The Really Beautiful Game

Anyone who still doubts the popularity of football–or soccer, as Americans and the American-influenced call it–should take a cue from Sophie, my four-year-old labrador retriever. Her favorite game is kitchen football–because my kitchen is long and because the worst that can happen is the soy sauce getting knocked over by a stray ball, which hasn’t happened yet–with Sophie as the goalie. That’s been her preferred position ever since we started playing the game over three years ago.

We play with a tennis ball, small enough for her to catch with her mouth, something she’s very good at. Like all good goalies, her concentration is intense and she does not take her eyes off the ball, following it as I move it around in play. And when the kick is executed, she springs into action, leaping in the air or sliding on the floor depending on what kind of kick is made. She’s gotten wise to my fakes too, but she’s always ready when the ball comes.

When she cannot catch the ball with her mouth she uses her hefty body to block the ball. She can do a diving block like the best of them, and when I do score a goal past her she’s not above sulking–she bites the ball and refuses to give it back. I guess the sportsmanship aspect of her game needs a little work.

There’s a precedent for this, you know. As a kid, the immensely talented and now legendary Ronaldinho played in his backyard with a wall as goal and his dog as defender. Look at him now.

I remember as a scrawny little kid being taken to football games in Hong Kong by an adopted uncle who used to be some kind of football star in Nanjing, China. I remember the screaming crowds, and watching all those guys running madly around the field seemed like a pretty fun thing to be doing, but I don’t recall very much else about the games.

I never saw the great Pelé play, but I do remember Maradona one generation ago, a vision of strength and agility on the field. I thought he was the greatest (and pretty good looking too–then), until he got all doped up and over-sized.

Today the game offers more than enough heroes and truly fantastic players.The retiring Zidane was certainly worth staying up until 3 a.m. to watch, even though the level of play by the French, like the Brazilians, was far short of expectations. Following his winning goal in Brazil’s first game, Kaka has become a lot bolder and more confident, and it’s a treat watching him running down the field with the ball and setting up for what might just be another winner. And when the anchor describes Ronaldinho’s footwork as "mesmerizing", one close-up of his Nike-shod feet shuffling and swiveling and dancing with the ball is enough to convince you of their virtuosity. Must be all that samba.

Brazilians call it "futebol arte", and the way they play it really is art. Many say the current Brazilian World Cup team is about as close to a dream team as the one of 1970 (when the Pelé-led team beat Italy), and it’s hard to argue with that. But whether it’s the star-studded power teams like Brazil, Germany and England or the gutsy, scrappy teams like Trinidad & Tobago or Serbia Montenegro, there’s magic on the fields and in the stands in stadiums all over Germany, and in bedrooms and living rooms and pubs and sports clubs all over the world as millions watch with bated breath for that moment when all the forces of the universe align perfectly for Goal. It is then, indeed, a truly beautiful game.