UEFA Euro 2012 Qualifying: Musings on the Benefits of Watching Random Matches

Ultimately, no world football match is random.

Sure, a kick about might suddenly arise in a park on a Sunday morning or a group of mates might take up the cause of a drunken impromptu match, but any game you might see on television is a tremendously deliberate affair.

But there is such a thing as subjective randomness. I had a few hours free last Saturday, and I stumbled upon a Euro 2012 qualifying match between Bosnia-Herzegovina and Romania, to Romanians and Bosnians, a monumental affair.

To an EPL devotee and West Ham United supporter of mixed English and American heritage, a random affair.

I hadn’t anticipated watching this match and wasn't entirely enthusiastic when the opening whistle blew, but I persevered. In doing so, I learned firsthand some of the great benefits of such an experience.

And it is with great sadness that I point out Bosnia's possible suspension from UEFA Euro 2012 and all other European international contests for failure to adopt new UEFA and FIFA standards.

Unexpected Corkers and the Anarchic Deluge

You watch one league or team for too long, and you become too accustomed to one style of play.

I was reminded of this certainty when I lived in Mexico. The Mexican game is very different from the European game. It is more leisurely. It is more measured.

There are some European expats living in Mexico who feel as though this makes it more boring. Or that the caliber of athletes in Mexico does not measure up to that of Europe. But Chicharito went directly from Chivas to Manchester United without struggling to keep pace with the British game.

I enjoyed the pace of the Mexican game, though I found it jarring at first. When watching Bosnia-Herzegovina vs. Romania, I felt as though I had tumbled into an alternate and madcap reality.

There they were, blasting corkers at the goal from 30 yards out! There they were, trying to score from free kicks at least 40 yards out! The madness!

And the anarchic deluge! The teams moved not like the practiced and regimented pawns of the EPL but like great gladiatorial tides rising against one another in violent competition.

Though Romania exercised a few instances of pinpoint, minimalist counter attack, the game primarily consisted of great rushes and clusters of men washing across the pitch like armies locked in mortal combat. And it was bloody brilliant!

The Edification of the Subjective Attention

We all express subjective attention. It’s impossible not to with the wealth of information being broadcast from a near limitless and constantly evolving ream of media types.

Watching matches we otherwise might not on account of circumstance, boredom or the nudging of insistent mates or lovers (saucy!) helps recalibrate our subjective attention and opens new avenues of potential interest.

Let me explain this anecdotally, if I may. I wasn’t particularly interested in Mexican football for the first few months I lived there, despite my general interest in the sport.

I then joined a band upon the insistence of a friend and ended up spending countless hours every week rehearsing with a group of three Mexican guys. I had limited Spanish and we had little to talk about other than chord changes.

During this time, Chicharito signed to United and the World Cup loomed on the horizon. I quickly developed a passion for the Mexican game and had a limitless supply of topics to cover with my band mates.

In watching the contest between Romania and Bosnia-Herzegovina, I was able recalibrate my selective attention such that I have new opinions of those two teams and countless others.

They are not minor countries; they are not less talented countries. They are countries disadvantaged by communism and colonialism that expresss a hunger and joie de vivre on the pitch seldom seen in EPL sides.

New Alliances Forged by Random Impulse

What is the great love of every sports fan if not a team or a player? For what does our blood bleed if not the claret and sky blue; if not the cannon blast of the Gunners, the Catalan pride of Barcelona or the hopeless nothingness of Millwall?

I have a theory. Allow me to expound from my digital pulpit: It is impossible for a sports fan to objectively watch a match, regardless of whether or not she or he has a stake in the match.

You turn on the television. You sit down. You see two sides from a country you don’t think much about. You cannot pronounce the names of these teams. You have never heard of these players.

Yet suddenly it blooms in the pit of your stomach, and like a flourishing vine, it travels to your head and plants the seed of an idea: you prefer the team in blue.

And you do not like that arrogant fellow with the blond hair. The referee, man, is he unfair or what? Suddenly you’re shouting and searching for a pint. The bloodlust has set in.

This same thing happened to me while watching Bosnia-Herzegovina vs. Romania, and it happened like this: The town I went to high school in was a resettlement location for Bosnians during and after the conflict there in the mid-'90s. I, and especially my younger brother, had a number of Bosnian friends. A portion of our town was even called, with great affection, Little Bosnia.

It was inevitable: I am for Bosnia. I am, despite my better intentions, completely engrossed. I now have a stake in this match, and I will not stop watching until the final whistle blows.

And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing.

New Perspectives Forged on Foreign Faces

When you watch a match, or a game, or contest, or a bout or any other sporting event, half of what you’re watching is the fans.

Even if, as is generally the case with televised football matches, the camera hardly bothers showing the individual faces comprising the roaring crowd, we are inherently empathetic beings, and what we see etched in the faces of those frenzied witnesses has an immeasurable impact on the way we “see” the game. 

As I have previously explained, I became a Bosnia-Herzegovina fan within the opening three or four minutes of last weekend’s match. And as I watched the match, I paid careful attention to all of those Bosnian faces in the crowd. I read their passion as my passion, and I inferred my inspirations and aspirations in them.

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Edin Džeko transforms from that guy Manchester City probably paid too much for into a man who carries the hopes of a nation on his back.

He is a hero. He is a gladiator. He is hewn in fire and as I sit there I can see an endless supply of little Bosnian boys and girls who can now dream not just of the limits of Bosnian society but to the ends of the Earth. When he scored the winner in the 83rd minute, I jumped off the couch, spilled my drink and scared the crap out of my dog.

I’ll never look at that guy the same way again, no matter how long he plays second fiddle to Carlos Tevez.

A Measure of Relief from the Yawning Abyss of Nothingness

For a true sports fan, watching any match is better than doing nothing.

There is a time for reading and a time for deep thinking. A time for drinking and a time for catching up on work and keeping up social appearances.

But there are times, dear readers, when none of these things will suffice. When you want to sit down, have a drink, have a snack and quite generally blank your mind.

In these situations, you have two options: (A) watching television or a movie or (B) staring into the yawning abyss of nothingness and confronting the ultimately neglible importance of your very existence.

I’ll take option A, thank you very much.

And so it was in the case of the Bosnia-Herzegovina vs. Romania match, 90 minutes of pure pleasure that spared me from the slippery slope of existential rumination