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.