I’m not much on soccer.

Last time I played was in sixth grade.  I was the goalie, but never understood why I couldn’t come out of my little box. I once ran the ball all the way down the field only to find the coach and all my team mates standing back with mouths agape. Yeah, my soccer career didn’t last long.

We tried putting our son in the YMCA league, but that didn’t work out either.  We spent the first four years of his life telling him to share and then told him he needed to get the ball away.  Very confusing.  He didn’t like staying in the little box either.

I must admit I caught the fever in 1999 when the USA women’s team marched to the World Cup finals.  My partner and I watched the match with two friends.  I think we scared them with our, shall we say, exuberant couch coaching and celebrations.

But there’s really not been much since then.

It’s been with dispassionate interest that I’ve been watching my friends’ exchanges on Facebook about this year’s World Cup.  I wasn’t sure if I was up to the same fever pitch as 12 years ago.  Outside of the US, I was clueless as to who was playing.

But there was something mentioned about a Wombat, Han Solo and a singing coach, so I my curiosity got the better of me when my partner suggested watching the match and I said why not?

We ordered some delivery chinese food, took up our places in front of the couch and readied ourselves for the game.

Ah, they were playing the Japanese team. It turned out to be Abby Wombach and Hope Solo.  It was far more interesting the other way.  Apparently, the coach does sing though.

We were all very enthusiastic in the beginning.  Then slowly we sort of drifted away.  Our son went back to his game of Bejeweled®, my partner worked on her writing and I dozed on the couch.

Its not that it wasn’t an exciting match.  It was filled with skill and speed.  A nail biter all the way to the last penalty kick.  And up to a certain point I was all in the “Go USA” zone.

Its just that it was, well – soccer.

I must apologize up front to many of my friends, some of whom are die hard fans and others actual players. Soccer is just doesn’t run in my blood.

To meet me in person, one might think I was in to all kinds of sports, at least you would have before my last few years of stress eating and the resultant non-muscle bulk up and ever encroaching grey hair.  But no, not a sports nut.

I’m more the High Holiday sort of sports fan.  I watch maybe a game or two of the World Series and the Super Bowl, but that’s about it.  I do enjoy a good Iron Man competition though.  How many of those stones could you lift?

Anyway, back to soccer or rather my disinterest in soccer.

Soccer is a game of speed, skill and courage.  I couldn’t manage a game now if my life depended on it.  Going upstairs in a hurry leave me breathless these days. I am in awe of those who can play.  It’s a stamina that is most amazing.

In other countries, soccer is the impetus of riots, something over here usually reserved for political rallies and rock concerts.  Me, I can’t see rioting over much anything except maybe the argument over the correct pronunciation of the word pecan or if there should be sugar in your iced tea.

Soccer just doesn’t float my boat that way.  All that running about, butting the ball with your head – just looks like an invitation for a major headache and broken bones. And what’s with only one break?

No, soccer is definitely not in my soul.

More power to you soccer people.

Just don’t ask for my card.