All Aboard the Soccer Bandwagon

It has become well-established this past week that the denizens of National Review have limited patience for soccer (Abel, Pino, Schneider, Hochman, and Lowry). However, the U.S. Men’s National Team just defeated Iran and were elevated from the group stage into the Round of 16 at this year’s FIFA World Cup. If we can’t take a moment to celebrate the undoing of a geopolitical rival via a game of footie, what are we even doing? It was especially fitting that the U.S. squad had to win to advance, a most American expectation where nothing but victory would be rewarded with further play — all the sweeter after our frustrating draws against the Britons and Welsh. 

Furthermore, this win opens up a world of possibilities in humbling Europeans in a game that means nothing to us and everything to them. Like the 10-6 Green Bay Packers in 2010 or the 9-7 Giants in 2011, ours is a team without expectation. Every victory can be a triumph against the continental Goliaths, and the specter of an eventual loss forgoes the pall of shame that haunts the squads of long-dominant Old World countries. 

Best of all, we have the next four days to act as stereotypically American as possible — chests puffed out like tom turkeys pre-November, telling the world that football is called soccer — whatever may happen in our match against the Dutchmen.

It’s all good clean fun, and, given the cosmopolitan nature of the sport stateside, has even those on the Left feeling patriotic. 

Charles Barkley emoted our happy jingoistic sentiment perfectly last night:

Soccer is a middling sport that offers an opportunity to remind the world we’re better than them. Let us delight in that together.