The Beginning
If somebody had told me fifteen years ago that I would be writing a piece (what that piece is, you be the judge) on how much I absolutely adore the game of soccer I would have told them they were crazy. There would have been no way in high school that I would have ever believed older me reaching across time and telling younger me that soccer was the way to go. Hopefully this doesn’t come off as an Al Bundy type situation, but I was a typical American jock in high school. I was captain of the football team, wrestled at a high level, and captained the baseball team as well. Baseball was my sport of choice. And by sport of choice I mean that it consumed almost my every moment in the months where it wasn’t too cold to play here in Utah (Things for the kiddies are different now, if somebody wants to play baseball year-round, they can- not quite so much in my day (said in a crusty old man’s voice)). I loved baseball the most because it was a very cerebral game. As a catcher I had to always be thinking about every possible situation and outcome for those infinitely possible situations--- Was the outfield positioned correctly for this batter? What pitch does this guy like or dislike? How is the pitcher doing? Can he still hit the spot I am going to give him? What did the batter do the last two times at the plate? How about last game?--- I loved that such a slow paced game could actually have so much going on if you knew enough about what was actually going on. More bragging about me, though- Dates with cheerleaders- check, Voted “best body” by my peers (Oh man how that has changed!)- check, “King” of some dance that I cannot remember now what it was called- check. You get the point- mostly d-bag in my nice little Mormon kid sort of way.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like soccer… Okay, it really was that I didn’t like soccer. You can only have so many coaches tell you that soccer is like watching paint dry before you give in to the brainwashing. Said brainwashing started in Jr. High when one of the star receivers broke his foot playing soccer and was out for the year. The coaches words towards soccer and the ensuing razzing that that kid took because he had been playing soccer of all things was pretty brutal. I did know some soccer guys in high school, though- two of the kicker’s on the football team played soccer (yeah, now that’s cliché) and there was always the kid that had the classic MetroStars jersey on regularly. Other than that, though I just found the soccer players to be a different breed as far as their appearance goes (since we’re judging by appearances here- let’s just say that Kyle Beckerman fits that profile I’m talking about nicely).
So on I went completely ignorant of the beautiful game… until the age span of 19-21 when I was shipped off to Brazil to be a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
The Mission
I knew that going to Brazil as an LDS missionary would expose me to soccer. I was actually kind of bitter about it at the start to be quite honest- I joked with one of my close friends who enjoyed soccer that he and I got the wrong missionary assignments because he was assigned to the Dominican Republic (baseball haven) and I was going to Brazil. Even as I started my mission I avoided talk of soccer by saying that I was just a Utah Jazz fan and nothing more (Utah Jazz fandom in the state was at an all time high in those days after this… but not this LLL (He DID push off, BTW)) . Despite my best efforts to avoid it, my first experience with Latin soccer passion came on a Sunday around the Sao Paulo LDS Temple. Two of the local rival teams (I forget which ones, but it seems like it was Sao Paulo (you know, the one with the goal keeper that has 100 career goals… and yes, that is true) vs. Corinthians) were playing and as we stood around the temple grounds waiting for our ride we watched a mass of people walking down the street chanting, singing, waving flags, etc., all on their way to the big match. Our guide that was with us told us we probably shouldn’t get too close to the action because when two rival teams play in the city there is usually at least one death. “Sure,” I thought. And in reality it may have been a bit overstated, but I would learn that fights between supporter groups in Latin soccer was not really uncommon.
I played soccer occasionally throughout the time I was in Brazil. Of course I was always in goal because as a typical jock American I was taught to play sports with my hands and not with my feet. I just couldn’t kick the ball very well at all (still can’t), but I could catch anything coming my way!
The first real “conversion” moment came on March 20, 2002 (ironically not more than a week and half before I returned to the United States). I was living in an apartment on a busy street close to downtown Porto Alegre during a match that is known as a Gre-Nal. This match is a rivalry game between the two main teams in Porto Alegre and the two most popular teams in the state of Rio Grande do Sul- Internacional and Gremio (you want to see a crazy supporters group? See this and this). It was always a big deal when these teams played and it had happened a few times a year over the years I had been there, but I had never been in the city for one of these matches. ---Now for some Mormon missionary protocol: we go to bed pretty early and get up pretty early. You are supposed to be in bed by no later than 10:30--- The Gre-Nal being played that night started late, probably sometime around 9:30 or 10:00 P.M. As I laid in bed trying to go to sleep that night I had no idea what would transpire.
