| July 14, 2006 Red Alert by Soren Wuerth Headbangers
Unite!
 “There
are many beautiful things about being an American fan of men’s
World Cup soccer ... foremost among them is ignorance.”— Sean
Wilsey, The Thinking Fan’s Guide to the World Cup
On the day Brazil fell, there were probably at least 10,000 people on the bright Homer Spit. Tourists, frowning beneath thick, black sunglasses, were ignorant to the contest underway in the low, dark and smoky Salty Dog bar. Four of us, and a new friend named Hevero, cheered for the Brazilian team. We toasted the world. We toasted America ... not the old America, but the new America ... the America of Brazil, Argentina, Venezuela and Chile, of Cuba and Bolivia and Mexico. In our cave of defiance, we raised our glasses toward Europe ... France, Germany and Italy, Italy, especially, for recovering from a Berlusconi hangover to unite Greens, Communists and others in a progressive alliance. It didn’t matter. By the end, that Brazil lost against France in the game played in every nation in the world. Like Brazil forward Gaucho Ronaldinho, we were smiling. Then we heard the crude comment from the bar of America, from a man hunched over his drink: “Looks like a buncha men making out to me.” I had noticed a comic from one of my favorite cartoonists, Tom Tomorrow, a few days earlier. It transcribed actual quotes from a “liberal cocktail party that caused a lifelong Democrat to become a Republican.” “It’s such a struggle keeping all of this America-hatred bottled up inside all the time,” says a man with a goatee. “Does this country suck or what? I wish the terrorists would just win already,” another man in the strip replies. The comments of the “self-involved liberal elitist” cause a third man to yell, “Stop! I can’t take it! I’m not leaving this Party, the Party is leaving me!” With the glaring omission of the United States in World Cup Soccer (our team was shut out by Ghana, few of us watched the event, and media coverage often fell below baseball standings in the American press), I was careful not to be the stereotyped liberal of Tom Tomorrow’s cartoon. But, with “the fact that entire nations walk off the job or wake up at 3 a.m. to watch men kick a ball,” as Wilsey puts it, it’s hard to not wonder about my country when I’m the sole person watching France and Portugal clash in a crowded restaurant. Girdwood, of course, was different. The Sitzmark Bar was reopened for folks to gather to see the final match between France and Italy. As we watched, it became increasingly clear that the majority of the bar’s 30 to 40 patrons supported Italy. When Zinedine Zidane was ousted for thrusting his head into the chest of Italian provocateur Marco Materazzi, I heard snarls of scorn hurled at the famous “Zizou.” Having no allegiance to either team, I clapped politely, then, after France kicked a successful penalty, I heard a guy behind me scream, “What? Who are the assholes rooting for France?” “People hate the French,” a friend advised me later. “They war thing, remember? Freedom fries?” As it turned out, Algerian-born Zidane had been insulted by Materazzi, called, perhaps, “the son of a terrorist whore.” He reacted in a way any American would have, in a way that would have brought cheers rather than contempt from your standard patriot, ramming his head into a green jersey. This is the violence we are used to. This is the hate we remember. This is a spark that musters American interest in the sport. Yet, maybe because of the over-arching, invisible 18th law that allows a ref to ignore 17 other rules in order to ensure “the spirit of fair play,” soccer will only be played around us, not with us. Go France, 2010. Soren Wuerth is perhaps Alaska's best known community activist, and is the winner of the Alaska Press Club's 2006 'Best Columnist' award. He resides in an undisclosed location in rural Alaska and can be reached at soren@insurgent49.com. |
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