forza azzurri

Okay, so my next post wasn’t exactly hot on the heels of the last one. I’m officially blaming it on World Cup fever.

But the fever has broken, and (as everyone knows) Italy is campione del mondo!

And I have emerged as a soccer fan. Not a rabid one—I kind of doubt I’d ever really get that into any sport—but I do see lots of things to like about it. For those of you who think it’s a boring game, I offer the following reasons to watch:

• The players are hot. Seriously. Just try and tell me Cannavaro isn’t a cutie. (I’m far from alone here, as, according to Wikipedia, he was voted sexiest player of the World Cup.) For those who prefer some facial hair, check out Gattuso. Yummy brown eyes, too. And then there’s Grosso! And Toni! And of course, we can’t forget Totti, Rome’s own son. He took a bit longer to grow on me, but he definitely has an allure. (Yes, other teams have attractive players too, not just Italy. But it’s very easy to focus on the Italians. For obvious reasons.)
• The format—45-minute halves with no breaks, no timeouts, just a few minutes of make-up time at the end—is fantastic. There’s very little watching people standing around and mucking about and blah blah blah-ing. And except for the (relatively short) halftime, there’s very little advertising—which, as my sister astutely pointed out, is probably also the biggest problem, from a U.S. business standpoint. Bah.
• The gameplay itself is pretty simple. I’m sure there are subtleties I’m missing, but really, it’s mostly just “get the damn ball in the net.” I like this. So, fine, I’m simple.
• A good goal is really, really cool to watch. So is a good save. And the action reminds me of the best part of hockey (other than the fights, of course)—that heart-in-your-throat tension and rise-up-off-your-seat excitement when a knot of players gets really close to the goal and you can feel a shot coming.
• I like the uniforms. Especially at the end of the game, when the shirts are often subtracted from them. And who knew knee socks could be so appealing?
• Last but not least, the guys are hot. And they hug one another. A lot. Sometimes with their shirts off.

But hey, I suppose a “why to watch” list is sort of dumb now that it’s all over, isn’t it? So, moving on. First off, there’s plenty of noise about it out there already about the whole Zidane/Materazzi headbutt thing, and I don’t have much to add. What I will say is that I’ve no doubt that there was trashtalking going on. I also assume that it’s pretty much par for the course in most professional sports. (Although J and I were wondering, at international events like this, what language everyone uses to insult one another…?) But I do hope, for everybody’s sake, that Materazzi didn’t say anything really hideous, particularly anything racist. Nothing worse than, say, calling Zidane the son of a motherless goat.

This is not to say that I’m not curious about what exactly happened there. And J and I have both said “what the hell was he thinking?” numerous times since we first saw the replay on one of the big screens at Circus Maximus.

But I’m far more intrigued by the whole soccer culture here in Italy. Even well before the ultimate victory—during the quarter-final and even before that—I was amazed at how genuinely thrilled everybody seemed to be about each of the Azzurri’s wins. I’m sure “everybody” is at least a slight exaggeration. I have no idea how into competitive sporting events the average nun is, for example. But it’s clear that we’re not talking about a few guys in a sports bar here. A very high percentage of the population is very into this game.

And even more interesting than the prevalence of the excitement is the public-ness of it. During the early games of the tournament, every Italian goal resulted in clapping, cheering, the stomping of feet, and the blasting of air horns from everywhere. But people didn’t only express their happiness to the people beside them in front of the TV. They ran to their streetside windows to whoop and yell. And after the game against Australia, people drove around for hours honking their horns, flying Italian flags out of their car windows and off their scooters in jubilation.

As far as I’ve ever seen, the United States has nothing like this. Any sporting event, even national ones like the Olympics? No way. The Fourth of July? Nope, not really. Flag-patterned plastic tablecloths and red-white-and-blue desserts aside, there’s a certain intensity missing. In fact, I just can’t imagine any event that would inspire nationwide spontaneous anthem-singing, flag-waving, facepainting and general happy, patriotic mayhem.

Why not? Why does the only hint of this phenomenon seem to be in pictures of Italian-American soccer fans? (North Beach looked like a party on Sunday.)

Sure, there are a lot more Americans—the U.S. population is about 5 times that of Italy. But that can’t be the critical difference. For one thing, it’s not as though Italy is unique in this passion. Soccer affects the world economy, for god’s sake. The United States is decidedly the anomaly for being one of the few countries that just doesn’t care.

I suppose another reason for this lack of unified enthusiasm could be the fact that individuality is a big part of the whole American ideal. The idea of us ALL being so into the same thing just sounds odd. And hey, individuality is great. I’m all for it.

But so far, I don’t think this could be the whole answer, either. This outlet for patriotism doesn’t necessarily equal blind devotion to a national government. I mean, Italy has had 61 governments since 1945. That may not be something to brag about (although I do find it kind of an impressive statistic, in its own way), but it doesn’t suggest a nation of drones, either.

I don’t know. My feeble theories may be all wrong. There must be plenty of smarter people who have given this whole issue much thought, and they probably have real answers. All I know is that back home in the States, I was never a huge fan of a lot of the flag-waving I saw. I have no doubt that there are many wonderful, admirable patriots who simply don’t plaster their love of country all over the place. Nor am I by ANY means trying to pretend that I myself am a good example. I’m an expat at the moment, after all. Plus, I know that true Italian patriotism goes far beyond painting a tricolore on your cheek—and also that Italian patriotism (like that of any nation) can sometimes turn ugly and jingoistic.

It’s just…I find it disheartening that the most public and obvious brand of American patriotism—at least in recent years—so often seems to be defensive and antagonistic. It so rarely seems celebratory or joyful. It so rarely seems to arise in response to anything positive or inspiring. And it so often fails to transcend politics.

But on Sunday night, walking from Circus Maximus to our apartment in Prati, surrounded by what looked like downright ecstatic patriotism, I wished I were part of it, not just in the middle of it. And yeah, maybe I was only drawn to it because I wasn’t part of it, and it therefore seemed attractive and uncomplicated. But it sure looked like fun. Sounded like it, too. J has some camera-phone video that I hope he’ll upload soon, as my still pictures really don’t do it full justice. Believe me. Because it was not still. Or silent. At all. And it continued being not silent until about 5 in the morning.

Oh, and one last thing. One more reason we need to get behind this sport. At the end of the final, when the Italian team was celebrating and hugging and shouting and drowning in confetti, in all the confusion one guy appeared to have somehow lost his shorts. J was concerned. “What happened to that one guy’s pants?” he asked anxiously. “Why isn’t he wearing pants?”

And I replied, “Because soccer is AWESOME.”