The Lonely American
It's hard being a soccer fan in America. I love watching soccer (I can't get myself to call it football yet). I've been to the world cup. I travel around the country to watch European teams play friendlies. I'm a devout follower of the U.S. national team. I'm at the bar at noon sitting quietly with other lonely American soccer fans watching Champions League games. I exist in two worlds and belong to none. Can you feel my pain?
I got into soccer in 1994 when the World Cup came to the States. I remember watching the finals during a humid evening in Harvard Square standing outside a sports bar after working my shift at a local cafe. I was walking to the T when I stumbled into a crowd of people starting into the bar, faces and fists clenched. I squeezed my way to the railing and didn't move for the next hour. I remember the gut-wrenching tension as Italian star Roberto Baggio (loved the mullet) lined up penalty kick, and then the screams of horror and amazement when he launched his shot over the cross bar. That moment, I felt like I was part of the world.
Throughout the years my passion for watching soccer has grown to the point where it has surpassed my interest in other pro sports. And yet, I can only count a couple people in my life who come close to understanding why I'm on pins and needles before the U.S. faced off against Honduras. My fiancee tolerates it. My friends find it entertaining.
I started this blog for a couple of reasons. First, I need an outlet. Second, I'm looking to connect with other lonely American soccer fans looking for an outlet. Third, if this blog become popular I hope it will fund a trip to South Africa in 2010 (hey, at least I'm being honest). In closing, my fellow Americans, come join me on my journey to South Africa. The world awaits.
I got into soccer in 1994 when the World Cup came to the States. I remember watching the finals during a humid evening in Harvard Square standing outside a sports bar after working my shift at a local cafe. I was walking to the T when I stumbled into a crowd of people starting into the bar, faces and fists clenched. I squeezed my way to the railing and didn't move for the next hour. I remember the gut-wrenching tension as Italian star Roberto Baggio (loved the mullet) lined up penalty kick, and then the screams of horror and amazement when he launched his shot over the cross bar. That moment, I felt like I was part of the world.
Throughout the years my passion for watching soccer has grown to the point where it has surpassed my interest in other pro sports. And yet, I can only count a couple people in my life who come close to understanding why I'm on pins and needles before the U.S. faced off against Honduras. My fiancee tolerates it. My friends find it entertaining.
I started this blog for a couple of reasons. First, I need an outlet. Second, I'm looking to connect with other lonely American soccer fans looking for an outlet. Third, if this blog become popular I hope it will fund a trip to South Africa in 2010 (hey, at least I'm being honest). In closing, my fellow Americans, come join me on my journey to South Africa. The world awaits.
Comments (0)
Post a Comment