Poetry is Football
Back in 1974 I was just under 9 years old and I was Oranje crazy. My native country had absolutely no chance to be in the World Cup and therefore I decided that I was going to choose another to support. I forget why I chose the Netherlands. It was probably because they were projected to win. Or maybe because I was in a team that wore orange, and I already had the right colors. I remember that that year my team came second in our league and I was one of their standouts. At least that is how I remember it. Last weekend I asked my dad if that was true and he recalls it the same way. I love my dad.
Anyway, I followed the Oranje through all the stages of the World Cup and as expected, and to my delight, they made it to the final game. The Oranje machine was being hailed as the future of football. Their play was beautiful. It was as if a bunch of Northern Europeans, all of a sudden got Brazil. If you squinted hard enough, the Oranje looked like a whiter and just a tad less talented than the gods of football, Brazil. Funny enough, the Oranje were not meeting Brazil, they were meeting West Germany. The Germans were the past of football. They played a typical German game, like a real and emotion-less machine.
In the first half the Oranje did what was expected. They went up 1-0 and surely they were going to win it. Somehow the Germans were able to equalize. And then they went ahead 2-1. I was heartbroken. The Oranje passed the ball beautifully. They were creative. They were amazing, but could not find the net again. The Netherlands lost that final, to the past of football. Four years later they again made it to the final and they faced the hosts, Argentina, and there they too lost to a much less talented side.
So on Sunday, be sure to know that I will be that 9 year old again. I will be wearing a virtual Oranje shirt that is not the right kind of orange. I will be pulling for a much less beautiful football side that is now more of the past of the sport, even if the names are newer. They are not supposed to win this time. They are playing Spain, who is supposed to be the future of the sport. They are playing a Barcelona-like Spain team that plays beautiful football, as if the Southern Europeans finally got the football gods of Brazil. I'm sticking with a Netherlands team that is not supposed to win, that plays boring European football over the team that is made up of guys that look like me and sound like me.
Carajo Espaa por que es que vosotros son tan despreciados?
Back in 1974 I was just under 9 years old and I was Oranje crazy. My native country had absolutely no chance to be in the World Cup and therefore I decided that I was going to choose another to support. I forget why I chose the Netherlands. It was probably because they were projected to win. Or maybe because I was in a team that wore orange, and I already had the right colors. I remember that that year my team came second in our league and I was one of their standouts. At least that is how I remember it. Last weekend I asked my dad if that was true and he recalls it the same way. I love my dad.
Anyway, I followed the Oranje through all the stages of the World Cup and as expected, and to my delight, they made it to the final game. The Oranje machine was being hailed as the future of football. Their play was beautiful. It was as if a bunch of Northern Europeans, all of a sudden got Brazil. If you squinted hard enough, the Oranje looked like a whiter and just a tad less talented than the gods of football, Brazil. Funny enough, the Oranje were not meeting Brazil, they were meeting West Germany. The Germans were the past of football. They played a typical German game, like a real and emotion-less machine.
In the first half the Oranje did what was expected. They went up 1-0 and surely they were going to win it. Somehow the Germans were able to equalize. And then they went ahead 2-1. I was heartbroken. The Oranje passed the ball beautifully. They were creative. They were amazing, but could not find the net again. The Netherlands lost that final, to the past of football. Four years later they again made it to the final and they faced the hosts, Argentina, and there they too lost to a much less talented side.
So on Sunday, be sure to know that I will be that 9 year old again. I will be wearing a virtual Oranje shirt that is not the right kind of orange. I will be pulling for a much less beautiful football side that is now more of the past of the sport, even if the names are newer. They are not supposed to win this time. They are playing Spain, who is supposed to be the future of the sport. They are playing a Barcelona-like Spain team that plays beautiful football, as if the Southern Europeans finally got the football gods of Brazil. I'm sticking with a Netherlands team that is not supposed to win, that plays boring European football over the team that is made up of guys that look like me and sound like me.
Carajo Espaa por que es que vosotros son tan despreciados?
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
light_bringer:
That's a cool story about how you picked your favorite team. Enjoy the game tomorrow, my friend.
grayness:
Funny, it's the one that made me start.