The Husband: I Think I Might be a Soccer Fan

Those of you who read the dreadlock girl's blog on a regular basis know that she is not, in fact, an American. Now wait, wait, hold on. Before anyone goes calling Immigration Services, let me clarify. Bethany is, of course, a U.S. citizen, but her heart belongs to Spain, where she grew up. And because of this, she has a tendency to display some very un-American characteristics at times, one of the most prominent being a rabid passion for a strange sport called football. We call it soccer here in the U.S so that we don't get it confused with another sport involving big beefy guys in tights throwing a ball around and wrestling with each other. But if you try to call football soccer in just about any other country, you will get your face kicked in.

Yes, football is a very, very big deal in many other countries that are not America. I mean, they are really serious about it. Deadly serious. The last time we were in Spain I tried to joke with Bethany that I was going to walk around downtown Madrid wearing a jersey for the Barcelona football team (Madrid and Barcelona being arch rivals). Bethany gave me the look the she reserves for when I am being dumb and explained that if I did that, I would be dragged into a back alley and beaten to a pulp. I laughed. Bethany did not laugh, because she wasn't joking.

By simple virtue of the fact that no one cares about soccer in America, I had not, until recently, ever really watched an entire soccer game. All of that changed a few weeks ago, however, when the 2010 World Cup started. I watched almost every single game up to and including Spain's victory over Holland in the final. Hours and hours and hours of soccer. I have watched this much soccer because my wife wants to watch it and I love her and also because I want to eat and wear clean clothes, and I won't get to do either of those things if my wife is not happy with me.

But having watched this much soccer over the last several weeks, I have developed a certain appreciation for it. Following is a list of three things that I find particularly endearing about this strange sport. At first glance, these may seem like criticisms. But they aren't; they are merely appreciations for some of its wonderful oddities. Because if soccer is anything, it is most certainly odd.

Three reasons I think I might like soccer:

1. No one ever has any idea what's going on. Soccer has no instant replay rules and no time outs. When the ref doesn't like something, well, that's all there is to it. He pulls out a little card or waves a little flag and whatever he says goes. He doesn't have to give any reasons for the calls he makes. He could be running down the field and think to himself, "You know, I really don't like that guy's hair. I mean, who wears a hair band these days? What is this, the 70s? That's it, I'm giving him a yellow card." And bam - yellow card. No explanation. No arguing. You'll notice that after the majority of calls in a soccer game, everyone looks confused. All of the players on both sides, the coaches, the fans. Even the refs. They don't know why they made the call half the time either.

Stoppage time is even better. Theoretically the refs are keeping track of how much time is wasted during the game on account of substitutions, injuries, the players styling each other's hair, etc. Then, at the end of each half, an appropriate amount of time is added to the game to make up the difference. But anyone who watches more than a couple of games quickly realizes that the refs are not really keeping track of anything. When the end of a half is approaching, they pull some random number out of the air and slap it on. As a result, no one ever has any idea when the game is going to end.

Soccer players have really transformed flopping, as it is commonly called, into an art form. It's always fun to watch a player throw his arms up in the air, scream like he's been shot, do three somersaults and sprawl on the ground clutching his leg and then, when looking at the replay, realize that no one actually touched him. After the ref issues the opposing team a yellow card, the player, who has been lying on the ground writhing in apparent agony, will suddenly hop up, dust himself off and continue playing as if nothing happened (and nothing, in fact, did).

Flopping is a great way to liven up otherwise long and uneventful stretches of a soccer match, which leads to my final point . . .

3. No one ever scores. This is one of the most incredible things to me about soccer. The players run their guts out for more than 90 minutes, and one team wins because their striker kicks the ball at exactly right second, usually when the opposing goalie has just taken a quick break to pick his nose or something. And that's it - the score is 1-0 and the game is over. All that effort for one point.

Now what makes the almost non-existent scoring in soccer fun is that when someone does score, people get really, really excited. I mean, they get so excited that their eyeballs explode out of their heads. Take all of the excitement that has been expressed over every single baseball World Series in history and you will have about two thirds of the emotion expressed over one goal in the World Cup. You can pretty much justify anything - setting cars on fire; throwing hand grenades; dumping cans of paint on people - if it's in the name of celebrating a goal. (Just to clarify, I do not do a majority of the things on that list when I am celebrating a goal).

And in the end, I think that's probably why I am at, at least nominally, a soccer fan. It's such a passionate sport, and it's hard not to get caught up in that passion. Watching the World Cup final the other day, I actually did feel like a part of  huge global community - a very loud, rowdy and belligerent global community. So, there's a good chance that I will keep watching soccer - to stay a part of that community. And also so that my wife will keep making me food and washing my clothes.

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