Ronnie Dee--What It Was, Was Soccer

What It Was, Was Soccer

Ronnie Dee

Pele scoring his thousandth goal. Photo by Damilola Idowu at Pexels.

Note: This piece was written by someone who wanted to join the throngs. I desired to be among the enlightened, but try as I may, I just couldn't do it.

Okay, I held off as long as I could, but the time is nigh. Soccer is a terrible bore. The only reason I am watching it is because it is the World Cup, being played mostly in America. An event that, thank God, only happens once every four years with 48 National teams in a pseudo war, so emotions are at a peak. The contests are fiercely contested, as national pride is at stake. That is the main attraction. I do enjoy the competition. Also, I am usually doing something else and I don't mind catching a few snippets when the announcers start going out of their minds when something almost happens. And like it or not, I want the Americans to advance as far as they can.

The only other time I watched so much soccer was during the Covid blackout of all other sports. I don't know if soccer was played in the 18th century, but I wonder if that might be another reason why the colonists left England.

The United States has been invaded by millions of fans, many from so-called "poor" countries. They apparently saved their takas, rupees, euros, pounds, and francs under their mattresses and they are now living in luxury hotels and sitting in $700 dollar game seats. The Scots are said to have drunk up all of the beer in Boston, the Norse took up sitting perfectly aligned and pretending to be rowing in the streets of downtown New York, and fans from all over the world discovered and became obsessed with ranch dressing and how to smuggle it home past the TSA and Trump's stormtrooper ICE agents.

Let's start with the name of the game. I can't figure out whether they call it football or soccer. I recall the story of an American football coach who was touring the British Isles and one day came to a Pub with a sign out front that read: NO FOOTBALL COACHES ALLOWED. His tour group was very confused until someone explained what it really meant: NO BUSSES CARRYING SOCCER FANS ALLOWED. Soccer fans are notorious troublemakers.

The fields are varying sizes, generally larger than a football field, and of course, the field is called a pitch. The goal is 24 feet wide, 8 feet high and 4 to 6 feet deep. At least the ball is round.

There are ten players and one goalie on each team on the pitch.

Fans try to tell you that it is a simple game, The Beautiful Game, as some misguided soul once wrote in a book about it. I opine that it is neither. It is a boring and confusing contest at best.

I am also trying to find more reasons to dislike or make fun of the thing. Like Martha Stewart was there. She was the only luminary they showed yesterday and I think she was still awake, but I'm not sure. I think she might have been there with her parole officer.

To start, the countdown for all timed sporting events begins at fifteen or twenty minutes or whatever and counts down to zero. In soccer, it starts at nil and counts up.

Nil, that means zero in soccer. And the clock doesn't stop, even during the many severe injuries incurred by the players. When the count reaches 45:00, a certain amount is arbitrarily added to the time. Somebody approximates the time lost to penalty stoppage and the time lost tending to the severe injuries and adds it on at the end. The clock will then look something like this: 45:00+7. That means that play will continue for at least seven more minutes. The same thing happens at the end of the match. No one knows ahead of time when the match will end. The referee, at his discretion, will inform the teams when he decides the match is over.

Speaking of injuries, there are many in a soccer game, but most of the players are endowed with miraculous recuperative powers. They will go down with a severe injury and lay writhing on the ground in extreme agony and if the referees ignore them, they will struggle upright, limp around for a second or two and then sprint into the fray, none the worse for the wear.

Another little quirk you must learn to be a successful, big time soccer player is the grimace. When you receive one of the many severe injuries you will incur, you are required to grab your ankle and roll over and over across the pitch, displaying your best grimace as you roll. The Grimace may decide whether or not the referee calls a penalty on your opponent. I think I would be a good grimacer.

