Those of you who know me well, realize that I have a habit for developing irrational hatred towards random sports teams. I have hated the Duke basketball program since they played (and lost) in the 1999 NCAA title against
UConn because, to quote my 11 year-old mind, "played like assholes." My parents forcing me to take French in 7
th grade logically led to my brief loathing of the French national football team. Most prominent, however, has been my persistent distaste for US soccer.
How, people often ask, could I possibly hate the footballing symbol of my adopted country? Usually I just say, "cause fuck you,
that's why" but this being a written piece and all, I shall elaborate. Firstly, the US is possibly the only country in the world that could win the World Cup and collectively not give a shit. Think about it. Were the US to raise the trophy this year, would LA riot like after a
Lakers championship? Would people in Chapel Hill rush Franklin? Would
dukies light bonfires with their collective douche secretions? Simply put, no. Streets would remain calm, cars would remain
unflipped, and Durham's gated community would not remove the sticks from their asses in order to light them. There's always a bit of good in everything I guess. Regardless, it would barely make a blip on the US sports
conscience.
The second (and initial) reason is a lot more childish, and a lot more powerful. It dates back to that USA-Colombia game in 1994 where a simple mistake by the one of the generation's greatest defenders caused Colombia fall of the footballing map for the next 16 years and counting. Yes, there were other
narcofutbol related issues that contributed (documented in an episode of
ESPN's 30 for 30 which sadly doesn't air here), but the 6 year-old who watched that game didn't care. The ensuing news report of Andres
Escobar's murder is the first moment I can firmly place in my memory. It is hard to let go of habits developed at such an age where even memory is hazy, and so a deep hatred for US soccer has lived within me for many years now. Was the US at fault that day? No, of course not. Any team worthy of playing in the world's greatest tournament would have seized the opportunity and exploited the deflated
opposition. Still, I never claimed to be rational person, let alone a well-informed, football-
conscious toddler capable of making valid judgements.
And so we arrived at this year's tournament, with Colombia watching from home, and the US in the same group as local favorite Algeria.
Game 1 USA-England
Going in I knew one thing for sure, I wanted US to lose, and badly. Just because I am supposedly an informal representative of the US here, doesn't mean my sudden hatred for its soccer division would suddenly fade. And so, when Gerrard put one through 5 minutes in I clapped a bit. Fuck you Sam's Army, chew on that for a while.
Then the game stagnated and the US was able to hold ground for an extended stretch. Suddenly, my instinct to always root for huge underdogs wanted to kick in. Don't get sucked in, "it's a trap" I thought, quoting Admiral Ackbar. I let a few digs at the misery of USA's backline loose and figured the matter was settled. Yet, a few minutes later when Green's butterfingers erased the deficit,I felt glad. Not ecstatic or anything, the goal was not gonna make a difference when England regrouped at half and got some 1812 payback in the latter 45 minutes.
But then nothing happened. Much to England's frustration, the game ended in a draw after countless advances fell flat. Also, Tim Howard was a beast out there. I left the game feeling confused. Had I just gotten some sort of pleasure out of a US soccer victory?
Shortly after I returned to my site and everybody was congratulating me on the US's valor. All of my protests against the moral worth of the team were brushed off and I was pegged as a die hard USA fan by most everyone in the community. Uncalled for.
Game 2 USA-Slovenia
My sitemate (a girl) wanted to watch this game and so we called in a favor to a cafe owner who allowed a select few of us access into his place while it was closed for afternoon siesta.* The game began and all present were tauting me with cries of a bitter US defeat. "No protest here," I said, to their undeniable confusion. Why would I go through all this trouble, just to cheer against the country I am supposedly from?
Not too far in the first half Slovenia placed a beautiful ball past the stunned Howard. Suddenly I was pissed. Days of being told to root for the US had taken hold and watching that ball hit the back of the net actually stung a bit. Slovenia hit pay dirt again before half and I was a mess. Who the fuck is Slovenia? I wanted to punch all two million inhabitants in their ballsacks. At least, my confusion would be over and the revilement of USA soccer that was status quo would be allowed return with the team's exit.
Then Donovan scored. Then Bradley scored. The US was back in it and my head was a mess. All sorts of qualification scenarios began to be thrown around just as Edu touched in a free kick from Donovan. Game over, US wins 3-2. Then came Mali's own, whistle happy Stevie Wonder and nullified the goal for some unspecified reason. The group was now a mess, and it would be anybody's game in the final matchups after a 0-0 Algeria-England draw.
The days that followed were entirely characterized by people telling me the US had no chance against Algeria. How could the North Americans possibly defeat the juggernaut that had managed to score exactly zero goals in the first two games? So constant was the barrage of "one, two, three, viva Algerie" and various other inane chants, that the defiant in me rose up. I would root for the US to win, but not because I was a fan or anything, but because I am a giant asshole and this would be great to rub in everyone's face. Yup, totally cause of the f-u effect.
Game 3 USA-Algeria
When Algeria's shot hit off the crossbar 15 minutes in I almost punched the guy next to me in the face. There was no way I could put up with the incessant taunting if the parade of wannabes in red, white and blue didn't pull this one through. We got through half and nothing had happened, USA was slated to fade away into elimination in as quiet a way as possible.
Then came a series of US advances, one could sense a goal coming, but then again one could also sense a cascade of wide shots and missed opportunities in the future. As you all know, the game appeared to be over when Donovan touched in a rebound from within the six and pandemonium broke loose on the field. I tried to convince myself that the same was happening all throughout the US but knew it to be false.
USA would advance, first in its group, and congratulations flew my way for the next few hours. I was happy but weary of feeling so. These were the same people that had brought down Colombian football a decade and a half ago and yet I was treating people to soda** on behalf of their victory. Even worse, were the US to win the next match, they would be closer to the cup than Colombia has ever been (Roger fuckin Milla) and I would have to toast even more people.
I don't know where this train wreck of a post is going, but then again, I don't know where my emotions on this team are going. We'll just have to watch the next game and take it one step at a time. I will admit one thing though, when some kid shouted congratulations at me after the game, my response was "eight, nine, ten, viva mirikan."
peace.
*It is generally not allowed for women to sit at cafes, it is purely an all dude's affair.
** The national high school exam results had come out the previous day, people who pass celebrate by buying others soda and cookies. This is the general custom of celebration.
