I really wanted to write this with as little reference to the world beyond soccer and our family as possible.
The writer in me thinks contemporary references have the half-life of a fruit fly, and the parent in me wants this to be both a diversion and an excuse to let the weightiest bits of the world slide by.
But sometimes you have to acknowledge the wildness right in front of you (and tie back to soccer however you can).
The President of the United States was acquitted of abusing his power, however your history classes judge that moment, let me say as a lived observer: it felt weird.
Not the accusations: those were dumbfounding but totally in keeping with a leader who sees everything as a deal.
The Weirdness
Not the acquittal: that seemed inescapable for the last three months.
What felt weird was seeing strongly worded and logically argued condemnations treated about as seriously as a trash-talking pro-wrestling promo.
We’re calling you out Mr President. You don’t deserve that title.
Democratic Impeachment Managers
Blah blah blah, bring it on you pencil necked geeks
President of the United States of America
For something that is genuinely historic, to see it handled like a brief installment in a petty feud felt weird.
Just as weird, the speaker tearing up the president’s speech on national tv, and the president telling religious leaders that he didn’t want to forgive his rivals (despite their prayer right before). Weird again, the ease of many people writing it off as “usual” or “typical”.
It’s not usual or typical. This is weird.
My own politics aside (Our President is a two-bit crook whose goals are limited to being the center of our collective universe), it’s frustrating to see partisanship, dislike and disdain normalized while graciousness and compassion are made weird. Gracious living is easy to do, just practice when it’s hard.
Two of the best doing the best
I hope, beyond watching soccer, you play it too. I love watching youth teams line up for a round of “high-fives” and “good games” just like I love watching pros end bitter rivalry games with a congratulatory nod and a jersey swap to respect those you just played against.
You don’t have to tolerate intolerance or always seek the higher ground, but those moments are rare. Graciousness is good for you, good for your rivals, and good for the soul.
It was a pretty hard week to be a fan. Out of our favorite 11, playing a total of 7 matches we saw a combined two goals scored and only one victory recorded.
The goal is that way boys…
Even my birthday on January 25th was tempered by discouraging results. The maximum MacKenzie team, Ross County, got burned by Celtic on Burns Day. Moreover, Alex and I ventured out to try to watch the Staggies only to be stymied by the fickle fiends of streaming services.
Not all was lost though. We did get to play some coaster soccer in the back of a bar. (Please send Father of the Year trophies to me directly) Then Alex discovered a new kind of soccer, where you throw the ball into one of six holes. We adults might give this game a different name, like, say, pool. But for Alex this too was soccer and he was invested.
Alex’s insistence on trying and trying again is not unlike the fans who still show up week after dispiriting week. Or the player mid-slump who puts in the time and effort knowing it can be done and wanting to do it.
Put simply: we want to do hard thingsbecause they are hard to do.
Improve public schools: hard. Learn to walk: hard. Get the ball in the hole/goal: damned hard. We do it, to paraphrase a former president, “not because it is easy, but because it is hard.”
Alex, you already get that. You already try and try and try again because it’s going to happen, and you want to do it yourself. Would that I could take credit for teaching you that, but that just seems to be you, and that is beautiful.
The Poet Burns as a winger
In honor of Burns Night and the boys from Dingwall who now must face that other Glaswegian Giant (Rangers). I’ll let Rabbie himself have the final word on loving what is hardest:
January is a special time of year. Things are new. Possibilities abound. Hope sprouts through the thick blanket of snow.
Beyond people’s natural desire to see the best at the start of the year, football fans have another mechanism to instill hope: the transfer window.
With the transfer window, contending teams seek a push for glory, and struggling sides look for players to rejuvenate a tired squad. For fans both dreaming of trophies and those fearing a nightmare campaign this means checking and rechecking transfer rumor mongers in hopes that they will see some golden glimmer of hope peeking in between the blurry lines of newsprint.
Mr. Fowles
Reasonable lose all logic this time of year. So it reminds me of a favorite phrase about truth from the writer John Fowles which I interpreted thusly:
There are three kinds of people: those so stupid that they believe anything; those intelligent enough to doubt everything; and those truly wise enough to accept everything.
Let me explain.
Lots of people can believe freely and fully. Belief is fun. It helps us imagine freely and realize our dreams. Believing that pandas are right around the corner makes each day a little richer in possibilities. Just as believing that Mario Balotelli, the recent all-world striker would leave bitterly racist Brescia for bitterly cold Minnesota makes the chances of our local team much brighter.
