there's a special complex of feelings reserved for american soccer fans who really know their stuff. it's commendable for a casual fan to know who manchester united and barcelona are or that zinedine zidane had something of a noteworthy pre-headbutt career. and i can only consider it a good thing that i see multiple berkeley students sporting chelsea shirts on their way to class just about every morning. yet i can't help but have a less benign attitude toward these people when they call soccer 'the real football,' or when they never say 'game' instead of 'match.' it rings hollow to me, and i always have the temptation to put them in their place when they try to pass their shallow impressions of the english premier league off as real opinions (opinions that always seem to seek fortification in the overuse of club nicknames). i want to browbeat them and intimate (or employ a less subtle verb) that i happen to know that zidane was a judo champion as a youth; that i knew william gallas would be a great fit for the premier league two years before he left france; that only a complete newbie to the scene (or an irishman) honestly thought the France-Ireland qualifier should have been replayed after henry's handball.
the era that bred this haughtiness was the period right after the 2002 world cup. as a graduation present in honor of my having graduated valedictorian, my dad bought me and my brother a directv subscription for the summer's tournament, ending a spell of years that required me and my brother getting rides down to my grandpa's house to watch epl review shows. after the world cup, i devoured fox sports world's soccer lineup, going so far as to regularly wake up at 6:30 a.m. for bundesliga fixtures. only a couple months after the world cup final, i had developed an odd penchant for the argentinean league. the highlight of the league was a river plate side that featured notables like ariel ortega, fernando cavenaghi, and nelson cuevas immediately post his fifteen minutes of fame for paraguay in the world cup. but to me, the star of the side was chacho coudet. he regularly terrorized hapless opposing defenses from the right flank in a style very reminiscent of an in-form lee bowyer, and it was little surprise that his form saw him secure a spell with celta vigo in spain at the end of the argentinean season. (is that the clausura? i don't remember.) i insisted to my brother that eduardo 'chacho' coudet would be the next argentinean star. i sensed that his hyper-effective play would see him become the toast of europe, and i went to great lengths employing my generally superior versing of the argentinean game to intimidate lesser soccer fans into believing like i did. in the end, i think he made thirteen appearances for the vigo side without a goal before screwing off back to buenos aires.
every time i want to destroy a casual soccer fan, i try to remember my chacho coudet expertise and shut up.
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