I have lived a life of blissful ignorance of most things football. Unlike virtually every English male I know, I fail to get excited by how Manchester United, Chelsea or some other billionaire’s plaything are faring in the Premier League. When asked which team I support I instinctively reply ‘Arsenal’ – mostly because it was popular with my friends in the 1980’s. But any follow-up questions leave me stumped. I have only the vaguest idea of how the team is doing and who plays for them. I feel my eyelids becoming heavy when questions arise about key players, injuries, tactics, or virtually any detail that even a lukewarm follower of the Gunners should know. Over the years I have spent endless hours in bars having accompanied friends to watch games, only to find them absorbed in the match while I am equally enraptured in willing the clock to move quicker towards full time.
Thus it was with a certain degree or relief that I anticipated coming to live in the States – a land that seemed to share my indifference to the game worshipped just about everywhere else in the world. No longer would I have to feign familiarity or interest in the ups and downs of teams at national and international level. My foreign stature also relieved me of any required knowledge of baseball, basketball, or American football. Or so I thought.
It turns out that the US is a land which is slowly gaining the soccer bug. Livvy (shown in post-match victory pose with her number 1 fan – Edie) is one of hundreds of girls and boys who play on a local field every Saturday, in the local children’s league. Her team – the ‘Maroon 13’s’ take the game seriously, with mid-week practices, and end of season medals. And while soccer may be a foreign import, the kids are overwhelmingly as American as apple pie – as are the coaches.
I approach Maroon 13’s games with big dollop of fatherly pride and also a fair degree of trepidation – not I might add in anticipation of my daughter’s performance on the field – particularly as she exhibits skill on the pitch clearly not inherited from either of her parents. My nervousness is rooted in being uncovered as a soccer ignoramus. I live in particular fear of one of the other Dad’s whose daughter is the lynchpin of Maroon 13’s defense. He is an avid Arsenal fan despite having been born and raised 3,000 miles from the Holloway Road. The presence of a fellow ‘Gunner’ (at least that what he thinks) is an opportunity for him to discuss the minutiae of the team’s performance. As a result I spend the Saturday morning matches dodging him along the touchline, desperate to find myself wherever he isn’t, so that I don’t get caught in a chat about which I know nothing.
The World Cup is only adding to my discomfort. Earlier today, two workmen – both DC natives – came to my office to put up some wall fittings. Alongside repairing my poor attempt at DIY, they were eager to discuss England’s chances in the competition. Given that I don’t even know my Group A from my Group H, and wouldn’t be able to pick out the England players (except Rooney) in a line-up, we had a stilted conversation that I kept trying to steer back to where my global map and white-boards should hang.
The only football quote I know (and which I use if caught in a tight corner when discussing the game), is that attributed to Bill Shankly who said, ‘some people believe football is a matter of life and death…. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that.’ The game certainly inspires near-religious devotion in England, Europe, Latin America, and much of the rest of the world. And while the US could once be relied upon to be once agnostic about soccer, it now seems it is becoming being slowly drawn into the floodlit sacrament of turf, ball and studded boots. And given the growing fervor of Livvy and latterly Edie in football, it looks like I might have to ‘up my game’ just to keep up.
Are you too feigning interest in football? If not – how do I start developing an interest? Advice urgently required!