The Secret Behind Football
THERE are some things that I am fully ignorant about: soccer is one of a kind.
By Fred Ouma
THERE are some things that I am fully ignorant about: soccer is one of a kind. When affected to watch a game by one of the beloved men in my life, I merely watch at the screen in a state of cat burglar and gain a vague impression of a group of men running to and fro across the screen, seemingly hunting a ball. And I have a high regard for their legs of course.
I am amazed at how well-informed men are about soccer. I have never been able to understand the policy despite numerous explanations. For example, every now and then a referee stands super-straight and violently blows a whistle.
“Offside!†the men beside me nod smartly. “What does this imply?†I enquire. “It signifies that he ran in advance of the guy from the opposing team.†I’m put in the picture.
“But I thought that’s the very place where he should run to prevent his adversary from dribbling the ball into the goalpost?†Nobody bothers to articulate to me.
Well at least I’ve understood the bit about kicking the ball into the goal. But it’s not just the rules that my male friends know. They memorise the names of all the players, the referees and the managers, the colours and patterns of the shirts and a wealth of other details of about close to every team in the world.
I only have about 15 bytes of random access memory (RAM) for names of footballers in my head that is Pele and Maradona. This implies I will delete any other household name like Van Nestroy, Beckham and Ronaldo if added. Men are exceedingly physical about football. I’ve learned to push my sofa well back from the television set when they are watching a game.
Otherwise there is eminent hazard that I may end up with a large hole in the centre of my TV screen. This is because some men extend a little virtual support to their favourite teams in the form of a authoritative kick right from the comfort of their living rooms.
Men also tend to be very passionate about soccer. They identify totally with their teams: grief-stricken when they lose, rapturous when they win and rowdy when the referee seems to be unfair.
The only emotion I sense is great agitation whenever the ball is in the vicinity of the goalmouth. When one man observed that this agitation was evident at both goalmouths he asked me in vexation, “Which team are you biased?†“Neither,†I replied, “I just feel so sorry for the team that will lose!â€
I have learned to try and hide my emotions when my male friends are watching a game. This is after reading a lot of reports of supporters everywhere crashing and killing each other after one side laughs at the other’s depression when their team loses a crucial match.
Men are utterly boring about football. It doesnot matter what is competing for attention on the other channels - Big Brothers, a documentary about computers or my favourite soap - soccer we must watch. Then there is all that ugly football bits and pieces that tends to collect around the house in forms of boring soccer magazines, tacky World Cup mementoes, scarves, posters of men with hairy legs and so on. Save me for an innuendo. But there even is the attempt by men-folk to initiate their male offspring into this antisocial obsession, in the process endangering windows, glass ornaments and other people’s heads. All this notwithstanding, I can perhaps understand a little of what they feel.
I can remember that during the recent World Cup - 2002, I think it was Senegal doing surprisingly well. A friend invited a mixed bunch of African and European friends to watch a crucial match between Turkey and Senegal.
As we watched the game the tension grew. Despite an early show of competence, Senegal lost. A European friend laughed. I was so angry that I almost threw a radio at him. I left the gathering without speaking to a single person or even taking leave of my host. I then spent two days unwell in bed.
For the first time in my life I understood how football madness can seep into your blood. Fortunately I am now fully recovered.
Once again, it’s a premier league season where we expect uncontrollable noise from unruly fans of Arsenal, Man-U, Chelsea, Liverpool and New Castle. Sorry if I have not mentioned your team because the editor has just ordered me to brief it, anyway. Please take a breath of fresh air from watching the football this Saturday. But a moment.Ends
THERE are some things that I am fully ignorant about: soccer is one of a kind. When affected to watch a game by one of the beloved men in my life, I merely watch at the screen in a state of cat burglar and gain a vague impression of a group of men running to and fro across the screen, seemingly hunting a ball. And I have a high regard for their legs of course.
I am amazed at how well-informed men are about soccer. I have never been able to understand the policy despite numerous explanations. For example, every now and then a referee stands super-straight and violently blows a whistle.
“Offside!†the men beside me nod smartly. “What does this imply?†I enquire. “It signifies that he ran in advance of the guy from the opposing team.†I’m put in the picture.
“But I thought that’s the very place where he should run to prevent his adversary from dribbling the ball into the goalpost?†Nobody bothers to articulate to me.
Well at least I’ve understood the bit about kicking the ball into the goal. But it’s not just the rules that my male friends know. They memorise the names of all the players, the referees and the managers, the colours and patterns of the shirts and a wealth of other details of about close to every team in the world.
I only have about 15 bytes of random access memory (RAM) for names of footballers in my head that is Pele and Maradona. This implies I will delete any other household name like Van Nestroy, Beckham and Ronaldo if added. Men are exceedingly physical about football. I’ve learned to push my sofa well back from the television set when they are watching a game.
Otherwise there is eminent hazard that I may end up with a large hole in the centre of my TV screen. This is because some men extend a little virtual support to their favourite teams in the form of a authoritative kick right from the comfort of their living rooms.
Men also tend to be very passionate about soccer. They identify totally with their teams: grief-stricken when they lose, rapturous when they win and rowdy when the referee seems to be unfair.
The only emotion I sense is great agitation whenever the ball is in the vicinity of the goalmouth. When one man observed that this agitation was evident at both goalmouths he asked me in vexation, “Which team are you biased?†“Neither,†I replied, “I just feel so sorry for the team that will lose!â€
I have learned to try and hide my emotions when my male friends are watching a game. This is after reading a lot of reports of supporters everywhere crashing and killing each other after one side laughs at the other’s depression when their team loses a crucial match.
Men are utterly boring about football. It doesnot matter what is competing for attention on the other channels - Big Brothers, a documentary about computers or my favourite soap - soccer we must watch. Then there is all that ugly football bits and pieces that tends to collect around the house in forms of boring soccer magazines, tacky World Cup mementoes, scarves, posters of men with hairy legs and so on. Save me for an innuendo. But there even is the attempt by men-folk to initiate their male offspring into this antisocial obsession, in the process endangering windows, glass ornaments and other people’s heads. All this notwithstanding, I can perhaps understand a little of what they feel.
I can remember that during the recent World Cup - 2002, I think it was Senegal doing surprisingly well. A friend invited a mixed bunch of African and European friends to watch a crucial match between Turkey and Senegal.
As we watched the game the tension grew. Despite an early show of competence, Senegal lost. A European friend laughed. I was so angry that I almost threw a radio at him. I left the gathering without speaking to a single person or even taking leave of my host. I then spent two days unwell in bed.
For the first time in my life I understood how football madness can seep into your blood. Fortunately I am now fully recovered.
Once again, it’s a premier league season where we expect uncontrollable noise from unruly fans of Arsenal, Man-U, Chelsea, Liverpool and New Castle. Sorry if I have not mentioned your team because the editor has just ordered me to brief it, anyway. Please take a breath of fresh air from watching the football this Saturday. But a moment.Ends