Ironworks Gaming Forum - I think I understand

There have been a number of debates here recently on the subject of religion and the existence or otherwise of God. Both sides are passionate about their views but seem unable to understand the other persons point of view. Leonis summed it up when he spoke of how happy he was to believe and how he wanted every one else to believe so that they could share his happiness, or something along those lines. I just didn't get that because if I have chosen not to believe then what business was it of Leonis to want me to share his belief. Similarly I couldn't understand the vehemence of some of the anti-religion brigade against those that believe in God.

I began to compare their views on religion with my views on football and all of a sudden I saw the light. I feel the same about the World Cup as Yorick does about his faith. It isn't enough that some people aren't interested in the World Cup, it isn't enough that some people boast about not being interested in the World Cup. I just want them to share the enjoyment of the World Cup with the rest of us. I don't understand why they don't care!. It's blindingly obvious that they should be involved.

And even though I know that they don't want to be converted I find it increasingly difficult not to remind them that the world is having a party to which they have been invited and they haven't turned up. How rude is that!

The trouble is that I don't have the words to explain it but I know a man who can!. He is Bill Bryson, one of my favourite authors. This man has had me in fits of laughter and in tears at various times since the World Cup began. For those of you that don't know him, he is an American. This was part of his report on the England-Argentina match. Sorry if you've seen it posted elsewhere:

"WELL, the one thing I learnt on Friday night at the England match in Sapporo is that it is possible to pull all the hair out of your head and not notice. Indeed, during the 25-minute eternity when England so sportingly allowed Argentina to take all the shots they wanted (and I remain certain that, during one particularly intensive spell, Argentina had four balls in play and 19 players on the pitch, two of them on horseback, though I am told this cannot be so), I had to ask the man in front of me if I could pull out his hair as well as I was running short, and he very kindly allowed me to.

Nobody told me — did not even come close to hinting — how unbearably exciting, how joyously nerve-racking, it is to attend an England match in a World Cup. This is particularly so, of course, when the opponents are Argentina, the score is close and the alternative to victory is probable extinction.

I simply haven’t words to describe it. If you can imagine being repeatedly run over by a train in the world’s noisiest place and thinking: “Wow, this is great! Pass those wheels over me again, boys,” you are part way to appreciating what it was like to be there in person.

I don’t know whether it is because this World Cup has had so many thrillingly tight matches and memorable upsets, or whether it is because Japan and South Korea have been such friendly and interesting hosts, or simply because I have never been to anything like this before, but it is about a thousand times more wonderful than I had expected. Nearly everyone I have spoken to appears to feel the same way."

Now he is on his way back to the USA because his son is annoyingly getting married at the weekend this was part of his final report as he describes how he discovered football:

Well, I loved it. I loved the straightforwardness and simplicity of the game — the unassumingedness of it, if there is such a word — and the instinctive camaraderie of the people around me, the sense of shared anxiety and hope. We had nothing to compare with this in America, no sporting event in which a team ran on to a grassy surface carrying the aspirations of the entire nation with it. We didn’t play the world in the United States, we played each other. I became an England fan there and then. How could I not? As for the game itself, I confess that it was a tiny bit puzzling to me.

I mention all this here to answer the question that people keep asking me, which is: “Why are you cheering for England when you are from the United States?” The answer is simple: I haven’t died for the United States in a footballing context. I haven’t half-strangled the cat because Diego Maradona was awarded a goal on a handball against an American team, or hugged a stranger in a pub because David Platt rocketed a fabulous and crucial overhead shot into the net on behalf of the people of Texas and California, or put divots in a quarry-tiled floor with my forehead because it was American players who forgot to practise penalty shots before leaving home.

Pure poetry.