THE BEAUTIFUL GAME

Dear Spike:

Tonight, we took you to your first soccer contest.

It was a heartbreaking ordeal. The referee was lousy. The home team’s coach got red carded. And then, with less than a minute to play in what seemed destined to be yet another scoreless draw for Real Salt Lake, the team gave up a goal to lose the game 0-1.

A woman after my own heart, you showed your displeasure by screaming all the way home.

We humans are passionate about our professional sports clubs. Teams are a point of identification, community and culture — another place to find one’s place in our all-too-frequently placeless world.

But with all the joys, be warned: At times your team will play lousy. And at times they’ll make you wonder why you spend your money to watch them play.

And even for the fans of the best teams in the world, most seasons end with disappointment. There is, after all, only room for one World Series Champion, for one Super Bowl winner, for one Stanley Cup holder.

And so you may simply decide to be a connoisseur of sports: To watch and enjoy and appreciate a beautiful game being played beautifully. To marvel at the endurance, finesse and resiliency of the human body. To be staggered by brilliant performances, regardless of the color of the performer’s uniform.

I found myself in Germany last summer as the World Cup was being played. Wedded to only one of teams in the tournament (and alas, the U.S. side played poorly and quickly was eliminated) there was plenty of time left to simply enjoy “the beautiful game” being played on its grandest stage.

And yet, as I entered the stadium at Kaiserslautern to watch Trinidad against Paraguay, I felt compelled by the drums, singing and costumes of the Trinidadian fans and by their passion for the “Soca Warriors.” And when, a week later, I found myself in the middle of the Saudi Arabian cheering section for a Saudi-Spain match, I was enchanted into cheering for the Middle Eastern underdogs.

Yes, there will be heartache — nights like tonight. And lots of them.

But you cannot dream in neutrality. So it goes in sports. So it goes in life.

Accept the heartbreak and the hurt. Choose. And cheer.

Love,
dad