“Brazil, right?,’’ I asked.
“Yeah,’’ he replied. “That women’s soccer game was the greatest game ever. I’ve never been a soccer fan, but I gotta admit, this is pretty good.’’
That seals it. Soccer has arrived. The Worldwide Leader is right again. Like millions of other Americans, Ken Nigro is setting his Old School Timex to watch today’s women’s World Cup final, featuring the United States and Japan, in Frankfurt.
Count me as one of the last holdouts. I’m one of those ugly Americans who’d normally prefer to stick needles in my eyes than watch soccer. Parental duties required days on the soccer sideline when my kids were little, but that was different. Watching grown-ups play soccer on television has forever been a chore.
You know the familiar arguments. It always seems to be nil-nil. No natural progression toward scoring. Too much flopping. The subjective and ever-ambiguous injury/stoppage time. No timeouts for bathroom breaks. Not enough violence. They always score the only goal when you’re tying your shoe. You can’t use your hands - most of the best things in sports are done with hands.
It has bothered me that soccer buffs from foreign lands can’t understand America’s resistance to soccer as a spectator sport. I consider myself tolerant of my European and South American friends who think baseball is boring. Why would anyone love baseball unless they grew up watching it? I only ask that folks from soccer lands extend us the same understanding.
But watching the US women’s team has been a thrill. They have personality. They score a lot of goals. They’re tough when the chips are down.
Women’s soccer was kind of a big deal 12 years ago when the Americans won the Cup before 90,000 at the Rose Bowl. That’s when Brandi Chastain famously shucked her shirt and celebrated on the field wearing a black sports bra. That was considered the Title IX championship. Now they’re trying to become the first women’s team in history to win a third Cup. And they have our attention.
