Soccer, Never Watch Alone

18 05 2010
Sounder 'til I die
Soccer is such an intense sport. The ref checks his watch and blows his whistle
to start a match. The next moment to take a breath and relax is after the ref
blows his whistle for halftime. After a 15 minute break, the ref again plays hi
s whistle to begin a second 45 minutes of wild short breathing. One team, or so
metimes both press intensely just to draw even. One team may cast breathless pr
ayers to endure a slim lead and win. While the other scrapes, bleeds, and fight
s to avoid the despair of a narrow loss. Every game reaches the end of full-tim
e when 90 minutes is played. Yet soccer refuses to end so politely. Each match
is followed by 2-5 suffocating and cardiac pulsating minutes of stoppage time.
So unless you have a manual defibrillator, it’s good to have someone around you
to watch a full match. Soccer should have a disclaimer: “Please, what ever yo
u do, don’t watch this alone”. If someone says, “yah, I’m just gonna go home an
d watch the match alone.” You should instantly jump into action, take their ke
ys, grab a scarf, and let them know, “it’s all right, I’m here to support you an
d watch with you.” Because when the refs final whistle sounds, it is either pur
e survivalist jubilation, or complete lifelessness.
I made a critical mistake for round six vs Toronto FC, I chose to watch the matc
h at home, alone.
The match started at the soccer early hour of 11:00 a.m., due to its being locat
ed North of the border in Ontario’s Maple Leafs country. Crazy east coast time.
In all fairness to Toronto, arguably the hockey capital of the world, their s
occer supporters consistently sellout matches and have a season ticket holder wa
iting list of almost 17,000. Apart from Sounders FC, they are the most impressi
ve fan supported MLS club. For that reason, Toronto was awarded the 2010 MLS Cu
p Final similarly to Seattle receiving the championship bid last year recognizin
g its tremendous fan support.
At the squeal of the refs whistle signaling a halftime breather, the score was n
il-nil. Seattle played its best half of football in their young 2010 season. A
gain they were not rewarded with a deserved goal. Fast, precise passing, mixed
with quick attacking buildup resulting in multiple chances on goal. The frustra
ting and all too common problem, finishing was again at issue. If real estate i
s “location, location, location”, then soccer is finishing, finishing, finishing
. I should have watched with family or friends, or someone else, anyone else, b
ecause a well-played game + no goals x passionate fan watching alone = problem,
problem, problem.
The ref tweeted to start the second half and again the ball seemed at the doorst
ep of Toronto’s goal. Still no result. As the beautiful game is often viewed a
s a delicate balance between total-oops and heavenly perfection, it would of co
urse be the Sounders always sure-footed star, Osvaldo Alonso who would miss a si
mple clearance that would bop and hop to the foot of Toronto’s marksmen, Dwayne
de Rosario, who brilliantly curled a shot past Keller to the right side of net.
Like all faithful Sounders fans, I still felt there was hope. There was time o
n the refs clock for Seattle to earn a draw. But I wasn’t thinking clearly, bec
ause I was watching alone. Tyrone Marshall let a pass get away, which led to an
instant Toronto FC counter attack, that all too easily led to a second goal. S
till not thinking clearly, but at a much more angered and fevered pace after the
ir second goal, I grabbed the remote control. Now I was finished. I was trying
to change channels and ditch the game, even before the refs final whistle blew.
I wanted to Star Trek out of the intensity of losing a soccer match. Effectiv
ely committing the very worst type of sports watching foul. Angry and alone TV
surfing.
My wife was all along quietly relaxing on the couch. Relaxing, Facebooking, and
allowing me to “enjoy” soccer time. She’s there for moral support, but not inv
olved in the game. She checks in for goals and hard fouls. She’s there for me
as the good spouse, my much better half, but she is not there for the match. Fo
r that, I’m on my own. In desperation, and clouded aloneness, I think she’s the
one to turn to for help to escape the losing match. Deep down inside, I know t
his is a red card offense. Nonetheless, I try to trick honesty, and slyly turn
innocently to my wife for a station suggestion, “Hey hun, what would you like to
watch?” All I need is her simple and usual suggested channel to turn to and es
cape my teams fatal match in Toronto. She’s slightly caught off guard, “huh?”
In being caught off guard she gives me one last chance for redemption. A moment
to pause before turning and stay with my team to the end. Instead, I force the
lonely decision and insist she give me a channel to run away to. “Hey hun, wha
t’s that show you like?” I’m trying with sweaty handed desperation to change ch
annels, but like some sort of bad karma loop, I only continue to find Sounders v
s Toronto FC. I’m waiting on bated breath for her channel suggestion. She’s us
ually so happy to watch almost anything other than soccer. I’m ready for her to
give rapid-fire suggestions for home improvements, gardening, cooking, travel,
reading with Sarah Palin, something, anything! . . . . . Nothing.
As a husband, I believe my wife in a polite, but much amused manner, enjoyed wat
ching me stand there getting frustrated with the remote and my teams impending o
utcome. Finally, after several minutes of furious but unsuccessful channel chan
ging, the soccer gods took solace on me and the remote finally accepted one of m
y angry channel requests. The match for me was over. The referee had not blown
the final whistle, instead I chose to call the match myself.
The exercise was designed to make me feel better. Instead, I stood there alone
watching another station. My wife still happily and quietly surfing the interne
t on the couch. What I wanted was someone to recognize my Sounders frustration,
and say, “it’s OK, Ryan. The season is young. We played better than they did,
and simply gave the game away in the end. We can correct that in the weeks ahe
ad. Overall we had the majority of the game and actually it was our best passin
g game” O to muse alone.
Then comes the voice. No, not Sigi, not Keller, not my wife, it’s Ljungberg.
Freddie Ljungberg is as smart an élite team-sport athlete as you will find in th
e world. You may not always agree with his choices, but he brings a great deal
of poise and maturity to all his decisions. He knows he is good. He knows he i
s élite. He also never plays for anyone other than his team. He is nothing if
not all about team. Win or lose. At the end of the game he said, “so now we kn
ow hot to play like this and so we will win next time”. That was not a coaches
answer that was a players answer. That was Ljungberg’s answer. Everything he d
oes on the pitch, every bump, fall, pass, shot, foul, shout at the ref, dive, as
sist he does is for the team. Someday soccer will be taught the way he plays.
So, as I started to sulk away from the Sounders in Toronto, Ljungberg talked me
back. “Ryan, this is your team, you never turn away, you never walk alone”. Es
pecially in anger. That only gets you carded by your remote. You stand and sup
port your team from the day it drops to its lowest low, to the day it rises to h
eavenly brilliance in its glowing heights of confetti, banners, and cups. This
is Sounders FC. This is the marriage of franchise and fan. This is stay until
the end. The full 90. That is exactly what Ljungberg said to me, privately, al
one. I’m pretty sure that was him.
I’ll never watch alone, again.