Letter Seven | 11/26 | Russ
East London
Dear Lack,
What a joy it was to read your most recent letter; I have just now finished a second pass. As I sit here trying to collect my thoughts, let’s talk about the US/England match.
I don’t know if there is a fanbase more fickle than England’s. In the aftermath of the England/Iran match—a dominant England display, 6-2—clips of England supporters in pubs across the country popped up online. Geysers of lager erupted and choruses sang: ENGLAND! IT’S COMING HOME!
Contrast this with the reaction to the 0-0 draw with the United States. This morning, my friend Mia (referred to mostly as Randall) shared this piece from The Guardian with me. The best quote from the article is the following:
“In reality this was 70 minutes of cold footballing custard, jetlag-ball, football played by a man struggling to escape from his sleeping bag…At times in the first half, as England ambled vaguely, it felt like we were watching a kind of performance protest, an England team standing bravely against the basic idea of this World Cup as an entertainment product.”
The cynicism. The despondence. The rehearsed misery. Hilarious.
Like you, I thought the match was marvelously entertaining, and it irritates me to no end when people consider 0-0 draws boring. I wonder if this is a consequence of the “highlight reel”? There is a seemingly endless amount of soccer to watch (satirized quite brilliantly in this skit by comedian David Mitchell), which, I think, speaks to the issue of “unlimited content” that I mentioned in my previous letter. Now, I reckon few outside of Germany have the time or desire to stream a second division Bundesliga match (ha!), but even for those interested in soccer beyond their favorite club there exists a problem. One can never watch all the soccer one wants. So—the solution becomes the highlight reel, the fragments considered the most important: red cards, saves, and (most of all!) goals.
For fans, the highlight reel isn’t a bad thing. I frequently go to YouTube or some other site to watch a condensed version of a match I’m interested in. But I wonder whether match highlights have conditioned people to believe that the lack of “action” and “excitement” makes a match boring or not worth watching. Or maybe it has to do with a lack of attention. Barcelona, a spectacularly dominant team when we became interested in soccer, are mostly remembered as the club that platformed Lionel Messi, arguably the greatest player ever in men’s soccer. How easy it is to find compilations of his genius. But those compilations often don’t show the integral work of players like Sergio Busquets, whose presence and control in the midfield contributed to Messi’s genius. There are so many valuable moments in a game of soccer. Put simply, a nil-nil draw can be thrilling. Last night’s match certainly was.
Now I may just discredit everything I just ranted about, but I want to take some time to write about Brazilian forward Richarlison’s bicycle kick against Serbia. It was the type of goal that only superlatives can describe: the most breath-taking, absolutely poetic, exceedingly awe-inspiring. What must be going through a player’s mind in the split seconds before they attempt something so outlandish? Is it instinctual?
Relatedly—you write about your history of playing soccer so beautifully. If the foundations of your game consist of running and effort, then the foundations of mine consist of luck and, yes, instinct. What do I mean by this? A recent example: in my final season for Bad Lads we had a rematch against a team called River Place. Late in the first half we were down 1-0, and, frankly, fortunate that the deficit was only a single goal. River Place had possession and were passing the ball at the back. The center-back dropped the ball to their keeper, and I stepped up to press. As the keeper wound up, I jumped and stuck out one of my abnormally large calves. The ball smacked my calf, spun in the air, bounced just short of the goal-line, wound towards the post, hit the post, and then finally crossed the line. Match tied, 1-1. (We lost the match 4-1.)
Immediately after the goal, I remember, Nate ran towards me and yelled, “Another bullshit goal!” God, he’s so right. I scored around 20 goals for Bad Lads. I figure around half were a result of being in the right place at the right time. Ricochets off of thighs, calves, knees: absolutely lethal in the 6-yard box. Unconscious instinct.
In all seriousness, I, like you, have also struggled with my confidence on the pitch. There have been several times when I’ve walked away from a match and thought, What am I doing out here? It’s amazing how just one poor touch on the ball or one misplaced pass can have such an emotional effect. However, as you mention in your previous letter, we are both almost thirty. I’ve managed to reduce how much I criticize myself. I still care, of course, but a poor performance doesn’t ruin my day like it used to. If I ever play for Bad Lads again I’m sure I could contribute some more bullshit goals. Although by then we might be in the Over 30 division.
Apologies for the shorter letter. There’s definitely more I’d like to say, but I have to go to Hams. The Springboks are playing England in their last match of the year, and hopefully we can give English fans something else to be disappointed about.
I’ll be back in Cape Town tomorrow.
Keep well,
Russ