By BILL PUCKO
As originally presented on the Rochester Press Box
I played soccer once. Back at Hingham High School, although there is no photographic evidence of my actually being in a game. I can only remember one. But it didn’t stop me from thinking I might be able to play college level as a walk on. It was D-3 after all. Got a jersey. Watched a practice and convinced myself otherwise. Failed to return the jersey. Not my proudest moment at Ithaca. Not my worst either.
So, I know. Soccer can be a terrible sport to watch. Yet, that’s the beauty of it. There’s so much down time, and so little reward for great play, that when something actually does happen, like a goal or a big save, it is magnificent. Soccer fans understand this and if you don’t, they play the superiority card and they play it well. You are somehow less of a human if you don’t fully appreciate ‘the beautiful game.’
Then every four years comes the World Cup. You watch because the United States is in it this year. You watch out of a sense of loyalty. You watch because you should. You watch because this is your opportunity to prove you belong. Look around at the crowd in the sports bar, and it’s a great sports bar sport. You can’t tell the soccer fan from the poser. You cheer when you should. Groan when you ought to. And when the match is over, you hate the game because so little happened. You love the game because it was fun. It’s a real love/hate relationship. And that’s the beauty of the game.
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