There's more than one way to strive for soccer excellence, but one ingredient is basic.
A few years ago, I visited both Brazil and Argentina in turn. In some ways, it was interesting to see first-hand the contrasts and similarities between the two soccer powerhouses. Brazil was laid-back, friendly, with caipirinhas and skimpy bikinis in abundance. Soccer was played in the streets there, along the beach front walkways, and in the city parks, where they played futsal, but there was an informality to the games. Sometimes a jogger would just dribble a ball along, or kids would take turns showing each other tricks and trying new moves. Most of the beach soccer games I happened upon while walking around, didn't seem to be keeping score. People would leave the game, perhaps to get a bite or a drink, and a bystander would drop into the game in their place. It seemed that soccer participation was very casual, yet at the same time, an integral part of life. People would start up a game as quickly as those in the U.S. might pull out a deck of cards for poker. Kids would ride down the roads on their bikes, a soccer ball tucked into the crook of one arm, the other hand steering the handlebars. While many Brazilian soccer players have successful careers abroad, I didn't see a single European soccer jersey while I was there. People sported the colors of local teams, with Flamengo being a big favorite. The distinctive red and black color scheme of the club would crop up all over the country, not only in jerseys, but caps and T-shirts. Internacional, Fluminense, Botafogo and Santos were also popular, as their colors and jerseys would be on display in many different places. Of course, the bright canary-yellow of Brazil's national team would also be worn often, as the Selecao squad was very popular. Yet I was amused that most Brazilians didn't seem to have the anxious, heart-stopping agony issues many national team fans do when watching their team play. They simply expected Brazil to win. If for some reason they didn't, well, there were still caipirinhas to drink, and there was no sense in wasting good cachaça. When I went to Argentina, the first thing I noticed was that soccer was on television nearly all the time. Bars and even a few restaurants would be tuned to games. Radio stations would crackle with arguments about players. People were polite, but more reserved than in Brazil - at least until a soccer debate cropped up. Then they would engage in lively arguments about what ailed favorite teams and what coaches should do. There was more soccer in the atmosphere, including a few European jerseys here or there, it seemed, but less of it was on the streets. While Brazilians would perhaps listen more to the music of Cidade Negra, a soccer ball would be at their feet. In Argentina, in the numerous cafes where people would drink mate or coffee and smoke endless cigarettes, soccer balls would dance across the screen in televised games, but it was harder to find any in public. I did find some at an indoor soccer facility in Buenos Aires, however. Munching on a pizza in the small grandstand, I was struck at how serious the players seemed to be while lacing up their shoes. They were so intent on the upcoming match, whispering directions and strategy to each other in hushed, yet urgent tones, that I wondered if some local championship was at stake. I took a minute to ask the proprietor. "No, they play here every week at this time," he told me. "The same two teams every week." Apparently, the little indoor space, with its neatly marked lines, was available for rent to the locals. As the game kicked off, the passion of the participants grew. They weren't professionals, by far, but they displayed good touch and control and a tunnel vision for the goal. The game was hotly contested, and when the winners finally scored their final goal just before the proprietor told them their time was up, they were jubilant, strutting around the painted concrete as if they were kings. The losers were despondent. I'm not sure how much of what I observed at the local level in Argentina and Brazil translates to the soccer development culture or the national team. I do know, however, that it is likely connected in some way. When I returned to the United States, I found that traveling abroad had (as it often does) given me a new perspective. Soccer exists here on cable TV channels, but not much in the public space of sports bars or TV sports programs. I don't really see a lot of soccer being played publicly, and when I do, it seems to be in the same vein as a volleyball game or a hackysack circle - just a fun way to get some exercise and pass the time. One thing I realized about Argentina and Brazil is that countries can find their own way to greatness in the sport. There's no one path to success, just like different styles or formations can make a team amazingly wonderful. One can love the game for its playfulness, creativity and tricks - or burn with passion to find and pull off the winning move. The U.S., however, will not stumble into excellence in soccer by accident. Whether that's parents patiently kicking balls around with their children, or young athletes aspiring to score goals in front of delirious, fervent fans, or the television replay of a certain move that kids run outside determined to master, or a better scouting network to spot talent, all sorts of little factors combine in ways that can't always be measured, but have an impact, like the ever-widening ripples when a stone is dropped into a still lake. Someone once told me, "I'll care about soccer when it matters, when the U.S. is really good." I laughed. "It doesn't work that way. Soccer already matters, and the whole world is competing with that idea in mind. The U.S. isn't going to get really good and compete on that level until more people like you start to care."
Andrea Canales is Chief Editor of Goal.com North America
