World Cup Lunch

I spent my lunch hour yesterday in Ireland. Well, a reasonable facsimile of Ireland: Flannery's Pub (no, really!). The girls and I decided to venture out of the salt mines and go someplace different for a change. It was actually our third stop. We tried to go to Taste Buds, a local cafeteria with healthy fair, but it was still closed for vacation. Then we went to the Winking Lizard, but they were so busy, they didn't even acknowledge me as I stood and waited for five minutes to see how long the wait would be for a table. So, we happened upon Flannery's Pub as we tried to make our way to Tower City.

We were in luck! The place had immediate seating and they were playing ESPN2 on the many plasma TV's throughout the place. Germany was playing Costa Rica in a World Cup match. I was thrilled to be in a place where people seemed to be mildly interested in watching it. I know very little about soccer, but fortunately, M was a former player and a well-informed fan. We enjoyed sandwiches in a European atmosphere while watching the World Cup.

M answered my questions helpfully while we ate. I learned that many of the players were pros, though the World Cup was more like the Olympics than, say, the Superbowl. Players, like David Beckham often played on teams outside of their country (he plays for a team in Spain) during the regular seasons, but returned home to join their countrymen for the World Cup. I learned that the clock counted up instead of down. I learned that what I know as personal fouls from the NFL garner players yellow cards in soccer. If a player gets two yellow cards, they are red-carded and ejected from the game, and perhaps also from the game after that one. Stiff penalties indeed for rough housing. Also, when the snitch is caught, the game is over.

We watched as we ate and I learned that if you look away for just a second, you could miss a goal. I had my eyes glued to the set as Germany's offense kept the ball near the Costa Rican's goal for a majority of the time. I missed seeing both teams score in real time as I looked away for a moment to pick up a pickle off my plate or reached for my drink. Thank goodness for instant replay. It is very rare for any team to score, so I now understand why, on British TV, soccer fans are absolutely glued to the set. Catching a goal in action is as elusive as that darn snitch.

Eventually, we tore ourselves away to return to work. We walked past the bar towards the exit and were distracted from our departure by some action on the game. Costa Rica had just scored and they were analyzing the playback.

"What happened?" I asked M.

"The player for Costa Rica was offsides," she said.

"Will the goal still count?" I asked.

"I think so," she explained. "The ref didn't call it."

"What is offsides?" I wondered.

M began to explain it to me and noticed the dumbsquizzled look on my face. So she began to demonstrate...in the middle of the bar. She stood behind me and positioned S in front of me.

"Now, I have the ball and you are on the other team. If I pass the ball to Sarah, who's ahead of you, I would be offsides. Now I could pass it to the right or left or backwards, but not out front. That's what the Costa Ricans did."

"Oh," I said, starting to understand, "So, the soccer ball is like a moving line of scrimmage in football."

"Something like that." She said.

I'm still not sure I understand 100%, but I think if I had a pint of Harp, it might make more sense.

Ah, the soccer fan: willing to demonstrate soccer tactics in the middle of a bar. I think I'm gonna like this strange, Europey sport.