Mexico and Iran — two countries that have recently become identified with their reluctance to settle issues agitating global tensions and compromising America’s security.  One has encountered an inability to curb illegal emigration; the other is moving down a path towards nuclear proliferation.  Neither currently holds an endearing position with the U.S. government, and both are the source of endless debate and political drama.  

Yet there they were on Sunday, facing off in the first round of the World Cup in Germany; 11 men per side playing for the honor of their countries and the thrill of winning a match in the world’s most revered sporting event.  Many people north of the border and west of the Atlantic haven’t found the source of excitement in a game that might go 90 minutes without any scoring, but anybody who saw the Mexican fans celebrating recognizes that there is clearly some kind of allure to the game of soccer.

I’ve been a fan of the World Cup since 1994, when the games were played in the United States and a local buzz was going around since America was the host country.  I needed a team to root for, and my ancestral country seemed much more enthused about its representatives than my home country did, so I adopted Italy as my team and Roberto Baggio as my favorite player.  After following the Azzurri for a month and rejoicing with each goal scored and lamenting each goal allowed, I found the Italians playing Brazil for the championship.  In a cruel twist of fate for a young fan infatuated with a new team, Italy lost in a shootout when Baggio, arguably the greatest player in the world at the time, clinched the match for Brazil by sending his and the game’s final kick over the crossbar.  Since that summer, I’ve looked forward to the World Cup every four years as a chance to see the world’s greatest athletes excel at the sport that has been embraced by the rest of humanity as the international past time.  There are no made-for-TV opening ceremonies; there’s no village and no curling.  There are no overly tacky, extravagant halftime shows.  There’s just soccer and its millions upon millions of crazed, invigorated, maniacal fans reveling in the chance to see their country compete with the world’s best.

So when Mexico and Iran faced off on Sunday and the two teams took the field, there was much more at stake than just the final score.  There were two teams playing for pride, both for themselves and for the countries they were representing — and the world tuned in. Iran was no longer the country at odds with the world over uranium enrichment, and Mexico was no longer the country whose millions of illegal immigrants are in the U.S. right now.  These nations suddenly became ordinary men out to win and make their fellow countrymen proud.  

Most people follow sports because of the competition and dexterity which they themselves are mostly incapable of but still love to observe.  Even the world’s best watch other athletes to admire the pure excitement, strength, and grace exhibited on the playing field.  Athletes’ contributions to society are often minimal, but they are idolized because they provide a chance for the average individual to believe in human triumph.  

In a similar manner, anybody who has ever devoutly followed a team knows that an odd relationship develops between team and supporter.  The fan probably doesn’t know any of the players and has no real effect on the outcome of the game. The team’s roster is continually changing so that every ten years, there is basically an entirely new group of players representing the name.  Nonetheless, for some inexplicable reason, a fan will live and die with a team each time the squad takes the field.

The opportunity to combine sport and country results in a unique type of pride which comes out in full force during the World Cup.  Soccer might just be a game, and its winners and losers don’t change anything, but every time two teams take the field, the rest of the world stops and the only issue that matters is finding a way to emerge victorious.  We saw this on Sunday where for just 90 minutes, there were no illegal immigrants and there was no talk of nuclear warfare.  There were 22 men on a field competing for victory; for themselves, for their fans, and for their countries — and that should at least count for something.

M R