Sometimes it is good to be an outsider.
Today, I went to a bar to watch the last half of the England Uruguay World Cup Match. I didn’t go out of any love for the game of soccer. This is probably only the third game I have ever watched. I went because a colleague is English, a huge soccer fan, and because he was kind enough to watch A Canadian hockey game during the Olympics. Mostly, I went for the last part. He shared camaraderie with us, so it was only fitting that I return the favour.
I don’t hate soccer, I just don’t get it. That isn’t to say I don’t know the rules. While I certainly don’t know all of them, I can watch a game without scratching my head. I understand the skill it takes to do the things some of those players do–I can even understand it when commentator says something like “the man has beautiful feet.”
I don’t get it the same way I don’t get Jazz. I don’t get it the same way I don’t get light beer. I don’t get it the same way I don’t get fully clothed poodles. I am not down on these things…. I just don’t get them.
I chose a bad chair, which resulted in a less than perfect view. About twenty-five percent of the TV screen was cut off by a wall. Being the outsider, this seemed a fair compromise as it meant none of the others had a bad view. It also gave me time to watch the fans as they watched the game. Maybe that is why writers are outsiders, it gives them the perspective they need to write.
Today’s Perfect Moment came when England scored to tie the game. The crowd at the bar erupted. There were shouts of joy and screaming–though I was surprised that there was no singing….hm. People who, moments before, had been tense and a little downcast suddenly had life again. People who had been cursing as they sipped their beer now clinked glasses and drank with relish. It was a beautiful sight to see and hear. At that moment, I almost got it.
Though the moment was fleeting, as most of the perfect ones are, and England went on to lose, I could at least carry that moment with me.