Football Fan for a Day, Pt. 3: Playing the Game

After my futile experiences of trying to be a die hard international football fan by playing a video game and watching a match, I decided to put myself into the players' shoes and strap on the cleats for a session of open soccer.

Ironically, the indoor field I played on was a hockey rink without the ice. Only in the United States...

After paying five dollars and showing up a half an hour early, guaranteeing plenty of time to get my gear on, I found myself with 29 minutes to burn before the session actually started. Apparently, unlike hockey, it doesn't take 15 minutes to get dressed.

"I'm liking this already," I said to myself as I walked onto the artificial turf that posed as a football field.

My head draped with an awesome white headband circa the disco ages and both my wrists also wrapped in sweatbands, I slowly walked towards middle field imagining that the empty bleachers were filled with 89,000 screaming Arsenal fans (I would have settled for three fans who thought there was a hockey game at the rink). With flash bulbs (actually a malfunctioning light) going off around me, I slowly turned around looking at all angles around the field.

CUT! That scene was perfect for a movie.

My cinematic moment turned back to reality as I started to jog for a quick warm-up. Four minutes and four pounds of sweat later, I stretched my entire body in preparation for the game, which would start in a matter of minutes as other aspiring soccer players entered the field.

The game started and, naturally, I sat out the first three minutes trying to learn the game. In that span, I learned more than I have in 20 years on this earth. If you're thinking that I was going to be a disaster, please pick up your prize now.

My turn to enter the field came, so I took the same position I had in the video game: the right wing looking spot. I was ready to get my score on! But apparently the other right wing guy had the same idea, as he told me to get a new position.

The search for a position lasted a minute, as I settled for a defensive position. What was this? I'm suppose to be the American incarnation of Pelé, not a lowly defender.

After coming to terms that I wouldn't be scoring this time around, I set my goals to be the best defender ever. As the play came down to my end, I targeted in on the ball carrier. As he was within striking distance, I stuck my foot out for an easy steal. He did not cooperate.

I fell right on my rear end as he dribbled past me. He took a shot that missed the net, so ,naturally, I thought I tired him out just enough to make him mess up.

Me, one; fancy ball kicker, ZERO!

My turn came to an end as I sat on the bench, confident in my amazing soccer skills. I signed some autographs (told a player of mine good job) and did a world wide interview (took a drink of water) until I got back onto the field. I sprinted for the forward position and claimed it as my own. My scoring debut was about to begin!

It wasn't three seconds into my shift that I had the ball kicked into my general area. I took off in a dead sprint after the ball and got close enough to it to kick it towards the net for a shot that was sure to go in. The ball fluttered about 25 feet short of the net right to a defender. That was not acceptable; I wanted to score!

I sprinted full speed (not as fast as you think) back towards the ball to get redemption. The ball moved from player to player as I chased it down with little regard to where I was on the field. The ball always alluded me and, shortly, my shift came to an end.

I realized then that I made a giant error. After all of that all-out sprinting for three minutes, my legs were hijacked by stiffness as they cooled on the bench. I tried quick stretches to hopefully get my legs back, but to no avail.

I went on the field a little less enthusiastic and played defense again. Maybe it's where I belonged, after all.

After the hour and a half game came to and end, I walked off the field proud that I only allowed four goals while I was on defense. It wasn't my fault that the goalie couldn't stop a two on none breakaway.

I got to the changing room and sat on a wood bench to get undressed. I sat on that bench for 45 minutes before I had one shoe off. I was exhausted. I summoned superhuman strength and finally got out of the soccer spikes (regular tennis shoes) and took my sweatbands off my wrists and my head.

After I had rung the sweat out of them for 45 seconds, I limped ever so slowly out of the eight rink hockey complex (only in Minnesota will you find a building with eight hockey rinks) in more pain than I have ever been in after a workout. My back hurt, along with my neck, legs, arms, ears, hair, and shoulders.

As I walked into the cold Minnesota winter, I realized that maybe I was just a tad critical when I called soccer players "field fairies" and said soccer was easy.

Boy, was I wrong about that.

Reflecting back on my day, I realized two things:

A) Being a football fan is much more than watching or playing a game. It's the passion of the sport that drives people to the stadium. So what if it's a nill-nill tie, these people love their game no matter how boring the game is. They'll find a way to cheer their heroes or riot if their rivals win. Being a football fan can't be taught (at least to me), it's embedded into children at conception. Football isn't a hobby; it's a way of life to most.

B) I never knew that my hair and ears could get sore.

Thank you for paying attention to my saga. Even though I didn't enter the elite ranks of fandom, I learned more about international football in one day than I did in my entire life.

Weeks have passed after my one-day venture, and my soreness is starting to go away as I type this. Within those weeks, I found myself checking the web to see if my Arsenal team won and trying to catch a highlight or two. I gave the FIFA '09 game another chance and, what do you know, I'm a scoring machine now. So what if the game is on "easy" mode?

Once again, thank you, and I'm sure you'll be seeing me boasting when Arsenal wins the EPL over the inferior Manchester United!

It was a joke, Man U Fans! No death threats, please!