A Swift Kick
posted in Scholar Athlete |
This past weekend I, along with some friends that included Steve’s Word own Ryan Kennedy and roughly 79,000 strangers, travelled out to Giants’ Stadium to witness the US Men’s Soccer team take on the #1 World Ranked Argentina Men’s Soccer team. Before you dismiss this article as either a drab piece of sports journalism, or even worse, a blog, allow me to quickly put the significance of the game itself into perspective before I deliver the cultural insight that you not only rely on from Steve’s Word, but crave like a lion craves a young water buffalo. It was a friendly (exhibition) so the game seemingly held little consequence. However, this would be the last game for both teams before World Cup Qualification begins so both teams would be testing their readiness. Moreover, these men are all professionals and were playing for national pride. The physical intensity of the game and the 79,000 screaming fans were a testament to that. If you truly want the hard facts of the game, read this. Other than offering the most exciting and thrilling 0-0 draw I’ve ever witnessed, this game provided me with unexpected challenges and eye-opening experiences that only an international soccer game can deliver. Sorry, dudes, seeing plenty of hot, over-primped Argentinean woman was something I did expect so I’ll have to omit it from this piece. If you’re an observant person, going to an international soccer game will quickly challenge your previously held beliefs of national identity. How? Let me put it this way, the ingredients of beer, sports, bigotry, confusing genetic make-up, and national pride combine for a recipe that offers a swift kick to your American nuts. National Identity is a social construct, but once solidified it is hard to see it as something other than fact. “I’m American and I’m proud even though the fact that I’m America is a total random event and if I were born in any other country I’d be proud of that place too.” Going to an international soccer game makes you think about this sort of existential crap.
Let me start with the positive side of my cultural sink or swim experience. It started right at the beginning. One our way to the stadium we hit up a little liquor store in Secaucus called Te Amo 
to get supplies for our tailgating. In the store, we ran into others loading up for their own tailgating. One of the guys was obviously Hispanic and was wearing a jersey of a Mexican club team, Chivas. My first thought was, “oh, this guy is going to be rooting for Argentina,” so I was immediately in a defensive frame of mind. You see, Ryan and I were wearing USA jerseys making us easy marks for any sort of heckling so when the guy started to talk to us I was ready to strike back. However, the words that came out of his mouth swiftly knocked me off my prejudicial perch, “Are we going to win today?” WE!?!? He’s rooting for the U.S.A. Fuck yeah! Now that the veil of viewing every Brown person as an adversary had been lifted we noticed that the majority of those in attendance who appeared to be Hispanic were wearing USA paraphernalia. The Browning of America is real and I love it. For one, it means more soccer fans and that should help out US Soccer and the MLS . I also like it because it reinforces that our national identity is constantly changing. This nation has feared every wave of new immigrants such as the Italians and Irish and how are they viewed now? As American as anyone else and just because they were proud of where they came from didn’t mean they couldn’t and wouldn’t be proud and contribute to their new country. Why is this so hard for people to remember and understand? Do you think Latin Americans are here to create Mexico 2.0? Are you afraid that you might have to learn Spanish? Why would that be so awful? Which brings me to my next observation: booing during the Spanish announcements.
