May 22, 2008

On a recent trip to Ireland, Dad found himself in a pub with his traveling buddy. A horde of natives gathered around the bar watching a futbol match on television. Each pass and shot received oohs and aahs from the horde. The beer flowed freely.

At one point, Dad turned to his buddy and said, “You know, my son in Mississippi calls this game Communist kickball.”

Dad almost didn’t make it out of the pub alive.

Soccer, the Americanized word for futbol, never caught on in our house. I had a stellar one–year career as a 6–year–old goalie. Too young to play baseball and too slow to play in the field, the coach put me at the goal. I spent the season practicing my pitching windup while the other 20 players ran circles around midfield.

I never remember even facing a shot, but that might have had something to do with blindness in my left eye or my desire to be the right–handed version of New York Yankees pitcher Ron Guidry.

It was my only season of soccer. I rarely watched the game on TV or in person, especially if I didn’t need a nap. I have used this column to claim that the game will never catch on in America because of what seems to be constant passing exhibitions at midfield. Maybe it wasn’t soccer I didn’t like but bad soccer.

The two best European futbol teams played on Wednesday for the World Series and Super Bowl of European soccer. One team wore blue and the other red. It was astounding the things they did with a futbol. (Is it a futbol or a futbol ball?) Whatever, these players could play. A championship hung in the balance and, if any sports nut knows, if there is a championship match for rock–scissors–paper and it is televised, we will tune in.

And tune in I did on the office TV. I planned my exit from work for halftime. I watched the first half in the office using the perverse logic that, no, I wasn’t wasting time, but working on a column about European soccer. I have also done research columns at the office on Seinfeld and the movie “Gladiator,” but please don’t tell the bosses.

Manchester United, the team wearing red jerseys with AIG across the front, beat Chelsea, the blue team with Samsung across the chest, in a game that looked like a corporate picnic match. The fans cheered wildly. Some players cried and others danced. To get the trophy —- and this is the best part —- the entire team walked through the crowd, up 69 stairs to a podium to receive the trophy.

The sights blew me away.

So maybe I will give this futbol thing another chance. Maybe the Europeans are onto something that we in America have yet to completely grasp. Maybe I can even get Dad to become a fan.

I always wanted to visit Ireland, but not to see Dad in a hospital.

*

Sean P. Murphy is sports editor of The Vicksburg Post. E–mail him at

smurphy@vicksburgpost.com