But belief can be foolish. If you both go to kindergarten calling raccoons “trash pandas” because you believed your dad, your belief would seem silly. (Particularly to me, which is why I call them that.) In the same way believing Mario Balotelli is about to join the local eleven will only leave you looking as ridiculous as if you cut your hair in that style only he can pull off.
Seriously, these are Trash Pandas…I promise
Those who abandon blind belief often find that doubt is satisfying. Doubting what you hear allows for a buoyant pride when you are right and others are wrong. It’s naturally gratifying to be validated in your skepticism amongst the faithful. In our examples, this could include telling your old man he’s wrong, or swiftly deflating delusions of grandeur among fans who think a millionaire would happily leave home to join an average team on the frozen Midwest tundra.
But while your cynicism can net a little grim gratification, doubt is a bitter pill for the rest of us to swallow. To be sure: right is right and you don’t need to pretend for the sake of others. But while doubting your dad’s name for raccoons might be wise, I hope you make a little room for my fairy tales lest you live in the drab reality that plagues so many people’s lives of quiet desperation. Doubting the arrival of Signore Balotelli might prove your wisdom amongst fellow fans, but why be a buzzkill for an amusing idea that carries us through the long, dark winter?
Signore Balotelli future Minnesota Legend
Acceptance allows you to have fun when it comes true and to be satisfied if it doesn’t. You need not believe that your unreliable narrator of a father is right about raccoons, just accept I have an odd sense of humor and a wish things were a little brighter than they are…not bad traits for a dad. You needn’t play the killjoy in Balotelli banter, just accept that fans are desperate for a little hope and would rather reach for the stars than the frozen sod in front of them.
Transfer rumors are an ideal arena to practice this skill. Sure I can say: Miguel Ibarra has drawn the interest of Ross County, or Asier Dipanda might make the move from Punjabi plains to Grenoble Alps. If you believe me, you might enjoy the daydream. if you doubt me, you’ll be satisfied to know you’re right. But if you accept that I’m a romantic who hopes teams he loves might swap players he loves, you can appreciate both my dreamy idealism and your righteous reality.
Please become a Staggie…Please…
In short boys: I hope you strive to accept what you hear whenever you can and to challenge believers and doubters to stretch beyond their comfort zones.
Oh, and I really hope someone at Ross County reads this and reviews Miguel Ibarra’s tapes. He’s available for a free transfer and while he’s been making more than you normal pay, he’s worth every penny…or Euro…or I guess penny again.
You probably have heard your mother and I talking about “Forks”. As in “Fork that” or “all out of forks to give” etc. There is a reason why.
You come from a long line of “fork-givers”. People who got worked up about politics and went to war. People who refused to accept their situation and instead moved to unseen, unknown locales. People who really care. Who care so much, in fact, that it gets in the way of doing justice to yourself.
I have been, and probably always will be, someone who gives a lot of, what we’ll call on this G-rated blog, “forks”. I give lots of forks about my lesson plans, about what students achieve and don’t, about where people cross the street, and use grammar, and speak to others, and show care for the world around them, and, naturally, how you two grow up. I give so many forks in a day, I often don’t have many left to give about myself, my health, or my welfare.
There’s nothing wrong with caring. Giving forks is good. But please boys, give a fork about what you do, don’t give a fork over how it is received.
Few things show this better than Grenoble Foot’s disastrous attack last Friday night against AC Ajaccio.
That’s three chances. Gilt-edged chances. Gimme-put style chances. Your-great-grammy-Zoe-would-have-finished-it-and-she’s-been-dead-ten-years. Chances. But they didn’t go in. Not for Jessy Benet, not for Arsene Elogo, not for Florian Raspentino. The result was sealed. And defeat was made still more painful.
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be Shawn Bradleys.
If you give a fork about the game, your job, your team, then it would be easy to be upset.
Obviously, fans would be upset. The coaches would be upset. The players would be upset. That kind of performance is not why you go into sports. You aren’t there to be the butt of the joke; you’re there to win.
But fans don’t put in the effort, they just watch the entertainment. Coaches don’t make the plays they just help train players to make it happen. Even players can’t control every part of the game; they just participate in it.
If you give a fork, it might seem like you ought to be upset when it goes wrong. It’s certainly how I’ve always responded when the class goes wrong, or people are rude and unsafe in public, or I don’t change the world three times over before breakfast. But that’s not the way to do it.
