“Josh! Eight years of writing this blog nonsense and barely
a word about soccer? But it’s your favorite sport! What’s the deal?” people
constantly say to me (as far as you know.)
Favorite sport? I don’t know about that, though it certainly
is in the top five, along with ping-pong, laser tag, duck, duck goose and “speed
staring” (a small but fast growing sport, jump on the bandwagon now). I have
been playing it since I was in first grade, (three hundred years ago) so it has
always held a special place in my heart. And considering that it’s that time of
year when Americans want to pretend like they care about soccer, what better
moment to chime in with my two cents? (Never is also an acceptable answer).
Let me begin with that classic topic: soccer vs football.
Actually, no. Let me not address at all because it’s a bullshit waste of time.
Call it Ball-Kickers if you want. Hell, it makes sense and sounds more bad-ass
than soccer or football. Or, let’s all just call it Greg.
“Hey, who wants to go out and play some Greg?”
“No thanks. We have too much self-respect. Time for some
Mario Kart.”
Maybe that’s not such a great idea.
Anyway, I was introduced to soccer at a young age. First I
tried basketball, but the concept of running around while bouncing a ball
seemed odd to me. I was too distracted by how goofy that looked to be an
effective player. Next I tried baseball, but instantly saw the disadvantages of
standing in one place while a person you may not know or trust throws a small,
heavy sphere straight at your head. Later as a kid, I was fortunate to hear
what it sounds like when a bat connects with a person’s head, when swung at a
high velocity. I was hundreds of feet away. It was both loud and blood-curdling.
I enjoyed playing football as well, when I was young, but didn’t
feel that it required the same amount of skill. Being bigger than other kids didn’t
involve special training. Soccer on the other hand needed speed, skills,
strength, stamina and sexy thighs. All things I had in abundance. Well, maybe
not the skill portion, but I’d like to think I made up for it with spunk. And
steroids.
I’ve played on many teams in my day, including a few club
teams, (like The Silver Spring Express)
school teams (Blazers) and other
various (The Sticky Palms*).
One of the highlights of my soccer career was back in 2003
when I was part of a group of American soldiers who played a game against a
group of Iraqi soldiers. They beat the shit out of us. Half of them weren’t
wearing shoes. There are never any IEDs when you need them.
The other highlight was once in high school when my friend
Alex and I somehow conned our way into the announcer’s booth during a home game
and went completely off script with the color commentary. We claimed one of the
players on our team was Wyclef and his newest album would be dropping soon. We
were quickly chased away and asked to never return to any future games.
Whatever. They sucked anyway.
I was never as good of a player as I thought in my head, but
I had fun. Most of the time. My favorite position was defender because I was
fast and wanted to be more involved in the letting-people-come-to-me aspect of
soccer, instead of the run-around-like-a-crazy-person aspect of the game.
Because that shit sounded exhausting.
My fondest memory is when our team got to represent our
country and the big tournament final was against Germany. Our coach, Mr.
Brooks, mad us use our special play called the “triple deek” to… no, wait, that
was The Mighty Ducks. Gee, maybe I don’t
have any fond memories. That seems like a shame.
Oh wait. Soccer chicks. Soccer chicks are a great memory.
Hooray for me. And hooray for the American team playing in the World Cup, (thought
I forgot all about the World Cup, didn’t you?**)
*Contrary to how
ridiculous those names are, I was not in charge of the naming process and
cannot be blamed.
**I totally forgot to
mention the World Cup. Maybe the topic will come around again in another eight
years.
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