To this day, I still don’t know who scored first, but as I was just about to go into a deep sleep for the night (walking 10-15 miles a day will do that for you) I was shaken awake by an eruption. The eruption was people yelling and screaming for what had to be miles around. I would have thought it was the end of the world had the eruption not been followed by honking, fireworks, noise makers of various sorts, etc. coming from all around the entire city. Whatever it was I came to my senses and the Brazilian missionary that was with me informed me that somebody had just scored. At this point I thought that was just about the craziest thing I had ever heard. Seriously!!??? Somebody scored a goal and half the city of 3 million erupts like some sort of combination of the 4th of July, Christmas, and Disneyland all at the same time!!?? Well that’s what it was.
After I laughed it off for few minutes and relaxed myself enough I was again on the verge of some of the best sleep I would ever have (we really did walk that much and worked 12-14 hr. days (with no compensation, mind you- we (or our families) actually paid to be there), the sleep was incredible!) when the whole experience got a bit stranger. About fifteen minutes after the first goal was scored strangeness ensued when (and I’m serious here- you could tell that it was literally the other half of the city) the other half of the city erupted with almost the exact same reaction as before. The apartments above us and below us that had housed raving lunatics fifteen minutes before were now completely quiet and now it seemed that those completely mad people had moved to the apartments to the left and right of ours. It was simply insane. Really- the eruption, the horns, the fireworks, the noise makers of various sorts, the July 4th-Christmas-Disneyland combo… All there once again- except for the exact other half of the city! Of course the other missionary with me informed that the other team had scored (thanks captain obvious!). Luckily for me the match ended in a tie that night- I don’t think I could have taken another episode of being on the verge of sweet slumber only to be awaken by lunatics again.
The next day I couldn’t get over what had happened. I was so incredibly impressed. I had come to Brazil to be a converter, not a convert! But really “The great Gre-Nal experience of ’01”, as it has become to be known by in certain parts of the world (not really), was the culmination to two full years of full-on soccer indoctrination. Okay, it was mostly religious indoctrination of myself and others- but I cannot understate the amount of soccer I learned just by talking to people and playing with people who had shards of soccer balls running through their veins. I had to learn. Have you ever approached somebody in a foreign land out of the blue and tried to speak a reasonably bad version of their language and tried to tell them that you want to talk to them about religion? It goes without saying (although I am now saying it) that most of you probably have not had both the extreme fear and at the same time the extreme pleasure that goes with this experience, but soccer is generally a pretty good ice breaker in these situations.
It was the culmination of playing in goal and watching somebody kick a ball at me and having it start out coming directly for my face only to literally somehow have it go right around me like a cartoon (or better yet a video game). It was the culmination of watching little kids play soccer in whatever grass field-converted-into-a-soccer-field that they could find. Every neighborhood rich or poor had one. It was just like you have heard about in a thousand other stories- little kids playing nonstop all day in the sun with or without a real ball. That’s all real and not generally overstated as much as you think it is when you hear these types of stories. The Gre-Nal experience was the culmination of being an American and being so incredibly confused at an elderly gentlemen passionately proclaiming to me that his team, Gremio, was the best team not only in his state or country, but literally the entire planet because they had won such and such title in x and Y years and in the years they weren’t good they won such and such tournament and got to go to some far off country to play against all the other tournament winners and actually won that tournament sometime in the 70’s or 80’s. As a dumb American I was genuinely confused by this and the elderly gentlemen became increasingly irritated at me trying to get him to explain how there wasn’t just one season per season like we have in the grand old U. S. of A.
Finally, it was the culmination of just seeing the passion in people’s eyes. Every man, woman, and child was born into a type of religion completely separate than the religion I was trying to teach them. They were all a member of a soccer congregation, whether it was the blue of Gremio, or the red of Internacional (there was even the occasional green of Juventude, but even those fans were usually rooting for them as a secondary team). Their team was an integral part of their life. And before you say that we have the same type of thing in America- let me just cut you off and say that we do not. Packer fans are passionate, Celtic fans are legendarily loyal, so are Red Sox fans and Cubs fans- but the degree to which the more part of the population has a high percentage of their lives invested into the results of their teams is astounding. There are passionate fans in the US that would rival what I saw, there are just ten times more of these people (and many more women and children) in Brazil.
So there you have it- the beginning of my conversion was done. The foundation of conversion had been placed and the building was soon to begin full construction.
Coming up in Part 2- the World Cup, first MLS match, and complete conversion.
