The Partial Spectator

I couldn't help but note the irony as I took in the fresh-cut green grass of Lincoln Financial Field in South Philly. My first visit to one of the crown jewels of the National Football League, the home of the Philadelphia Eagles, in the birthplace of American liberty. And I was watching...soccer.

It was my first taste of live "football", as the unenlightened call it. For a sports nationalist like myself, this was a huge step, and it came with a hearty dose of quasi-historical guilt. Almost two hundred thirty-four years ago, the Founders risked their lives so we didn't have to play the games of our imperial cousins across the pond. Thanks to their bravery, we can play our own...baseball, basketball, real football, and the UFC. These are the pastimes of patriots. Our ADD-addled brains just can't handle the slow, plodding nature of the world's absurdly most popular game.

This tension opened a paradox in the sports-time continuum on Saturday afternoon as Team USA took on the Turkish national team. The patriot within was compelled to root for the Americans, but having a rooting interest in a soccer match is one of the most fundamentally un-American things one can do. It's kinda like when your son enters a drag queen beauty pageant. You find the contest offensive, yet deep down you'd be sorely disappointed if he didn't emerge victorious.

So there I was, screaming with 55,000 others at Landon Donovan as he dribbled through Turkish defenders in his sequin dress and pumps. I had support. Leave it to Philadelphia, of course, to supply obnoxious soccer fans. Turkey actually had a respectable contingent, as the second- and third-largest cities in Turkey (New York and Washington) are within driving distance. They were incredibly nice people, and their women are strikingly beautiful...with apparent staying power. As they chanted "Turk-i-ye! Turk-i-ye!", clad in red, I heard the following retorts that chilled the patriot within:

"Slaughter the Turks!" (unlike the Dallas Cowboys, the "Turks" are an ethnic group, and slaughtering them is genocide)

"Go back to Europe!" (the land now occupied by Turkey was once known as Asia Minor, thus, technically, Turkey is not really in Europe)

"Good luck in the World Cup! Wait! You're not in it!" (neither would we be if we were competing with Germany, England, and Italy as opposed to El Salvador and Haiti)

...and my favorite...

"Let's go Flyers!"

The last line was delivered by a beer-soaked fat man as he staggered down the stairs. I reminded him that there was no ice on the field and no one was skating, and he promptly stopped talking, to everyone's laughter and delight. I do what I can.

All of which is to suggest that the sports patriotism to which I alluded earlier has its limits. It also suggests that American fans...or, Americans, generally...could use a lesson in cultural sensitivity. We are all partial spectators. We are partial to our towns, our teams, and our traditions. That doesn't provide an excuse, however, to provincially apply the sports manners we accrued during all those years at Veterans Stadium and apply them to an international friendly.

I may love America, and I may not have any passionate love for soccer, but I do know enough to know that you don't really need to "slaughter the Turks." A 2-1 victory for Team America is enough.