June 27, 2006--"A Goal Close to Godliness"

To be in Europe during the World Cup is to be forced to think about why there is so little interest in the U.S. in this truly global event. One that fuels national passions and even leads frequently to mayhem. Here on Mallorca, for example, where there are many in residence or on holiday from England and Germany, when it appeared that the English and German teams might face each other in the second round, some of the municipal governments declared a version of martial law—in Mallorca this means no TV sets in bars and cafes may be turned toward the street and beer must be sold in plastic cups, not in glasses or steins. Very sensible.

I had thought that the problem we Americans have is that we can’t stand a sporting event that can end in a draw, with no winner declared. Or that the scoring is so typically low, even 0-0 is possible and often occurs, that we are bored to death well before the end of the two 45 minute halves.

But then while here, and having such easy access to the International Herald Tribune and El Pais (the English version), while searching for the baseball scores, one day after the fact to be sure, it is impossible not to read about futbol. About the controversies that rage around every national team—about their practice habits, or lack thereof; about how the German coach is suspect because he may have become too Californiarized during his time there and now believes in having a sport psychologist available for his moody players; or if Rinaldo is overweight and out of shape. Players and coaches have been killed for less. Literally.

So in reading the IHT’s soccer reporter Rob Hughes’ column about Argentina’s 2-1 victory over Mexico, I think I came closer to understanding Americans’ lack of interest. I’ve linked the full article below, but since you may not have the time to read it allow me to quote from it, commenting along the way—

Close to midnight Saturday, Argentina eliminated Mexico with a goal in extra time so stunning in its beauty and its timing that it is worth a place in the pantheon of great finishes in history.

We’re OK with the midnight part, but I’m not sure “beauty” is something we so openly value in a sporting event. And what’s this about “the pantheon”? Our equivalent, I suppose, are the various halls of fame.

There were 97 minutes on the clock when Juan Sorin, the adventurous Argentine captain, produced a long diagonal pass from left to right. He landed that ball spot on to the chest of Maxi Rodriquez, who had lurked with intent just outside the penalty box.

Do we admire “adventurous” or “lurking” athletic heroes who wait with “intent,” or do we prefer power and aggression?

Now came the magic. Cushioning the ball on his chest, swaying inside a defender and yet striking the ball with his left foot, Rodriquez imparted such force, yet so beautifully an arched trajectory, that it floated over the despairing right hand of the goalkeeper into the farthest top corner of the net.

“Magic”? “Cushioning”? “Swaying”? “Beautiful” again? And “floating”? This all sounds quite un-American to me. And the fact that the sport forbids the use of one’s arms by definition means more red-blooded folks in the U.S. will be tuning in to American Idol reruns than even Germany vs. England.

But, for me, at least while over here, I’ll be watching, even if I have to drink my brewskis from plastic cups.