The World Cup fever has not really gripped these islands. Nope. During the early rounds, bars which advertised live broadcasts at the unholy hours of 2 or 3 a.m. were abuzz with flies, literally. Some establishments had to drive away the few customers who bravely stayed up to watch the games. The triple Bs rule here: basketball, boxing and billiards. But not football.
As the game entered the final stretches, these same bars suddenly found themselves with cheering customers, expats and locals alike. Some friends, who I’m sure didn’t give a flying fig about football before, suddenly became overnight aficionados, dropping names like del Piero, Totti, Henri, Zidane, Figo, Beckham, Rooney, Ronaldhino. Oh, ok.
The same phenomena can be gleaned from the South Korean and Japanese fans. A decade ago they knew nada, zilch, zero, about football. All of a sudden, when both countries co-hosted the World Cup in 2002 and even during the Group matches, rabid screaming fans suddenly emerged from nowhere supporting their equally unheard of national teams.
I have this feeling, watching on TV the Korean fans’ reactions, especially the cheering squad antics complete with boy-bands, that all these over-the-top silliness is just an excuse to party and has really nothing to do with their innate love for the sport. I mean, for crying out loud, do they even a professional football league to speak of? Before the 2002 event Japan and Korea didn’t have enough football stadiums to host the event, they had to build new ones.
Compare that to the Europeans and the South Americans who treat football like a religion. For these East Asians, they’re merely trying to copy the experience and replicate the fun other nations are having with the World Cup. They ostensibly didn’t want to be left out of the party. They desperately wanted to be part of the euphoric celebrations. Pretty much like how they celebrate Christmas, yes they have the lights and the decorations, but missing the spirit.
Here in the Philippines, surprise, surprise! The provinces are more into football than Manila. The southern provinces, such as the two Negroses, Bukidnon and Davao, in particular meet regularly for football events in Dumaguete, Bacolod and Del Monte.
I remember clearly my first attempt at soccer. I was in third grade and it was ten o’clock in the morning. The boys were supposed to be preparing for the coming intramurals the following week so we kicked ball. There was absolutely no sense of team work, we simply chased the ball, scrambling to kick it to somebody’s face.
Anyway, everybody avoided Ambrose when he kicked the ball, because he wore tik-tak shoes, you know, those sturdy and oh-so-shiny, black leather shoes by Bantex and Spartan, which makes a tik-tak, tik-tak sound as you pass the corridors and the hall ways because it felt so heavy. We didn’t dare risk our legs getting assaulted by his killer shoes, our rubber shoes were no match to his tik-taks. It was also the first time the ball hit me right smack in the gut. I was so shocked and taken by surprise, not to mention the painful grunts, that I remained speechless for a few minutes, wondering where my breathing went. That marked the end of my soccer career.
Anyway, I was unhappy when France edged out Spain in the penalties. I cheered when Portugal beat England. I always knew the English team was just a beneficiary of the media hype. The same is true with the Germans, but since they’re the host, they stand to benefit from the home court advantage. The real deals are the Italians, the Argentines and the Brazilians. Sadly, the South Americans have been eliminated.
I’m rooting for Italy this coming Sunday. They deserve to win. Despite the on-going controversy that may see some of their players playing in Serie C when they get home, they played a beautiful, heart-stopping, even nail-biting game against the Germans. As for the French, they do have Zidane and Thierry Henri, and Zidane’s making his very last appearance on the finals, a script that is almost Hollywood perfect, that is, if France wins and he made another goal.
As the game entered the final stretches, these same bars suddenly found themselves with cheering customers, expats and locals alike. Some friends, who I’m sure didn’t give a flying fig about football before, suddenly became overnight aficionados, dropping names like del Piero, Totti, Henri, Zidane, Figo, Beckham, Rooney, Ronaldhino. Oh, ok.
The same phenomena can be gleaned from the South Korean and Japanese fans. A decade ago they knew nada, zilch, zero, about football. All of a sudden, when both countries co-hosted the World Cup in 2002 and even during the Group matches, rabid screaming fans suddenly emerged from nowhere supporting their equally unheard of national teams.
I have this feeling, watching on TV the Korean fans’ reactions, especially the cheering squad antics complete with boy-bands, that all these over-the-top silliness is just an excuse to party and has really nothing to do with their innate love for the sport. I mean, for crying out loud, do they even a professional football league to speak of? Before the 2002 event Japan and Korea didn’t have enough football stadiums to host the event, they had to build new ones.
Compare that to the Europeans and the South Americans who treat football like a religion. For these East Asians, they’re merely trying to copy the experience and replicate the fun other nations are having with the World Cup. They ostensibly didn’t want to be left out of the party. They desperately wanted to be part of the euphoric celebrations. Pretty much like how they celebrate Christmas, yes they have the lights and the decorations, but missing the spirit.
Here in the Philippines, surprise, surprise! The provinces are more into football than Manila. The southern provinces, such as the two Negroses, Bukidnon and Davao, in particular meet regularly for football events in Dumaguete, Bacolod and Del Monte.
I remember clearly my first attempt at soccer. I was in third grade and it was ten o’clock in the morning. The boys were supposed to be preparing for the coming intramurals the following week so we kicked ball. There was absolutely no sense of team work, we simply chased the ball, scrambling to kick it to somebody’s face.
Anyway, everybody avoided Ambrose when he kicked the ball, because he wore tik-tak shoes, you know, those sturdy and oh-so-shiny, black leather shoes by Bantex and Spartan, which makes a tik-tak, tik-tak sound as you pass the corridors and the hall ways because it felt so heavy. We didn’t dare risk our legs getting assaulted by his killer shoes, our rubber shoes were no match to his tik-taks. It was also the first time the ball hit me right smack in the gut. I was so shocked and taken by surprise, not to mention the painful grunts, that I remained speechless for a few minutes, wondering where my breathing went. That marked the end of my soccer career.
Anyway, I was unhappy when France edged out Spain in the penalties. I cheered when Portugal beat England. I always knew the English team was just a beneficiary of the media hype. The same is true with the Germans, but since they’re the host, they stand to benefit from the home court advantage. The real deals are the Italians, the Argentines and the Brazilians. Sadly, the South Americans have been eliminated.
I’m rooting for Italy this coming Sunday. They deserve to win. Despite the on-going controversy that may see some of their players playing in Serie C when they get home, they played a beautiful, heart-stopping, even nail-biting game against the Germans. As for the French, they do have Zidane and Thierry Henri, and Zidane’s making his very last appearance on the finals, a script that is almost Hollywood perfect, that is, if France wins and he made another goal.
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