The Day I Fell in Love

Somewhere in some archive in some basement in central Florida, there exists footage of me crying. I’ve only been on the Jumbotron once in my life, and it was when I was 5 or 6, attending my first soccer game. About 60 or 70 minutes through, the camera guy directly in front of me laughed, turned the camera around towards me, and next thing I knew my face was plastered on a screen in front of thousands of people. Why? Because I was crying.

It wasn’t that my team was losing. In fact, I don’t remember who was playing or even what league it was. I was crying because no one was scoring.

That is where my hatred for soccer began. Who would want to watch a sport where guys run around and no one scores? Boring!

Throughout all of high school, I would make fun of my soccer-crazy friend Lora, telling her “we have arms and hands for a reason” and “soccer is a European sport” and every other clich√© I believed to be an original thought. I was American, and there was no way I was ever going to care about soccer.

Fast forward to June 23rd, 2010. It was a Wednesday, and I was doing something on my computer. I ended up on, and discovered that the US soccer team was one win away from advancing to the knockout stage of the World Cup. While I didn’t know what that meant, since I’m American and this was the American team and I could stream that afternoon’s game against Algeria for free, I decided to pull it up on my second monitor as I worked on something else.

The game lived up to every expectation I had ever had for soccer, namely, no one scored. Lots of running and kicking, a goal or two called back, but nothing else. And that wouldn’t do. While the match could end in a tie, if the US didn’t win, they would be eliminated. Again, I wasn’t sure how all of that worked, but I’m American, so I was mad.

As the game trudged along, I got more and more frustrated. This is why soccer is dumb! Who the heck would want to watch this? Why am I even watching this? Oh right, because I’m American. But I was a very frustrated American and I couldn’t wait to go back to caring about football.

And then it happened.

With less than 4 minutes left, Algeria shot a header directly into US Goalie Tim Howard’s hands. He took the ball, threw it upfield to the feet of Landon Donovan who led the counterattack, laying it off to Jozy Altidore who crossed it into Clint Dempsey…only to have the shot blocked (again) by Algeria’s goalie. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Donovan flew into the frame and buried the ball in the back of the net.

The game-winning goal

I lost my mind, jumping up and down, screaming. We had (effectively) won the game, and in that moment, I finally got it. The intensity of soccer isn’t about lots of goals – it’s about the fact that ONE goal can decide the game, and that goal can come at any moment.

An accurate representation of my reaction to the goal

I feel like I should tie this into some greater life lesson, but this is my blog and I can do whatever I want, so I’m not going to. Suffice it to say, I’ve been a soccer fan ever since!

Aspiring director and screenwriter. All the lonely Starbucks lovers will tell you I'm insane.

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