By all means, give a fork about how you prepare. Give it your best effort. And when it’s done, accept that it leaves your hands. My meticulous lesson may not move the needle in a student’s understanding. Your preferred candidate may lose. And you may, despite years of preparation, strong game planning, and the will of thousands of fans miss…and miss…and miss again.
Otherwise you may find that you’ve lost your pride in your own work, in the face of things beyond your control. And that would be a forking shame.
Some things are special. They might seem every day or inconsequential to others, but to you they grab your attention, fill your heart with hope, and offer a new beginning for a long standing love.
Owen, at two months old, this is probably any time you hear a play mat toy jingle. Alex, any bus related noises (particularly beeping and break hissing) demands commentary so that others might know that “that’s a bus” and tell you “where the bus go?”. For me, it’s any time someone or something alludes to Ghana.
While for other parts of the world, I have affection, fondness, or appreciation, with Ghana (and Montana) it is love. Pure and simple love. So when it comes up in daily life, it fills me with hope that this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, or a great conversation, or the chance to get my hands on some high quality nkatekwan (peanut stew).
I’m still not over this…
I’m starting this blog, at the same time Ghanaian soccer is starting a new beginning of its own. For most of its past, Ghanaian soccer was the story of a great team and a star player (Abedidi Pele) who rarely had the chance to shine on the global stage (thanks ingrained FIFA bureaucracy). Then it was the story of an immensely talented team that never reached its full potential (thanks Luis Suarez). But most recently, Ghanaian soccer was the story of staggering corruption and near ruin.
Two years ago a group of Ghanaian journalists, dug deep into the local soccer world and brought to light the 12th Man of Ghanaian soccer: corruption. Referees and executives who played a major part in organizing teams and determined winning teams admitted a willingness to take bribes. (Of the 94 officials investigated, only 3 turned down the bribe).
Anas Arenewat Anas and Kwesi Nyantaki (The journalist and power broker at the center of the scandal)
Most discouraging of all was the head of the game in Ghana, Kwesi Nyantaki, a banker and lawyer who had overseen some of the country’s greatest triumphs, but who also crowed about using the nation’s President to get deals done and make more money. He resigned. He forfeited ownership of his own team (side note: if someone makes the rules and owns a team that profits from them, you shouldn’t be surprised when they turn out to be self-dealing.) Then, he was banned for life from all soccer activities.
The country and its favorite game were shaken. The organizing body was disbanded. The triumphant national team went on hiatus. And the national league was cancelled.
Just before the new year, the league started again, and Nyantaki’s old team was re-formed in a new city for its own new beginning. As Legon Cities FC, they are what I like to think of when I think of new beginnings. I hope, when you face new beginnings, you’ll do it like Legon Cities FC: with optimism and gratitude.
Think of new beginnings like you think of play mat toys jingling, or wheels on a bus squealing. You have hope in that moment of something new, something remarkable, as long as you approach it with optimism.
For Legon Cities, there are new fans, new hopes and new energy. Every social media post is hashtaged “#We Deliver” or “#BringBacktheLove” everything is possible, everything can be done. In this new beginning, all things are possible. Pessimism is not allowed. Every match, every kick, deserves an optimistic eye.
At the same time, new chances aren’t always on offer. Sometimes we succumb to the trap of thinking we deserve it, or just being glad for it without realizing that we have it through the grace of others. So please, practice gratitude for the new beginning.
The bell jingles because you’re there again, and because your mom helped you get there. The bus sounds because the driver made a stop. The chance to restart a team, a league, a love of the game, it all comes down to fans. Legon Cities knows that and shows that. Y’all can do the same.
To be sure, this second chance came about not because of contrition, or apologies, or a desire to change, but because one businessman saw the opportunity to take over where another had failed. Richard King Attipoe, the club’s new owner has splashed serious cash into his investment, trying to, in the eyes of competitors, buy his way into a title.
But the truth is that Attipoe did something that had to be done. He seized a new beginning and did so while letting go of assumptions of the past. Legon Cities isn’t just a flashy new team, it’s a team that is exploring new media, new fan engagement, new promotions (with dance hall music stars popping up to perform at every home match). Attipoe has done what Bill Veeck used to do in American baseball, drawing people with a game plus bread and circuses rather than just the game and a long still silence.
New beginnings bring hope, whether they come gilded with an owner’s gold, or just arrive when you least expect it. But they do not last long, so boys, take it when it comes, approach it with optimism and gratitude and do what you can.
Oh, and Alex, like Legon Cities, you can approach it with a really nice bus.
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