This article was originally published during the 2010 World Cup at allography.
Piss off, Twilight: Eclipse.
Go to hell, Toy Story 3.
Good riddance, Knight and Day.
Let’s be honest. The only real blockbuster this summer is the World Cup. Football. Soccer. The world’s game. The beautiful game. But not America’s game.
At this stage in soccer’s popularity in America, there are only two ways our fair citizens will get behind the Red/White/Blue: if we dominate and put teams to the sword German-style or if we’re the scrappy cardiac underdogs.
In 2010 the US was emphatically the latter, playing in a Hollywood-friendly way: conceding goals early then finishing deliriously with last-second brilliance. Our heroes scored big goals and made big saves. We tied powerhouse England fer-god-sakes!
Unfortunately, it would become apparent that for all its talent, England is a mediocre squad. And, doubly unfortunately, the US is as well. But while England has individual world-class quality in spades but a lackluster team, our team plays better as the sum of all parts. Our individual players just aren’t that good. No backline (Jay DeMerit, you had me fooled). No strikers (Jozy Altidore fooled no one). A fitting exit in the round of 16.
But I digress.
Anyway, Americans just don’t like to watch soccer. But we love to watch formulaic Hollywood schlock. I think there’s a correlation here.
To enjoy the soccer experience, you have to revel the unpredictability of the game. You have to love the unique rhythm of the game. The constant tension and occasional jolts of excitement earned or deflated.
Team A can dominate Team B with clockwork passing and spotless defense for almost the entire game but then Team B can score a quick shocking goal and end up winning 1-0. (See Switzerland upsetting the Spanish giants in group play.) The entire game can hinge on a single freak moment. You can wait, breathless, in the murkiness of stoppage time for your team to create that one freak moment. And you’ll be rewarded with a queasy knot of disappointment or a heart attack of joy.
American sports don’t work like this. If you get dominated in football, you’ll lose. The battered team may have that freak moment of brilliance, but throwing a Hail Mary at the end of the game will make it 55-7 instead of 55-0. Ditto for basketball. Baseball is slightly different, but the plodding nature of the game severely limits the unpredictability. Sure, there may be a walk-off grandslam to end the game, but only after a player comes to bat in order and waits for the assigned pitcher to go into his motion and deliver a ball that he may or may not hit to a certain spot, then run around the bases in order. It’s all very tidy.
Like a standard romantic comedy. People don’t spend millions of dollars seeing Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson bark and chirp at each other because something new and exciting might unfold onscreen, they buy tickets to watch familiar faces in predictable situations reach an ultimate happy ending. You don’t go see the new Karate Kid flick thinking there may be a possibility that Jackie Chan’s character may turn out to be a serial child murderer who’s stalking Jaden Smith.
Hollywood favors franchises and sequels because America favors familiarity and predictability. Better still if there’s a book or videogame series as the source material.
We like our expectations being met. We like rules being made and followed. Anything else is weird and frustrating.
The game is still 0 – 0? That’s so boring. How long is stoppage time? Why don’t we know for sure? Why was that a yellow card? What do you mean there’s no video review? Why didn’t the referee explain that call? If that guy’s writhing around so much, why isn’t he actually hurt? How come the Brazilians lost?
We’re just not hardwired for the fluidity and uncertainty of soccer. We have no interest in unrelenting tension of a well-played soccer match with no guarantee of clear triumph or defeat. We want winners and losers. We want our romantic couple to meet in the first act, get together in the second act, break up at the end of the second act, then get back together in the third act. We want points on the board, jokes accrued every minute, surmountable setbacks. We want satisfaction.
But in the beautiful game, there are no guarantees. So unless the US puts together a predictable world-beating team in the next four years (highly unlikely) or the rhythms of soccer organically seep into our brains through open-mindedness and immersion (also unlikely), the American lovers of futbol will find themselves in the minority once again, explaining the offsides rule to their friends and family.
FADE OUT 