The Beautiful Game

I started playing soccer when I was about five years old after watching my older sisters play and bugging my parents to let me join a team. I played competitively until graduating from high school. Needless to say, it’s been a huge part of my life, so I really connected to this aspect of the story. Reading stories like this about how the game is played in third world countries makes me both appreciate the simplicity of the game, but also feel guilty for how easy it was for me to play. For me, all I had to do was ask my parents and I could be on an organized team with complete jerseys and equipment. Due to the ability to readily access the game, I played with many people who lacked passion for the game and took for granted our opportunity to travel around the country playing at some of the most pristine facilities available. In contrast, the people of Niodior are forced to spend “long years running after balls made of rags” and crowd around the one TV in the village in the hopes that it will work well enough to catch most of the game.¹ Often times, this lack of resources creates a greater sense of passion. It takes a great deal of dedication for these people to play and watch their game, whereas here it can be a hobby that is picked up or discarded on a whim. I witnessed this passion first hand on a service trip to a small town in the mountains of the Dominican Republic. I was able to squeeze a soccer ball and pump into my luggage, which was greatly appreciated and sought after by the local children, who rarely had soccer balls of their own. I spent the majority of my week playing barefooted soccer with children. Despite my years on a state-championship level team, these kids could run circles around me and I could not keep up. I was amazed by their skill and the joy that the game gave them. Playing and watching soccer had become so routine to me that I had lost a great deal of passion for the game, which was renewed after witnessing the power the game in its most simple form. However, although those who play the game in developing countries may have a greater dedication or passion for the game, it may come with a sense of pressure. As we have discussed, many of the young boys see the game as their only means for escaping the poverty of their village, which may add a great deal of pressure to perform well. The great variety in how the game is played and what it means to those playing it is part of what makes it so unique and special, and something not to be taken for granted.

                                                                

1. Fatou Diome, The Belly of the Atlantic, trans. Lulu Norman and Ros Schwartz, (London: Serpent's Tail, 2006), 4.