Way back in 1991, when the late Lewis Grizzard was one of my favorite columnists and was syndicated in 450 newspapers—imagine it!—he wrote a piece called “Why I Get No Kick Out of Soccer.” He listed 21 reasons why he wouldn’t play soccer and wouldn’t pay attention to the World Cup even if it was in his backyard and the beer was free.
At the time, I thought the column was pretty funny. And true. Because I didn’t understand or like soccer either.
I’ve tried to evolve. I have family members and friends who absolutely adore soccer. On my bus trip to Boston in June, my traveling companions and I saw lots and lots of high-enthusiasm soccer fans and encountered lots and lots of soccer traffic.
That’s one reason I decided I ought to watch the World Cup final last Sunday. Even if I’m not a fan of a particular sport or of the teams playing for a title, I like to tune to big games. I never miss the Super Bowl. And I never miss the World Series, even if the Braves aren’t in it. I watch every March Madness game I can possibly manage. I saw the Knicks play the Spurs in the NBA finals last month. And because I lived in Augusta, Georgia when I was a child, I try to watch at least a little bit of the Masters every year.
But back to soccer. Spain was going head-to-head with Argentina, the defending world champion, for the trophy. There was a player named Messi that everyone was keeping a close eye on. And, for goodness sakes, most of the World Cup games had been played in the United States for the first time since 1994. I was practically obligated to tune in.
At 1:55, I turned on my TV and found the game. Almost immediately, I fell asleep on the couch, as I do on many a Sunday afternoon. You know, day of rest and all that.
As it turns out, I didn’t miss much. I awoke just before halftime to discover the score was still 0-0. There it remained for a long, long time. I’ve heard even devoted soccer fans opine that there’s really no compelling reason to watch a game from the beginning because what little scoring there is almost always happens in the last few minutes.
That was certainly true of the World Cup championship. Spain finally scored the one and only goal of the game just seconds into the second half of extra time. (“Extra time” is what most sports call “overtime,” not to be confused with “extra innings,” which is baseball. But you no doubt already know that.) I had forgotten that, in soccer, the clock ticks up instead of down. I’d forgotten that, because the clock never stops, “stoppage time” is added at the end of each half to make up for time lost. And I’d forgotten how much bigger a professional soccer field is than a professional football field. In soccer, it’s about 115 yards long and 74 yards wide. Though the length in football is about the same, a football field is only about 53 yards across.
I was reminded that players in a soccer game run almost all the time. It’s amazing and exhausting, even from the comfort of a living room couch. That they never stop moving around that big green field is, no doubt, why every one of said soccer players has such beautiful legs. Which is really the main reason I’m not completely bored by the game. As for the pressure on the goalie, who doesn’t run much but has the weight of the game on his shoulders, I can’t even imagine.
Soccer truly is all about struggle, strategy and patience. I’m glad I watched the World Cup final. But it will never, not ever, take the place of the World Series in my heart.
(July 25, 2026)