A Frenchman in Manhattan

How a quick footy discussion can make everything seem so clear

by Maurice Downes

If you called me regular as clockwork, I wouldn't take offense. In many ways I'm the typical NYC dreamer: left-wing jackass, trying to be a writer, at parties in undiscovered parts of town, blah, blah, blah… but in others I'm still the quiet, reliable kid from small town Long Island and I definitely adhere to my habits. This is a weekly one, I come to see my friend who works the bar at a Union Square café, I attempt to get some of my writing done, I don't, I drink beers, stare at women, and watch the soccer match. There are people out there who have nothing good to say about our domestic league, because part of being a supporter of any footy side brings with it a certain amount of smugness… especially if you're from Europe. For my money, there's nothing that quite says Saturday like catching the Metrostars games on TV, it's just become dogma for the weekends. Yes, as someone who writes constantly about world soccer, who sees it from every angle and every corner of the world, I can safely say that I love catching MLS matches.

So, here's the thing: one or two weeks ago, I'm still at the bar, except lately the habit has taken on discussing doomsday scenarios with Dana, the bartender. In this time of weekly bombings and such, he seems to get a special kick out of telling me "WERE ALL GOING TO DIE! How are you doing?" I just drink my beer and try to take on the most disaffected version of a James Dean pose… occasionally I decide to stop the madness and request "Hey, can we turn to the soccer match?" Bloody American that he is, he moans "Soccer AGAIN?" and passes me the remote. See, sometimes Dana likes turning to Fox News, knowing my political leanings, and watching me squirm like a condemned man. To counter this, I like watching foreigners run up and down the pitch at Giants Stadium around 7pm on Saturdays. I can't understand what it is about soccer that makes so many yankees so damn uncomfortable, but alas, we can't all be perfect.

I noticed out the corner of my eye two men, some kind of expats, pointing to the screen and making comments. Any time I actually see people responding to matches, outside of a soccer bar (yes, they do exist here), my heart does go a-flutter. I'll be damned if there's any time other than the World Cup that I can have a soccer discussion with folks. It's a lonely world I live in, let me tell you. See, when most of your friends are trendy, arty types, you're lucky if they're into sports at all, much less a sport which is still trying to make inroads in the American psyche.

But enough of that, because it was our heated rivals, the Columbus Crew, and I had to give full attention to my squad. We seemed to be keeping our head up, we seemed to be truly challenging for the ball in midfield and defense, something that was sorely lacking in our game these last few years. Our superstar was acting like a superstar should, doing the impossible, and it felt like something of a banner season was in the works for us. In my opinion, that would just be making the second stage of the playoffs, but I chose not to let such evil thoughts enter my head for now. I was enjoying our play, what people outside the sport fail to understand... how we can get so excited by seeing a four step pass play that doesn't even result in a goal.

Suddenly, an interruption... well, actually, I believe I hear my name mentioned and I perk up. It's Dana pointing me out to the two gentlemen I mentioned; turns out they asked Dana about the match on TV, wondering who it was and where it was playing. Cue the soccer expert, a title I have even though the most impressive thing I can do is name all the clubs from London in the top four divisions... I still don't fully know a lot of soccer trivia like, for example, how relegation is handled in Mexico. Though, I'm of the opinion the Mexicans don't fully understand themselves; when in doubt just know it's not a team from Mexico City.

But back to the guys I was pointed to. They were students, nice guys, typical wide-eyed colegians taking in a foreign country. Oh, they were French, and to their knowledge they hadn't seen much of the people's game while they'd been taking their classes at NYU. It appeared that they were dumbfounded by all this: like many Americans, these foreign students were surprised that we ourselves have a league. It all became interesting after I explained "The ones in yellow are from Ohio, well, Columbus specifically, and the red and black team is New York... and New Jersey."

Then what happened afterwards is that dream within a dream that I can never believe is happening when it does: a soccer discussion. This was even better, though, because I was this wise source of world information. We talked up all facets of the game, and they asked me my opinion. Imagine a Frenchman asking an American's opinion on anything (insert smugly unneccesary world opinion here). Yet here I was, talking about how the advent of the domestic league helped our performance in the World Cup, the absurdity and necessity of playing through summer in a country where you didn't have to, and how Senegal beat France so unexpectedly. As a matter of fact, we gave something of a bashing to French soccer in general, but really just the club game. We agreed that they consistently turned out some the best players in the world, so I guess that amounts to something. We called the premiership, the English one, the most exciting league in the world to watch, while I gave my two cents on the proficiency of La Liga. And, yes, we were all sick of Brazil winning everything.

Then the conversation ends and they need to be on their way and we do all the usual well wishing. They're going back to France to continue their studies, I'll stay here and sift through the rejection letters from a billion publications. A nice, manic conversation with random soccer fans. You really can't ask for anything better, a good natured discussion free of heavy laden opinion and supporter worship. It was a good time.

I think to myself that maybe they'll remember that someone with an American accent knows more than what's on the sports network when it comes to the beautiful game. It'd be nice to think that, but I can't imagine that they'll chalk it up to more than a conversation in a bar. I'm not one for notoriety, so that's more than enough, and if my lack of excitement with the writing world has me down than this keeps me up. I can have a daily soccer conversation with dozens of people all over the world just like this. I'd say thank heavens for small miracles, but that's no small miracle. It's the whole point.

--Maurice Downes (Werd up)