Cue Barbra Streisand

I’m not much of a soccer fan and I’ll be honest with my reasons. First, I find it boring, in spite of its fast-paced, non-stop action. Ninety minutes (plus stoppage time) of back and forth and back and forth resulting in a 0-0 draw (nil-nil if I want to appear in the know) or a 1-0 victory just doesn’t do it for me. I admire the tremendous saves and marvel at wildly-angled shots on goal and concussion-summoning headers but still I don’t get sucked in. 

Secondly — and few people are willing to admit this — I don’t fully understand the game. I don’t know the rules well and I will never understand what constitutes offsides. Not understanding the concepts of a game (beyond the obvious one of getting the ball into the net) puts a real damper on becoming a full-fledged fan. And I don’t want to be that obnoxious person always asking things like “what just happened,” “why didn’t that count,” “why did that count,” and “why do they fake so many injuries?”

In a nutshell, I am a soccer fan who nods and smiles a lot, just sort of pretending to enjoy the game for the sake of others. I’m there for the people-watching. And the beer.

That said, I’m in awe of the level of athleticism required to perform at the highest levels of competition, and I am always drawn in to any large gathering because of the human element.

And in spite of not being a fervent, kilt-wearing, scarf-bearing, flag-waving, slogan-chanting, beer-chugging, traffic cone-crowning fanatic (let’s not forget where the term “fan” originates), I have been fortunate to attend many high-profile soccer games.

I traded an American flag and a US soccer pin for this Dutch rally cap while attending a 1994 World Cup game. I wish I would have thought to get a picture with my fellow trader.

Thanks to North America hosting the World Cup this summer, my brain is speeding along memory lane, revisiting cherished memories from 1984 Olympic soccer matches played at Navy-Marine Corps Stadium in Annapolis, World Cup games at Robert F. Kennedy Stadium in 1994 and more Olympic competition (both men and women) in Atlanta in 1996.

My 1984 memories remind me of my unfortunate transportation situation. The brand-new Honda Accord I had bought in May was less than six weeks old when it was rear-ended as I sat at a red light on Rt. 40 in Rosedale. The impact was hard enough to push me into the intersection, where I was hit on the driver’s side by another vehicle. I was carted off to a local hospital and the car was towed to an impound lot.

Because the car was so new and the damage was so extensive, it took about eight weeks for repairs to be completed. In the meantime, this tried-and-true Honda driver (I had owned two Civics before proudly moving up to the Accord) was driving a rental Ford LTD. I swear I could hear that car slurp down gasoline the second I started it. So I was not happy to be driving a gas hog at a time I had plans to drive to and from Annapolis several times.

That car and I made the trip to Annapolis a bunch of times that summer. Armed with tickets bought at JC Penney — an official sponsor of the Olympics — I attended several games by myself and convinced my then-17-year-old sister to go to at least one with me. I truly don’t remember any of the nations in the games I attended, or any final scores. I remember the crowds, the noise, the cheers, the flag waving, the general atmosphere. And the pin-trading!

I attended ’94 Cup games thanks to my friend Michelle Park, who was one of the most connected people I have ever known. She knew someone who worked higher up at Visa, and this someone offered her some VIP tickets for games at RFK. She excitedly called me with the invitation to go, proclaiming the World Cup experience would provide crowd training for our planned trip to the Atlanta Olympics two years later.

Again, there are two main memories that stand out from the two games we attended. One was the enthusiasm of true soccer fans, and the other was the effort to get on the subway/light rail to go back to Michelle’s Georgetown apartment. Getting to the stadium was easy because fans trickle in over a period of hours. Leaving is a completely different story, with nearly 57,000 people leaving all at once. We let a few trains pass us by because they were too crowded. When I balked about getting on a third, equally-packed train, Michelle said, “We could be here all night if we keep waiting for a less-crowded car. Come on.”

She literally grabbed me by the front of my T-shirt and pulled me in behind her. We just got onto the floor inside the door when we came to a sudden stop, thanks to the mountain of humanity in front of us. The doors started to close, and then reopened with a buzzing sound before trying to close again. After a couple of rounds of this, we figured out that, while I was in the train, my knapsack was not. The door kept reopening after hitting it. Everyone literally took a deep breath, Michelle gave me another tug and the doors were able to close.

Once the train started moving, a few people around me pulled out pins for trading and I got in on that action. Pins were an international language.

I came out of the Netherlands-Saudi Arabia match with two souvenirs I traded for — a Dutch orange rally cap and a green plastic Saudi flag. I know that the Dutch won that game 1-0, but only because I looked it up. I truly didn’t remember the score but I can still conjure the faces of folks in the stands, in concession lines and on the trains.

It’s all about the people and this year’s World Cup is showing us that all over again.

 

Beer diplomacy

One of the cool things about global sports gatherings is the opportunity to learn more about others’ cultures and traditions, as well as to get a true glimpse of ourselves as we act on a global stage. The World Cup is a prime example.

I’ve watched very little soccer action but I know all about the Tartan Army’s takeover of Boston, the Dutch double-decker orange bus that’s cruising the streets of Galveston, and the Japanese fans who clean the stadium after a match. I’ve watched hundreds of Norwegians “row” their way through a stadium, I’ve seen cones placed on statues and I’ve enjoyed the enthusiasm of Dutch fans doing their synchronized dances in the streets.

Online sources state that Scots brought cones with them to carry out a beloved tradition.
Credit: Scottish Aye Facebook page

But I’ve also shamefully watched the treatment of some national teams at the hands of our government, which brings me to my next happy observation.

While the federal government is doing its best to target certain teams, disrupting their practice schedules, interfering with their housing arrangements and even ordering them out of the country, average Americans are acting as temporary diplomats, throwing their collective arms around soccer (football to the rest of the world) players and fans from every corner of the world. 

I choose to believe that, given the chance, most Americans are friendly, welcoming and accepting of visitors. And judging from the stories coming out of host and training cities and towns, those average Americans have accepted the challenge and have seized the day. They’ve acted as tour guides, given advice on restaurants and must-have foods, traded clothing and memorabilia, learned songs and anthems, bought rounds of beverages at local pubs and opened their homes to visitors.

That homespun diplomacy is apparently working. In one televised interview, one Scotsman gushed about how beautiful and welcoming America is. “We’ve been lied to about America,” he said.

And that in a nutshell is what we need to remember. I like to think that this country, or at least the majority of it, is not the hateful, judgmental, racist, homophobic and misogynistic place that is being projected to the rest of the world, based simply upon the behavior and history of the White House occupant.

Average Americans have rolled out plaid, orange, blue, green and red carpets to welcome athletes and visitors from nations great and small — the powerhouse countries and the underdogs, the wealthy and the poor. All are welcome here and all are being embraced by our citizens who don’t care about the political flavor of a home country and wouldn’t deny visas or otherwise bar entry to athletes who have earned the right to be at this tournament.

In coming days, I’m going to spotlight some of the more prominent stories of enthusiastic fans, their traditions and customs, and the role Americans are playing in making their experiences those of a lifetime.

I’ve often thought of sport and the arts as bridges that connect us through commonality, appreciation and awe. As simple as it sounds, towns running out of beer, municipal officials looking the other way as statues are scaled so they can be crowned with traffic cones, dancing in the streets, doing the wave in a stadium and trading pins and other memorabilia is a form of diplomacy that can't be bought, planned or taught.

It’s average human beings embracing and interacting with other human beings despite language, cultural and religious differences.

The world could learn a thing or two by observing this gathering as if it were a laboratory in diplomacy and statesmanship. And our federal leaders sure as hell could.