Learning to love the World Cup

The United States should be proud of its distinctive sporting tradition, with American football nearly ours alone, and only a handful of other nations serious about baseball, basketball and hockey. Even so, the World Cup provides us with an opportunity to consider reasons why the rest of the world, or at least most of it, is far more engaged with a sport that so far has not caught fire in the United States.

Years ago, the late George Carlin delivered a brilliant monologue on the differences between football and baseball, comparing the warlike nature of the former to the agricultural and gentle nature of the latter. More recently, the far less intentionally funny Ann Coulter portrayed an interest in soccer as a sign of a nation's "moral decay."

Let me make a conservative case for soccer, patriotically using the U.S. name for what the rest of the world calls football, arguably with more reason than our use of the name for a game that uses the entire body with great enthusiasm. Soccer, especially as played every four years during the World Cup system of regional and then global playoffs is, even more than the Olympics, a spectacular opportunity to understand not only the persistent phenomenon of nationalism, but also to remind ourselves of the uncertainties and injustices of the world, as well as the rarity of clean and clear strategic victories.

Many visitors to the United States remark on our visible patriotism, shown by our constant display of Stars and Stripes, the singing of the national anthem before sporting events, and the daily recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance in schools. However, as someone who has been overseas during two of the last three World Cups, I have seen evidence that nationalism continues to thrive elsewhere, but only makes an appearance during the World Cup. For example, I was in the Netherlands during 2010, when the Dutch team did much better than expected, advancing to the final round against Spain.

The Netherlands has a reputation as a cosmopolitan place, a multilingual and multinational melting pot, filled with Indonesian restaurants, Moroccan neighborhoods, and enthusiasm for the European Union. For weeks, during the World Cup, the Netherlands was covered in orange, their national color, and Dutch pride exploded more loudly than fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Day and night, there were crowds everywhere singing patriotic songs, wearing orange -- sometimes only orange -- and hailing not only their sports heroes, but their royal family, the Dutch military, and everything associated with the history of the Netherlands.

Many commentators even referred to the centuries of Spanish rule over the Dutch, noting this was a chance to strike back against the dastardly former occupiers (who had withdrawn in 1648).

This nationalism is typical for nations in the World Cup, even as it subsides just as quickly after each national team makes its exit from the games.

This example is provided not to prove that the Dutch -- or Germans or Algerians or Brazilians -- love their country, but as a reminder that nationalism, often connected to war and other conflicts, continues as the most pervasive political sentiment in the world. Despite the efforts of the European Union, the United Nations, and those without love of country, to persuade us to shift our loyalties to more ephemeral institutions, soccer proves that the nation remains fundamental to our globe, a fact indispensable in the making of foreign policy.

The World Cup, and soccer in general, also reflects a more realistic parallel to life than does many sports that are more popular in the United States. Success does depend on individual achievement, fair application of the rules, and teamwork, something seen in all major sports.

What soccer illustrates, and which is a point of constant frustration for Americans, is both the ambiguity of many results, and the necessity for enduring patience. It is as rare in an individual's life, as in warfare, to have a clear and definitive result. Few wars end as did World War II, for example, with an unconditional surrender. We can all perhaps point to singular victories in life -- the moment she said "yes," the incredible job offer that moved us upward, holding a child for the first time -- but most struggles, most challenges, most days, end not with the triumph of an unequivocal win, but instead with a slight gain, a step in the right direction, or a minor loss, a setback, a bad day.

Perhaps that is why Americans have not joined the rest of the world as soccer fans. We love a big finish, a parade down Main Street hailing our victories, a winner.

Perhaps by gaining more of an appreciation for soccer -- and what better time than the World Cup -- we can see the perspective of the rest of the globe more clearly; a perspective on the whole more dismal, filled with fewer opportunities and less freedom than that enjoyed in the United States.

Learning to love soccer, and becoming passionate about the World Cup, is the psychological equivalent to learning a foreign language.

Being able to think in Spanish, or German, or Russian, or Swahili, does not mean I have abandoned American English or my love of the United States above all other nations.

Indeed, by learning more about soccer, and about the world, we can reinforce our real patriotism, feeling it even more deeply when we chant "USA! USA! USA!" at a time when it really matters, rather than just during what is, after all, just a game.

Wayne Bowen, a U.S. Army veteran, received his Ph.D. in history from Northwestern University. He resides in Cape Girardeau.