First of all, assholes, this is an international game and there are foreigners in attendance who don’t speak English. The polite thing to do is to keep them informed about injuries and substitutions and more importantly rules about alcohol consumption and emergencies. The main culprits of such 
ignorance were a group of 20-something “dudes” sitting two rows in front of us. You know these guys. They’re the kind of guys who would tag YouTube videos and MySpace pictures of themselves chugging 40s and taking bong rips. I’m sure they also banged all the hot girls you lusted after in high school and college, which is even more completely speculative and judgemental evidence that these jerks were not too bright. OK, so you get the picture now. We affectionately referred to them as the St. Aloysius High School lacrosse team because they all had American flag bandannas on their heads and lacrosse jerseys on their torsos. It was obvious that the majority of these 10 guys (and the two skeezes that accompanied them) knew nothing about soccer and were simply there to get drunk and shout “U-S-A!” over and over. The only credit I’ll give them is that they had what appeared to be an intricate and efficient rotation system of getting beers. It was the only apparently intelligent thing these jingoists could achieve. I love America as much as the next fellow, but constantly shouting “U-S-A” and pointing to your bandanna not only lacks creativity, but it feels disingenuous. My friend eventually yelled at them, “Go back to Jersey! Oh wait, we’re already here. Dammit!” Though this prompted a handshake from the guys in front of us it also illuminates how quickly regionalism trumps nationalism. I believe such a statement was also an attempt to let the Argentineans and other like-minded Americans around us know that we were not with these ignorant punks.
The chanting knuckleheads were simply annoying and pretty easily dismissed, but there were 
others who couldn’t so easily be dismissed. The people directly next to us, U.S.A fans, got into some sort of argument with the people behind them, Argentina fans. This American asshole let loose the term “spic” and all hell was about to break loose. To complicate matters even more, the Argentinean victim was married to an American man who appeared to be of the Harley Davidson, biker variety. Yet also had on an FC Barcelona jersey. Do you see how confusing this was getting. Luckily, before anything came to blows, my friend who we’ll call “D”, stepped in and mediated the international incident. He skillfully calmed down the the husband and his other biker buddy twho were both twice D’s size. These dudes had every right to beat the living hell out of the racist pissant, but it would have totally ruined the game. Plus, Ryan and I just spent $60 on our authentic jerseys and I’m not sure how well blood and brains comes off of Nike’s patented Dri-FIT material. I conducted an interview with D moments later to ascertain where he gained his mastery of diplomacy. He revealed that his conflict resolution deftness, specifically in racially motivated disputes, must of come from his days as Student Council President. Later on that evening, I interviewed Ryan as to his thoughts on the surprisingly racially charged incident. He asserted that he’s pretty sure that Argentineans do not fit into most Americans misconceptions or stereotypes of Latin Americans and Hispanics. We don’t condone any such stereotyping here at Steve’s Word, but whatever prejudices one has acquired over the years about “spics”, 
I’m pretty sure Argentineans aren’t who you’ve got in mind. Trust me, they’re not washing dishes at restaurants or delivering your food or doing any migrant farming. In fact, if you’re such a douchebag, racist you’d probably fair better in Argentina. You’d be happy to know that Argentineans have a genetic make-up that is mostly of Spanish, Italian, German, and even Swedish and Swiss. According to Wikipedia, a recent survey said that up to 97% of the population considers themselves “White”. I can tell you from personal experience that when I was in Buenos Aires I saw only saw one Black person over six days and she was an American doing her semester abroad. How doest that fit into your preconceived notions of national identity? I know it messed with mine. 
As we walked out into an intense lightening storm after the game, not only did I fear for my life but I was genuinely enthralled by the national identity beat-down I had just been dealt. I reflected on the sweetest moment of the entire night which occurred right before the game began. After the Argentina National Anthem played, it was time for the Star Spangled Banner. I was expecting a hail storm of boos after the way a lot of people disrespectfully talked through the Argentine anthem. However, I was wrong again. About half-way through the Star Spangled Banner it was evident that the majority of the stadium was singing along. Bear in mind, the crowd was about 75% rooting for Argentina. I think this surprised a lot of us full-fledged USA supporters. My only assumption is that most of the people rooting for Argentina were Americans or long time immigrants and let’s face it, it’s a lot more fun to root for a team that plays the game beautifully and wins all the time. Then again, I might be wrong considering I was wrong about everything else that night.
So the next time there’s an international sporting event in your hood, I’d recommend you check it out even if you’re not a fan of the sport. You might learn a lot about the folks cheering for the other team and even more about this country and your countrymen. Oh, and remember to wear a cup because you might just get a swift kick to your American nuts.
