Soccer

Photo courtesy Flickr

This is not my game, but I’ve rubbed shoulders with it for a long time. The first contest I saw was daunting: two teams of hairy, ferocious Hungarian freedom fighters were making 1957 mud fly in Lower Woodland after they had failed to stop Russian tanks at home by throwing rocks at them. I could see and feel the impact of their play from the back seat of the family sedan as it cruised past the field on a rainy winter afternoon.

Yesterday my world became round: a cousin called from Paris to catch up and was delighted to discover that, thanks to my pre-dawn BBC habit, we could share our appreciation of the latest French political scandal. The details aren’t important, but it was fun to hear a Bellevue girl groping for the English terms for ministers of state.

The subject shifted to the World Cup and today’s final between Spain and Holland. I don’t follow soccer, but the opening ceremony’s scarab pushing a giant ball around the stadium stays with me. I’ll root for the Dutch because of a recent quote from one of their nationals: “Be ordinary. You’re already crazy enough.” Annie said she can tell when a game is on, because the sound of a swarm of bees drifts in from the next room.

It was a giggle to be able to tell her about Friday’s blog. She shares my love of the Hill and lives in a similar area.

At times, conversing with Annie leaves me feeling like a hick. It takes a while to shift from “sie” to “du” when we’re visiting. A few years ago while discussing the decisions American city fathers were making about urban design, writer Calvin Trillin coined the term “rube-aphobia” for American uncertainty in the face of established European cultural values. My neighbors’ gentle, sensible self-assertion and my family’s deep roots here, though, leave me steady on my feet, but thoughtful. It’s comforting to know from long experience what is fashion and what is fundamental.

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