Tim Howard is a Beast

I have to admit, I'm not really a soccer fan. I don't watch it religiously like some. My sisters both played soccer school and my dad coached soccer (still does). I would go to their games and to watch and support them, but I never followed professional soccer. I could not tell you the difference between one call or another, or why sometimes I think it's okay to swat a soccer ball down even though I know the ref would call "hand ball!" I guess I prefer volleyball over soccer.

But not today. Today I was excited to watch USA play against England. I don't know why. I'm not sure if it is because we were the underdog or because I was essentially delaying the inevitable of home and house work. Either way I was clearly patriotic today and knew exactly what side I was rooting for. And when we sang the national anthem I sang (or more so hummed) along. I sat on the edge of the couch preparing. Doing a funny little chant to myself. I wanted so badly for us to do well. I wanted us to win. I knew (as much as everyone else) that England was a good team and would be hard to beat.

Why couldn't we start out easy? Why couldn't we play against Greece or something (no offense Greece, I love you, but I wanted my boys to do well!) I sat on the edge of my couch, nails in my mouth, biting away the anxious feelings which bubbled up inside. We had to do well. We had to do well because we were America. So when England's captain made the first goal within four minutes of the game I wanted to cry. But ye have little faith my child. Ye have little faith.

I found myself doing things I used to make fun of my boyfriend for when he watches football. I did little chants and dances around the room. I prayed to the soccer gods willing for them to hear me. Please, please, please, we had to win! Or at least score a goal! We couldn't go down 1-0 like everyone predicted! We were America and this was the first time in 60 years we had the opportunity to face England again. Other than the Revolutionary War.

I saw my boys lagging, tired so soon. Did they already give up? I thought if I was on the field I could do better. I could do better even though I had absolutely no idea how to play soccer. I don't even think I have even dribbled a soccer ball down a field. But still I shouted. I screamed. I wanted to throw things, but didn't because I knew I would regret it later. I thought maybe, just maybe if I yelled loud enough they would hear me. Or the soccer gods would hear me. Or my neighbors would just complain because I was screaming obnoxious obscenities. Either way, I was willing victory.

Our savior came in the form of Tim Howard. I have to saw, Mr. Howard is a beast. If someone had that many shots on goal on me I would have given up. I would have just laid down on the fake grass (is it fake in South Africa?) and wished for sweet death. But he didn't give up. Yes, he let one goal slip past him in the first 4 minutes of the game, but I had forgiven him by the time the game was over. But then I asked myself, where was the rest of the team? Where was the rest of America (besides the back seat spectators like myself screaming at the television?) I felt our boys had checked out at the door. Now, why would you do that? Why? I shook my fists in anger!

And then when we finally scored (a soft goal, but I didn't care, I would take it) I was thankful! I didn't care if we scored another goal. I just wanted to make sure England didn't score another goal on us. If our boys could just hold it together for the rest of the game I would be happy. If they would just give Tim Howard some breathing room we would be fine. Yes, we had many close calls, but by the end, we tied. And you know what, that is a win for me. Thank you Tim Howard. Thank you for being the beast that you are. I know it doesn't mean anything coming from someone who knows absolutely nothing about soccer, but I think you are the MVP of this game. Now, hopefully the rest of the USA team will show up to the next game and we can prove to everyone we are a force to be reckoned with.