I Think I Finally Get World Cup

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized

On this lovely July 4th, the 17th consecutive one I’ve spent in England, I can celebrate becoming even more immersed in this country’s ethic. Last night, I watched the World Cup match between England and Colombia at the Shaftesbury Pub, where on Tuesdays, I normally run the weekly pub quiz. Obviously, that weren’t gonna happen, and after the drama of overtime, and the match being decided on penalty shootout, I came up to the pub landlord afterword and said, “OK to start the quiz now?”

I was a teenager in the summer of 1966, preparing to leave Tucson, Arizona for Redlands, California, and my only exposure to the sport Americans called soccer was a derivative game we played in PE class called speedball, which like most team sports, I totally sucked at. I had no idea the game meant so much to so many people outside the US, or that England won it that year. In fact, I had never heard of World Cup until the US hosted it in 1994. That year’s tournament has been cited as the most financially successful, though I only remember seeing, on TV coverage, flags of Mexico being the most prominent among spectators.

I got a glimpse of the passion in 2002, when the co-host countries were Japan and South Korea, meaning that the daytime matches there started at about 5:00 AM England time. The comic whose spare room I was staying in was passionate enough about it that he’d set his alarm to get up to watch, regardless of how much partying he might have done the night before. I only remember watching one match with him, where Germany humiliated Saudi Arabia 8-0. As little as I knew about football (and let’s call it that from here on) back then, I could tell that this didn’t usually happen. (Coincidentally, Saudi Arabia looked equally as bad against host Russia this year in the opening match, losing 5-0.) In 2002, both Britain and US lost out in the quarter-finals, US to Germany and England to eventual champion Brazil.

I followed it less in 2006, as England crashed out again after winning only one knockout match, and the team would get worse in the next two. In 2010, I faced an awkward situation at a comedy gig, which the start was delayed by a group stage England match. England’s opponent that day was the US, and as I watched, I worried about how awful the mood would be if the US actually won at a sport they adopted much later than most countries, and how the audience might decide to take their frustrations out on ME. It wound up a draw, as England’s goalkeeper allowed an own goal, so while there was gloom in the room, it was mostly feeling embarrassed for the home boys. The gig itself went quite well, and no hard feelings from the crowd. The team didn’t look any better losing in the 16 round to Germany a week or so later, and even worse in 2014, failing to get past the group stage. Even the US went further.

Last night, we saw a whole different team, none of whom are over 30. It helped that their Colombian foes did their share of whining and overacting, yelping in pain like their arms have just been torn off in the hopes of getting a penalty called, then getting up and continuing to play 30 seconds later when they realised that ploy wasn’t gonna help. Colombia played rough, racking up five yellow cards, a couple of which could have easily gone red. England in turn kept their cool, and it showed in the penalty shootout. In this pub that could accommodate a maximum of maybe 150 standing, pretty close to that number let out a collective high-decibel shriek when Eric Dier’s final penalty kick went in, giving England the win. The only time I can remember being in louder crowd noise was at AT&T park in San Francisco in 2002 when Kenny Lofton’s game winning hit sent the Giants to the World Series, but there were about 40,000 more people for that one.

I found myself not only rooting for this England team, but getting caught up in the emotional merry-go-round that such a match can bring. I felt sad when Colombia scored in the 90th minute, tying the game and forcing extra time. I felt worried when it appeared neither side could do much in the extra time, though England’s goal-keeper did deflect one shot that appeared a near certain goal. It boiled down to the shootout, and history had not been on England’s side. With each penalty kick, you could hear hearts racing, fingernails being bitten to the nub, and lots of beer being drunk as we all prepared to be disappointed again. One guy I talked to after the match summed it up perfectly: “We won it, then we lost it, then we lost it again, but then we won it.”

I may well have been the only Yank in the pub last night, but I was as much on tenterhooks as anyone else in that room. Ditto for my girlfriend, who’s Irish. Neither of our native countries were in it this year, so it was easy enough to root for our adopted one. England now faces Sweden on Saturday, and thankfully, that match is in the afternoon. I’m doing comedy at Downstairs at the King’s Head that evening, and our show’s competition is Russia vs. Croatia. I might miss that match, but my girlfriend and I will most definitely be back at the Shaftesbury Saturday afternoon.

I’m not abandoning my country entirely. I still root for the Giants, 49’ers and Warriors across the pond. That will never change.

 

 

 

July 4th, 2018



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