The World Cup

If you're not yet excited about the World Cup, you ought to be. The world's largest sporting event isn't just a bunch of teams kicking around a soccer ball, it's the discovery of national identity. In our soccer teams, we find reflections of ourselves: the German team is meticulous and perhaps a tad bit boring, the Brazilian team plays with spunk and a sense of fun, and the Americans just run until their legs fall off. That's where the fun comes in. The World Cup ends in an affirmation of one country's life--all of it--its culture, style, language, and everything else.

The Brazilians won the Cup last, in 2002, and it was a celebration of Brazilian culture--its sense of joy and fun, its carefree lifestyle, and its sense of blue-collar hard work. Ronaldinho, Brazil's best player, represents the apotheosis of everything it is to be Brazilian. He plays soccer like he dances at the carnivale, with quick feet and a giant smile. Likewise, Landon Donovan is the epitome of America: talented, never quite accepted in Europe, a bit petulant, but always playing his heart out.

And it in the World Cup that we find a safe microcosm for all our eccentricities, triumphs, and failures. The World Cup isn't just a bunch of soccer matches, it's a proving ground for our national character. Will we win or we lose--and how will we win or lose? Will we be out-thought, out-worked, or out-classed? Because at the end of the day, that's what the World Cup is all about.

And the great wonder is how everyone slips into the first-person plural talking about their country. Perhaps that's what makes it so special: in the World Cup we find a place where America is not an idea, or a government, it's a group of revolutionaries, always hustling, always striving.