To the critical words of Dominic Pino and Nate Hochman, may I offer that soccer, much like baseball, is at its best when consumed as one would music, i.e., in audio format? The constancy of movement in the “beautiful game” creates a pleasant murmur in the background. It is only when the crowd informs us of impending fatal action that our eyes should move to the screen.
A game that comes to us from before television and radio, the physical presence of the throng and her voice communicate what we need to know. For the initiate, he needn’t sit and watch the games — I’d pity you if you did — but try listening to them. Like a young boy without tickets loitering outside of Wrigley or Lambeau, we depend upon the tens of thousands within to inform us of the game’s end — an exhilarating spectacle in one’s mind.
As a former goalie and yellow card magnet, soccer is frustration incarnate. But it has good in it, something that a series of calls may further illuminate:
As Americans, a people blessed with better sports, we needn’t love soccer. But we can at least appreciate why others might.