World Cup Crazy

Last week, two major championships were awarded - the Carolina Hurricanes won the Stanley Cup and the Miami Heat the NBA Championship. You may also be aware that there's another tournament going on - something called the World Cup of Soccer. Now most of us North Americans could really care less, but for some reason it seems to get the rest of the world in a tizzy.

I used to be a big sports fan, but my interest in pro sports has waned in recent years. I suppose it began around age 16 when I began to rationalize and contextualize things. Foremost, the issue of scale came up. We North Americans are a transient people, moving from one place to another, and national pride will outdo civic pride any day. And I asked myself: in the grander scheme of things, who really cares? If the Leafs win the Stanley next year, who outside of Toronto, would really know or care? What does it all mean in the end? Torontonians will parade Stanley down Yonge St. and have their moment in the sun for a few weeks, but really what's the point - the whole process will start again in 4 months anyhow. I'll have to dodge a few pucks from saying this, but I'd actually rather the Jays win the World Series than the Leafs win Stanley, only because it's a championship title more people would recognize.

The World Cup, on the other hand, is an entirely different animal. The sheer scale of the tourney, one that happens just once every four years, is enormous. There is tremendous magnitude and significance to each and every match, where literally one strike or volley or red card could decide who proceeds and who gets out. We are speaking of audiences literally in the billions.

Moreover, the World Cup is about national pride and national honour. These guys aren't playing for some ring or to have their names etched on some trophy or for an extension on their multi-million dollar contracts. The World Cup is about representing one's nation, playing for one's people. If your nation wins the World Cup, you get world respect, world recognition. There are hundreds of millions of people of varying hues and nationalities out there from continent to continent that know - and care - that you won the World Cup. There are kids and adults that will buy your nation's jersey and want to be associated with your country, and give you mad props and instant respect when you say you are of said nation.

You can say I've caught World Cup fever (and from the throngs that turned out at the SLC today to watch the match on the big screen, I seem not to be the only one). When the underdog Aussies lost this afternoon's heartbreakter to Italy 1-0 at the 95th minute to a penalty kick, I felt gloomy in a way that I didn't feel when the Leafs failed to make the playoffs this year, when my reaction was more ho-hum. Australia, as Canada's southern hemisphere equivalent, was my team, and I love rooting for the underdog. That Australia managed to hold a soccer powerhouse like Italy to a scoreless draw for 95 minutes was remarkable - they were this close to heading to extra time!

But I must say, the World Cup is an amazing spectacle. The flags, the screaming tens of thousands in the stands painted and draped in their national colours - it's an amazing sight to behold and the atmosphere is one that, I must admit, the MLB or NHL or NBA can never rival.

And what I'm starting to love about soccer is the personalities. These guys get really worked up and emotional in a way that you never see in stodgy North American pro sports (Lou Pinella aside). I love how animated the soccer players get with their diving and acrobatics and futile protests, and all the more the spectacle of yellow-shirted referees busting out pens and whipping out yellow and red cards (are there any other colours?), and the slow-motion replays and the wry BBC commentators. In fact, watching the reactions of players and their fans as they get ejected is one of my guilty pleasures - the Portugal/Netherlands game yesterday afternoon was a delight in this respect. And watching Gene Hackman (coach Scolari) from Portugal's sidelines was a riot. Hackman always plays the coach.