Some people might suggest that soccer will unite the world. You see the Instagram pictures and read the stories about travelers venturing to remote places of the world, only to find out that the locals engage in pickup games in the alleys, streets, and everywhere else in between. Bonds can be forged without needing to say much at all, and laughter can join two different cultures together, crossing language barriers. The World Cup provides a time where countries, sometimes at odds with each other or even within themselves, can ban together in a state of national pride and honor. People emerge to cheer on their favorite player, wear the same jersey for days on end for luck, and everyone seems to know all the same weird chants.
Honestly? I didn’t care for soccer much pre-2014. I tried to appreciate it, learn the rules so I knew when to shout at the refs, but for the life of me I’ll never understand how to tell if a player is offsides or how there are so many different leagues. I don’t even try anymore. I think a lot of the players are sissies who will fake an injury to try and “buy” time until they can score a goal or get an extra break in. And what’s up with ending the game in a tie? Come on. I’m not sure where this dislike for soccer comes from. I love playing and watching sports, but somehow I just never got into all of the hype surrounding soccer.
All of that changed the summer of 2014. I was in Germany for a study abroad program and the World Cup was in full swing. To be honest, I couldn’t care less. Sure, it was fun to hear people buzzing about Germany’s chances, but I was more interested in exploring my new home for the next few months. The day of the semi-final crept upon us, but before we realized what was happening, we could feel the anticipation building. There was a palpable electricity in the air, and even those of us who aren’t soccer fans could feel it. The energy was infectious, and before I knew it, I was grinning from ear to ear. I was surprised how little it took for my friends to convince me to trek to the cafeteria with them and half of the student body to watch the semi-final game: Germany vs. Brazil, the host country.
The sky opened up and exploded with rain, wind, and thunder…so maybe the universe was reacting to my decision to give soccer another chance. Whatever the case was, my friends and I had to seek shelter multiple times en route to the cafeteria, and by the time we burst through the cafeteria doors, we were wringing buckets of water out of our hair and clothes. Fortunately, we weren’t the only ones having issues, and pretty soon the glass-roofed cafeteria felt more like a greenhouse. As predictable as soccer can be with guys running from one end of the field to the other, the semi-final of the World Cup was pretty exciting. Not only were there enough goals made to keep me entertained, but Germany completely dominated the game, spanking Brazil with a 7-1 victory. We felt sorry for the one student wearing a bright yellow and green jersey in support of Brazil. Ouch!
Fast-forward a few days to the final game of the 2014 World Cup, between Argentina and Germany. Once again, the universe was displaying its displeasure with my sudden interest in soccer. Rain pounded the walls of the cafeteria, but we couldn’t hear it. Everyone’s focus was on the giant screen where the two countries battled it out, the outside world was completely forgotten to us. But to be honest, the game was pretty boring. Finally, during minute 113, the one and only goal was scored by Germany, securing another World Cup victory for the country. As soon as the final whistle blew and we knew it was over, we screamed, cheered, and danced with everyone around us. We were a small American delegation in the upper level of a large university cafeteria, but for a few moments at the end of the game and even after, we were a part of Germany. I hugged strangers, made exclamations of excitement in my adopted language, hoping I was able to convey the sheer joy that I felt at that moment.
Weird. When did I start caring so much?
Let me see if I can explain…
As we spilled out into the courtyard with the rest of the student population, my friends and I were suddenly aware of the sheer amount of German flags that were suddenly flying: adorning buildings, trailing behind cars whizzing by, hanging from flagpoles, wrapped around people, you name it. This is most definitely not a common occurrence in Germany. You see, I live in a country where national pride is something we are brought up with. We say the Pledge of Allegiance. We sing the National Anthem. We wave the flag. We sing about our great nation. Sometimes people even feel the need to be covered from head-to-toe in red, white, and blue. In all of those ways, Germany is the complete antithesis. Most Germans don’t know their National Anthem, say no Pledge of Allegiance, and you rarely (if ever) see German flags waving.
If you know anything about German history, you know where I’m going with this. “Over six decades after the end of World War II, Germans still have a pathological fear of patriotism. Flying the flag is still a faux pas.” Displaying a sense of national pride is a transgression in the eyes of the common public and government alike, and it was something that I was quick to notice upon my arrival. Sure, there are a few flags on major government buildings, but that’s pretty much it. Hitler left quiet a scar that is still being nursed by Germans today, which is a shame, especially since Hitler ditched the gold, black, and red in favor of the swastika. In my opinion, there’s nothing to be ashamed about flying your flag. I understand the hesitation, don’t get me wrong. But all these feelings and my knowledge surrounding World War II made the appearance of the numerous flags even more profound.
Alongside my friends as we spilled into the streets for what turned out to be an epic block party, I felt a strange sense of national pride. Not as an American, but for the first time as someone living in Germany (albeit for a short amount of time). My heart soared as I saw those flags waving. My eyes watered as the cars raced by, horns honking and passengers hanging out of the windows with flags in their arms. We reached the intersection where the party was held and were motioned to kneel as the “masters of ceremonies” made a moving speech about what we just witnessed. Tears flowed freely.
I get it now. This is why soccer is such a big deal. The World Cup gives people who might otherwise feel shame and embarrassment at any mention of national pride an excuse to be proud of their homeland. Okay, so maybe soccer isn’t that bad.
I still think the players are sissies.
PIN ME