If you are such a great soccer fan, please explain "offsides" to me. I have watched a lot of matches and I still have no idea what constitutes offsides. You are also not allowed to touch the ball with your hands or arms. Boy, does everybody get mad at you if you do. I didn't think you could use your hands or arms at all, except the goalie, but players throw each other around all of the time and sometimes the ref will call a penalty on you or give you the dreaded yellow card. The yellow card is exceeded in dread only by the most dreaded of all. . . the red card.

The red card means that jokers are wild -NO- it means that you, pal, are out of the game and maybe the next one too. That'll show you, for using your arms. I don't know why they don't simply tie their hands behind them. That would eliminate any and all penalties of that nature.

That is for the offense. Apparently the defense can throw the offense all over the place without penalty. The beautiful game can get pretty ugly when the guys, or girls, are jockeying for position on a side kick.

When a ball goes out of bounds, the ref gives the ball to whomever he wishes. "Here you go nephew, it's your ball."

German: "Ach, what the strudel?"

Nephew: "Gee, thanks Uncle Hans."

I understand why a lot of people make their youngsters play soccer rather than football. They don't want their eight year olds to start having concussions just yet. And it is great exercise for kids because they just run and run for reasons they are not quite sure of, often jumping out of the way of the ball when it comes their way.

Speaking of concussions, it seems like soccer players would be prime targets for concussions because "the header" is a major part of soccer. And when kicked, the ball can come at you with a high velocity. Getting constantly whacked on the noggin like that would seem to have a negative effect.

Now with a soccer goal at 24 feet by eight feet, you would think that is a fair sized target. Apparently not. While many kicks and headers are aimed at the goal, few actually go in.

A penalty kick is awarded once in a while and it is used to decide some overtime games. It is taken twelve yards away. The way these guys kick, that is right on top of the goalie. He can only guess which side the kick is going to go and lunge before the actual kick, which gives the kicker a tremendous advantage. I have never seen a penalty where the goalie didn't lunge to one side or the other. If you just kick it straight ahead, you would never miss because the goalie isn't there. Maybe that is against the rules. Lionel Messi of Argentina, the best player in the game and maybe the best ever, missed the goal on a penalty kick in his last game. Messi missed the whole goal from twelve feet unopposed. If that can happen to him, it can happen to anybody. It just shows how hard it is to play a game without using your hands.

In a normal season, not counting the World Cup or the Olympics, many games end in a tie. Nobody enjoys sitting under a blazing sun or in a downpour to watch a tie. As some guy in Alabama once said, "A tie is like kissing your sister."

Well, I say, "that depends on who your sister is."

A soccer team is made up of two guys who rule over everybody else. They are the goalie and the striker. The goalie is self explanatory and the striker is the guy (the best player) who is the designated goal scorer. He will roam around near the center of the field fairly close to the goal and wait for a team mate to set him up.

The object of the other participants, who are ingloriously anonymous, even if they have their name on the back of their shirts, is to get the ball to cross the striker's path so he can kick or header it into the goal. He is then required to run around the field with his arms upheld, basking in the hysterical cheers from the adoring masses in attendance. His minion teammates hug him and bow before him during his triumphant parade. Each team usually misses many times until once or twice a game, somebody gets the ball to land in the goal.

Occasionally, one of the underlings will kick in a rebound for a score and the striker will have to smile and rub the guy's head, pretending that he is happy for him.

The crowds sing and chant and dance and fight. Keep in mind that if you leave your seat to go to the restroom or concession stand, that is when a goal will be scored, often for your team, and someone will have taken your seat. You will have to fight them to get it back.

A score of two to one is about as high as they go. Three to two is out of control. There are teams who not only are winless in the World Cup, but haven't even scored a goal. They will lose 3 - 1 and go back home to Cameroon, or wherever, delirious because they scored a goal.

Advocates say, "Soccer is universal. Anybody can play. All you need is a ball."

Well, all you need to play baseball is a smaller ball and a stick. And all you need to play polo is a horse, a ball, and a mallet.

"It has been played for 2,000 years." Polo could be called a beautiful game too, except for the horse poop.

So what?