ZZ, Nutmegs and the World

I engaged in an interesting role-reversal activity yesterday, playing World Citizen with a semi-feigned interest in the World Cup finale between Italy and France. The sport of soccer has never really engaged me, though I'm sure if I were English, or raised by a father who immersed himself in soccer lore as I actually was by a diehard baseball fan, my preferences would have been different.

So it was with my next-door neighbors, a Greek-American family with little tolerance for baseball but universal knowledge of soccer (which they called football, sneering at the American usage of that term). They cordially invited me over to a World Cup party, which made up for my lack of invites for the Super Bowl extravaganza. An added incentive was the culinary attraction of a menu made of specialties from the competing countries--lasagna, quiche and chocolate souffle. Plus an HD-TV screen, congenial company and a commute of about eight feet. So who was I to quibble about a game I found uninvolving (embarrassingly, as do most Americans).

This was a gathering of about a dozen folks, most of whom could recite arcane statistics about World Cup matches past, great defensive plays, teams with the most championships, etc.--precisely the kind of nonsense that I find so riveting in the world of baseball. But here I was the newcomer, slowly acclimating to the subtleties and pace of the game, if not attuned to its true nuances. The experience though, was largely positive, for I did pick up some of the lingo and a sense of its history, and my knowledge increased about a thousandfold over what it was before the World Cup series began a month ago. I can now say things like "handball" and "stoppage time" and actually know of what I speak. I sort of understand the onside rule. And instead of explaining the infield-fly rule to a polite observer during an October play-off game, here I was learning about the peculiarly named "nutmeg," a graceful running maneuver involving kicking the ball between the legs of the defender and picking it up again.

The game itself was more exciting than I'd have guessed. I've always objected to the low level of scoring in soccer, and the deflating effect a first score has on the the opposing team. In this match, however, France scored early on a penalty kick, and Italy bounced right back with a "header" off a corner kick. The game then remained scoreless through regulation and two overtime periods, to be decided by the intense goal shoot-out which Italy won for two reasons--a French kick nicked the top of the goal and bounced off, and French star Zinedine Zidane, their best player, was booted from the game for an unsportsmanlike head butt before the shoot-out.

Zinedine Zidane! What a wonderful name. With an eagle's nose and a intense buzz-cut he made an imposing, charismatic figure, rather like a leering young Patrick Stewart. The heart of the team, he was responsible for the penalty goals scored by France in this match and in the previous semi-final victory over Portugal. But in a moment of high emotion he lost his composure, retaliated grossly against an opponent and cost his team the best scorer it had. Those watching with me commented that this disgrace would live with him forever; despite his greatness, he would have a Bill Buckner shadow hanging over him for as long as World Cup play is remembered, which is a long time. He wasn't allowed to return to the field to accept his second-place trophy--such is the dishonor of attaining a red card.

The winning Italians also had their share of heroes, including the slick defenseman Fabio Canavarro and the robust Luca Toni, who sounded either like a pasta or a victim of the Corleones. For some reason, all those in attendance at the gathering were pulling for the Italians. They found it easy to dislike the French, who would probably be universally despised if it weren't for our recent international arrogance that took the heat off the Gauls.

I must admit there are some advantages to soccer over American football and baseball. I like the continuous action and a clock that never stops. All the commercials have to be bunched in the beginning and between halves, which makes it perfect for TIVOing. Rules of battle are much more civilized, and any contact is frowned upon with a yellow card (if accidental) or severe red card (if intentional). I do think the subjective responsibilities of the refs to determine "intent" makes them more integral to the game than in American sports.

I am not a convert--to admit soccer has any value compared with local patriotic sports like Nascar would immediately brand me as Hating America. But I'm glad to have had this experience among knowledgeable fans. At my age any novelty is intriguing. And I was also watching an event that will be more enduring on the world scene than either the World Series (inapppropriately named until it's pan-Hemispheric at least) or the Super Duper Bowl.