As one

Sport is the foundation of my relationship with my dad, so it’s only natural that he has tainted my view of soccer.

Dad grew up in Guyana on the coast of South America – they consider themselves part of the West Indies, are far from a superpower, but they enjoy the game. I learnt at a young age that I should be cheering for the South Americans over Europeans in World Cups. By the same turn, I came to relish an Italy loss as much as a Brazil win, simply because Dad didn't want the Italians to win. I like to think his dislike had something to do with their great, but boring (I might call it negative) defensive style.

The first World Cup final I remember vividly took place in 1994, and Dad and I celebrated wildly when after a boring 120 minutes, Roberto Baggio drove his spot kick over the goal.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I was forming a way of watching the World's game that can only be described as negative. Soon other great nations like Germany, Spain and (yes, even) England were added to my list of nations to root against.

It was natural, I think.

For one, I'm a grab-bag mix of four nationalities, none of which are particularly great footballing nations – save for Portugal, but we've had a falling out – so I don't have any strong blood ties to a country. The closest thing I have now to a national team is Liverpool, after a drunk and happy group of fans adopted me there when I showed up to watch, in the First National pub, the Reds defeat Chelsea in the 2007 Champions League semi-final. It's a great feeling having a connection, but now Liverpool matches are the only ones I don't enjoy watching, unless the Reds are winning 4-0, of course.

For two, growing up near Toronto, a hockey-mad city, in a time just before sports channels started picking up weekend Premier League fixtures and weekday Champions League (my favourite club competition, by far), all I learnt about football as a kid was taught to me during those month-long international tournaments when passions were high and Italian/Romanian/Argentinean/Nigerian-Canadians hung flags in their windows and danced in the streets after wins.

With nothing invested in these soccer matches carrying on around the world, save for a desire to see many goals and nail-biting finishes, watching soccer has always been about being entertained and soaking up the passions floating through the stadia.

I will never forget the sound of red-clad South Korean fans beating the drums during that host nations improbable and controversial run to the semi-finals of the 2002 World Cup. How can any of us who witnessed it, whether live or on television, ever forget? Watching Korea v Italy (ah, them again) play in the sticky heat, it seemed as though all 22 men on the pitch were united in a passion play, that the fans in the stand were also connected, to this thing that was happening, this moment, and that I, yes even I, watching from miles away when I should be in class, was part of it. I felt it again, and finally had to admit to my dad that the Italians deserved to win, when in 2006 they beat Germany.

That idea, that through a game, people all over the world in all different time zones, can be united, is… utopian, I know, but I believe on those rare occassions it does happen.
So if at times I seem more interested in what the fans reaction was to an incident on the pitch, or what my own feelings were when watching a match, you'll know why. If I whine about a match that had no rhythm to it, you'll know why.

I moved to the United Arab Emirates recently, where I feel spoiled by the amount of soccer they show on TV. We also have two local soccer clubs based about a 20 minutes walk from each other, a first for me. I plan to take advantage of it, so if I write a lot about local fans and the club behind the shopping mall versus the talented guys down the road, you'll know why.