Of Futebol…

I’m not a big fan of soccer (or Futebol as Brazilians call it, or really any country other than America).  I mean is it really enjoyable to watch men in helmets dribbling a ball around bases?

 Okay, so I’m not that bad at soccer.  There are no helmets or bases involved. I do understand the rudimentary rules.  Spend an hour and a half running around trying to kick a ball into a goal.   

Shortly after we arrived in Brazil, the World Cup rolled around.  We were invited over to a pastor’s house to watch the game with a group of people from the church.  Pretty much my only memory of the games was the way that the announcers were able carry out, “GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL A BRASIL.”

I was pretty sure they carried out the word longer for a Brazilian goal as opposed to goals scored by the opposing team. 

A win was celebrated with fireworks.  I mean a lot of fireworks shot off all over the city.  People would walk down the street dressed in full Brazilian colors, and draped in flags.

After one loss a group in full regalia marched down the street and stomped on their national flag in disgust.  I was horrified.

Watching it was nothing to trying to play it.  After my family went over to some friends’ house for lunch we were informed that nobody left without playing them in soccer.  The weather was blistering hot, and they divided us into teams of us against them, which was a bit like the Dodgers playing a local softball team. 

Completely overmatched, we came very close to almost scoring a goal—once. 

In spite of years in Brazil, I never did grow to love soccer.  During this World Cup, I’ve paid attention to very little, although I did feel horrible when Brazil suffered its 7-1 loss. 

I can only hope nobody stomped on the flag.