My World Cup Connection

It’s that time again. Like clockwork, every 32 years the United States hosts the World Cup. This year we are co-hosting along with Canada and Mexico, our former NAFTA partners, now joined by the United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement (USMCA). The tournament began on June 11 and will culminate with the finals match on July 19^th in the temporarily renamed MetLife Stadium, now New York/New Jersey Stadium. Mainly because it did not have a real grass field required by FIFA rules. Matches are being played in 16 different cities across the 3 hosting nations, primarily in the US. I find the Mexican Stadiums (Estadio Azteca in Mexico City, Estadio Guadalajara and the Monterrey Stadium) to be the coolest looking.

I have watched bits and pieces of World Cup matches since we first hosted in 1994. The only one I could not bear was the 2010 World hosted by South Africa. It was unwatchable, make that unlistenable. I suppose I could have turned off the sound. Why? The vuvuzelas. A long, plastic horn that produces a loud, monotone buzzing or trumpeting sound when blown. It requires a specific blowing technique that uses the player’s breath to generate sonic power. A single horn can output up to 120 decibels of sound. When tens of thousands of fans blow them simultaneously, it creates a continuous drone often likened to a swarm of bees or a roaring lawnmower. For me it was intolerable.

Anyway, last night the USA lost to Belgium in the round of 16 forcing our exit the tournament. All three host nations no longer have skin in the game. Perhaps you too are watching at least some of the World Cup. I simply cannot resist international sporting events. Soccer, tennis, F1, you name it. There is something magical about the world coming together in peaceful competition. Including historic enemies. I am not alone: The FIFA World Cup is the most-watched sporting event globally, with an estimated 5 billion viewers engaging with the tournament across TV, streaming platforms, and social media.  

Something weird has been going on this World Cup for me personally. Just about every time I return to our basement television to catch an update or check the score within 60 seconds, I am treated with one of the teams scoring. Pretty interesting considering how little scoring is actually done. Now all I have to do is couple that with the games outcomes somehow, then visit one of the Prediction Market sites or other gambling venues located…everywhere. I had better hurry as there are but 10 matches left to be played.

Given my elevated energy levels related to this year’s World Cup, I could not help but remember back to 1993-1994 and my personal connection to soccer, specifically the World Cup.

At some point in the early 90’s, I was asked by a good friend, Bruce McIver to join his soccer (futbol) team. It was part of what was called the “over the hill” soccer league of Santa Barbara. The hill being the age of 40. I hesitated as I had never played soccer. Never. Oh sure, I kicked or tossed the ball around a few times over the years. But that was about it. Soccer was not a sport played much in Western New York, nor offered in local schools at the time I was growing up. Today, of course, soccer is a big deal. And now our third most popular sport behind football and basketball in overall fan interest.

But hey, how difficult could it be? Besides, I was in pretty good shape. Running 3-4 times a week, lifting every other day. Sure, sign me up. Well, as it turned out, a majority of these over the hill guys hailed from South America and Europe. Brazil, Argentina, Mexico, Spain, England, Romania, you name it. They grew up on the sport and it showed. Over 40 or not, these guys were amazing. Compared to them, I was pathetic at best, pulling both hamstrings my very first game. Bruce was patient with me putting me in every now and then to essentially play defense. Slowing down anyone with the ball the best I could. You know, pushing, tripping and other “foul” like behavior. It was a long miserable season.

The good news is that I began to appreciate soccer. A few friends of mine had young kids who played either for their school or in one of the local clubs. I attended a few games and slowly began to learn the rules, what to watch for during a game, etc. The basics. Sometime in 1993 I learned that the *1994 World Cup would be held in the USA. Everyone else knew this since 1988 when it was announced. Matches would be played across 9 venues, including the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, two hours away.

At some point I decided to try and get tickets to the finals. Good luck, right? I do not remember exactly the sequencing of how I obtained tickets, but have always believed that some kind of lottery played a part. I was allowed to purchase a total of 4 tickets: 2 to the Semi-Finals and 2 to the Finals. As you can see, I paid $300 for each of the final seats. I am guessing the semi-final seats were around $250. These were the actual face-value prices charged by FIFA approved vendors.

So, why do I still have 2 unused tickets to the 1994 World Cup Finals played at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena? My name is on them. What happened to the 2 semi-finals tickets? Fair questions.

My daughter’s school, Laguna Blanca, was conducting a fundraiser in the late spring of 1994. She was finishing up her freshman year. Naturally I’d want to show my support, and what better way to do that then by donating my World Cup tickets to their auction. As suggested by my wife Deborah. No way, are you kidding? That was my original response which in hindsight was not my finest moment. I did donate my two semifinal tickets. Hopefully whoever purchased them enjoyed Brazil’s 1-nil win over Sweden.

I have shown my two unused World Cup final tickets to a number of family and friends over the years. To a person, everyone wanted to know why I did not attend. Why I did not donate them. Why I did not sell them. Once again, all good questions.

Was I turned off by my short-lived career in the “over the hill soccer” league? Was I attempting to distance myself from the less than manly behavior seemingly epidemic in the world of soccer? You know, how any player even grazed by an opponent collapses in agony, attempting to draw a foul. I do believe that such fakery is partly responsible for America’s relatively late entry into Professional Soccer. We really don’t approve of what looks like, well, like sissy behavior. There I said it. No other word describes it better. Another is the scoring. Soccer is notoriously a low scoring game. Which for me speaks to the skill levels involved and the degree of difficulty. Americans love their scoring. It’s not a game really, unless the Knicks outscore their opponent 138-111.

Recently, in search of the answer, I attempted to locate old Outlook calendars, emails, and anything else I may have related to that time period. Nada. So, I’m going with my gut and blaming it on laziness and loneliness. At the time because of my business, most of my friends and contacts were out of towners. Touching base to share in the World Cup experience would take effort. As would fighting traffic over multiple freeways, parking and, of course, whining to myself both ways.

There you have it. My somewhat sad story of my connection to the World Cup. Anti-climactic, huh. Don’t worry I am doing fine now. It is good for me every now and then to reflect back on memories that are not breathtaking, glorious, or inspirational. Just something I experienced.

I could not resist sharing an image of the other big sporting event of 1994 I actually attended. Notre Dame vs USC in the LA Coliseum. Yeah baby.

Thanks for listening,

TJ

NEXT: TJ’s Big Adventure- Part 4

* The most attended in FIFA history. A record 3,587,538 fans with an average of 69,000 per game. This years World Cup will surpass these numbers a bit with a projected 3.6 million fans and a 99.7 stadium occupancy rate. BTW- even though there are large contingencies of fans from traditional soccer nations like Germany, the UK, Brazil etc. most fans are from right here in the USA. Soccer has come a long way.