Futbol

 

I made the most amazing discovery yesterday. No, not about South America this time–about me.

I like futbol. Lest you misunderstand, that isn’t FOOTball . . . I am a long-time hater of FOOTball.

FUTbol is what folks here call soccer. Some of our long-time readers will recall the mania that hits Montevideo whenever Uruguay plays on their home turf. Everything shuts down–even things that normally never shut down. The streets clear out as everyone watches the game somewhere–at the stadium, at a sports bar, or at home on TV.  (Uruguay Battles Brazil on the Futbol Field.)

After the game, the plaza is full of people and the air is full of confetti.

I never paid attention to the game itself. Only to the people. I have not seen the kind of dedication to futbol in Argentina that we witnessed in Uruguay. But I know that the love of futbol is alive and well in Argentina.

So why the difference in my attitude?

For one thing I never saw any point in FOOTball. Half the time you don’t know where the ball is. Some guy has it under his arm and they are all running. The point of the game seems to be who has the biggest, baddest players that can also run the fastest. The one skill seems to be the ability to kick an egg-shaped ball over a goal post.

FOOTball, in my family, made it impossible to have a real family holiday. The men in the family loved FOOTball. And when does the US have major football games? Why on the major family holidays, of course. We would manage to have a big family dinner before the men all gathered round the TV for The Game. At one time I thought well, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. So I learned about FOOTball, how it works, pretended interest and sat and watched it too. Which only proved that my original analysis of the game was accurate.

Then, true to family tradition, my brother played FOOTball in high school. I went to some of his games, of course, but only because it was my darlin’ brother–a real demonstration of self-sacrificing love on my part. His games were even more boring than normal.

My brother was big . . . strong . . . fast . . . and determined. Consequently, he was good. So good that the local sports writer for the major Florida daily, the Miami Herald, nicknamed him–The Crusher! No kidding. He got plenty of write-ups as “The Crusher.”

In all my life growing up there, I never saw them nickname a particular player before. Consequently nothing ever happened on his side of the field. The opposing team always took the ball down the other side. After all, who wants to try to carry a ball through the territory of a guy that even the Miami Herald nicknames The Crusher? I’ll tell you who–nobody.

It used to irritate him that he seldom saw any action.

So how could someone with such a long-standing feud with FOOTball be won over by FUTbol?

Here’s how!

My favorite Buenos Aires restaurant shut down for a few weeks and completely remodeled. When it opened, there were large screens on the walls whereupon they display . . . soccer games.

Well folks, I discovered that futbol is different. If you don’t like it now, you might find yourself also captured by this Latino-beloved sport when you get here. For one thing you know where the ball is at all times. It is normal–round–and mostly white. Not only do you know where it is–you are constantly surprised about where it goes.

For example: There are players all over the field–some in red, some in blue. One guy in blue has control of the ball, running like crazy, all the while kicking the ball, with perfect precision, ahead of himself. A whole group runs after him and the ball. Reds and blues together. Then the guy in blue hauls off and kicks it clear across the field to where about ten more guys, some also in blue and some in red, are also running and–while our first guy is running and kicking–he manages to know exactly who is across the field from him, and that ball goes all the way across that field right to the other guy in blue. How they do that is totally beyond me.

And, if necessary, while running, he can kick the thing into the air, over the heads of the opposing team–right to his man on the other side. I sit watching them with awe! It’s like magic!

Plus they argue with the umpire. Here most of the people are Italians. If you know Italians, you know that when they are upset, their arms operate at roughly the same velocity as their mouths. Even though you have no clue what they are saying, their disagreement with the umpire is a show within itself. You will laugh!

Yes, folks, I’m a futbol fan. Now to find out if they have games on family holidays. Knowing these people and how they are about family, I honestly think the futbol game would have precious few viewers if they did that. I have not yet placed futbol in the priority list in Argentina. I’m too new at this. I’m sure you will remember the priority list in Uruguay–family, friends, futbol, and then work. I’ll check that out here.

Thank you for joining us! And we hope to see you soon . . . in South America!

Copyright Four Flags Journal 2012 All rights reserved.

 

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