shouldn't fall out of relevancy just because the World Cup ends. If the previously endeared masses can no longer tolerate this sort of discourse associating with football, well then the mandate of this space to sustain such discussion will just have to emphatically serve that purpose to a greater extent. My hangover is still lingering, but I'm excited about the momentum we've built during this special time. There are some brilliant ideas I'm excited to explore so keep checking back. I'm actually quite relieved the finals only come around every 4 years, because by Brazil 2014, I may have recovered from South Africa 2010.

Friday, July 16, 2010

And Now For Something Completely Different: A World Cup Haiku Review

Football writing can
get stale as month-old bread loaf.
Haikus bring freshness!

True haikus require
kigo and kireji but
our poems are bush-league.

Five-seven-five style
is the best we can hope for.
Sorry, Basho-san.

Like most intelligent people, thetruefootball.com
was one of Basho's favorite websites.


THE GROUP STAGE

Excitement abounds.
"Do we deserve to be here?"
The answer is "no."

FRANCE
Les Bleus don't trust Ray.
Ray trusts astrology and
France goes home with draw.

SOUTH AFRICA
Start with one-one draw.
Home team can't stop Forlan but
beat France 2 to 1!

NIGERIA
One point in three games.
Are Super Eagles guilty
of some match-fixing?

GREECE
Provide the World Cup
with play so supremely bad, that
Rehhagel resigns.

ALGERIA
Les Fennecs could be
Africa's northern dark horse.
Instead they lay down.

SLOVENIA
Came out swinging but
gave up one goal to England.
"žalosten" means "sad."

SERBIA
Little to cheer for
except this: Like the Spanish,
they beat the Germans.

AUSTRALIA
Want to prove '06
was no fluke. Maybe they should
stick to Aussie Rules.

CAMEROON
Three games, three losses.
Indomitable lions?
More like tame kittens.

DENMARK
Lose to Dutch, Japan.
Only win is Cameroon.
That doesn't say much.

ITALY
Easy group should help
old Azzurri. Instead it's
back to nursing home.

The old captains of the high seas just couldn't find a way
to right their ships this time.

NEW ZEALAND
Scored their first Cup goal.
Something else to be proud of:
Only team with no loss.

NORTH KOREA
Cote D'Ivoire whips them.
Portugal wins seven-nil.
Communists don't win.

IVORY COAST
Coach Sven, Eboué,
Drogba and Touré give us
uninspired play.

HONDURAS
Lucky to be there.
Early exit and back to
Tegucigalpa.

SWITZERLAND
Two wins and one draw.
Kings of neutrality are
España's sole loss.


ROUND OF 16

Happy to advance.
Good enough for the next round?
Good but not that good.

SOUTH KOREA
Tigers navigate
group play nicely. Their reward?
Meet Señor Suarez!

UNITED STATES
Donovan is boss.
But no wins without Howard.
Watch out in next Cup!

MEXICO
El Tri has high hopes.
Barely escape the group stage.
Tevez says "You're done."

ENGLAND
Side searches for spark.
Consider this in four years:
get ball to Rooney!


Robert Green will be lonely back in East London.

SLOVAKIA
Slovaks rejoice as
team beats Italy by one,
gets to the next round.

CHILE
They seem unknown but
were CONMEBOL's number two.
Number one? Brazil.

JAPAN
Penalty kick loss.
One word to describe the team:
"Overachievers."

This samurai has nothing to feel blue about.

PORTUGAL
Overrated team.
Seven goals, four games but all
against D.P.R.

QUARTERFINALS

Broken a few hearts.
But don't get too excited.
Your heart may break too.

GHANA
It's hard to kick straight
with entire continent
over your shoulder.

ARGENTINA
Lots of world class goals.
Little organization.
Thanks Maradona.

BRAZIL
World Cup favorites
Can't maintain intensity.
See you in four years.

PARAGUAY
Lots of draws, one win.
At some point ev'ry team pays.
Spain collects the toll.

SEMI-FINALS

You may lose to champs
but rest assured, your game is
the most exciting.

GERMANY
"No leader," "Too young,"
some think. This team has thoughts too:
"Third place overall."

URUGUAY
Lose to Deutschland in
the Cup's most exciting game.
Forlan: M.V.P.

If I told you this was all they could think about during
calligraphy class, could you blame them?

FINAL

New champ crowned today.
Red and yellow cards abound.

THE NETHERLANDS
Knocked off Brazil's team.
Victors against Uruguay.
Victims of Andrés.

Even this woman had to scrub herself clean
after watching replays of Van Bronckhorst's laser beam.

SPAIN
What was their gameplan?
Simple: "Beat Dutch one-nil then
party in Madrid!"

At some point, even the moon sets to allow for the sun to rise.
Hopefully, the wretched Jabulani will set too.

written by Mike D, of the thetruefootball.com