The 2010 World Cup has revived the annual – or quadrennial – question: Why do so many people like futbol? Do they really like it? Could it be merely a frenzied outlet – and convenient excuse – for a jingoism usually repressed by a global society? Or is it brilliant and complex, the slowness of its pace surpassed only by its sophistication and depth – the ultimate thinking man’s game?
Etgar Keret, the acclaimed Israeli fiction writer, argues the latter in a recent New Republic article, entitled “Goal-Oriented – Futbol: Better than Basketball.” “I love soccer,” writes Keret, “because it is so painfully similar to life: slow, unjust, fairly random, usually boring, but always holding out the hope that, at some moment, however brief, everything will come together and take on meaning.”
Whether one enjoys soccer or not, Keret implies here a fundamental question which underlies the one I began with. That is: what is the purpose of sport? To him, it is a metaphor – an art form, essentially – which mirrors the vicissitudes of human existence, and more importantly, resolves people to the unnegotiability of life’s mostly static nature. It trains people to cope, to maintain consciousness between ups and downs. And it reveals the beauty and orderliness of the whole of this chaos.
That is a lovely idea, and it undoubtedly rings true for many players and some thoughtful fans. But does this sacralization of sport leave no room for recreation – for pure diversion? So often lost in elegies and exaltations of the human condition is the fact that we are, despite – and not because of – our compulsive and often clumsy search for meaning, human. Sure, we ponder the depth and quality of our lives while we sit on the toilet. But that doesn’t stop the shit coming.
When did asceticism replace diversion – stimulating, challenging diversion – as the equalizing force in the serious man’s life? Even the brilliant can think too much; even the ablest can try too hard. And even the most goal-oriented are entitled to escape, if only for 48 minutes, onto the “thin, shiny parquet of the NBA.”
