Well, we’re just days away from the start of the planet’s biggest sporting event, and like most Americans, you’re probably already suffering from an acute case of World Cup Fever. No? Not even running a slight temperature? Maybe some World Cup hiccups?
OK, the truth is that, in the U.S., soccer’s main event is just not considered as important as when, say, Jesus’ face appears in a Taco Bell parking lot oil stain. Ask the average American sports fan which country won the last World Cup, and the most common response will probably be, “I don’t know, some place in Europe?” Informed that the correct answer is “Brazil,” the American fan will reply, “Hey, I was right!” (we’re not so great with geography either).
Despite their compatriots’ lack of interest, the U.S. squad still qualified to compete in this year’s Cup in Germany. Sadly, they have little chance of winning it all. Why? In a word, toughness. American athletes are simply too tough. There, I said it. But what do I mean by toughness? Try tuning into an international soccer match sometime; within a minute a player will be thrashing about on the ground in such pain that he’s practically begging for the officials to get a shotgun and put him out of his misery like a lame racehorse.
Seeing this kind of spectacle, American sports fans reasonably assume the downed player must have been viciously assaulted by an opposing player. But from the replay, it becomes clear that no opposing player was anywhere near the victim — in fact, the game has not yet begun and the player on the ground is merely rehearsing his act for later on.
Here in the U.S. we don’t tolerate that kind of thing from our athletes, and I think it’s because of the type of sadists I recall coaching Little League baseball in my youth. Bear in mind here that I’m not talking about T-ball. T-ball is very low-key. In T-ball, a 6-year-old swings at a stationary ball perched at chest level. Parents are even encouraged to help out. Players in the field can chase the ball if they want to. They can also chase butterflies. Or pick their noses. Nobody stresses too much about anything in T-ball.
But when you reach Little League, the pressure increases dramatically. For one thing, it’s probably the first time you face another player trying to hurl the ball as fast as possible, essentially right at you. So when you respond, in a perfectly reasonable fashion, by diving to the ground and letting out a piercing shriek and the coach comes running over, does he offer sympathy? Hardly. Instead, he gets on your case, offering some vaguely insulting non-sequitur like, “What are you scared of? The ball’s not gonna bite you.” Just once I’d like to see a Little League coach who uses this expression actually get bitten by a baseball. Failing that, maybe an alligator.
If you’re actually hit by the ball, the coach will doubtless instruct you to “walk it off.” This is the tried and true medical cure-all for any affliction that occurs on the baseball field, from a bruised shin to being struck by lightning. If Little League coaches were in charge, we could pare the medical licensing process in this country from years of schooling and residency down to a one-page handout.
As a result, all this toughening up has rendered American players virtually incapable of mustering the world-class fakery and whining necessary to beat the top teams in this year’s Cup. That is, assuming our players can even find their way to Germany in the first place.
Examiner columnist Malcolm Fleschner in fact loves soccer, and lists as proof his numerous arrests for excessive hooliganism.
