Tune into a FIFA World Cup telecast featuring Norway, and it's how Earling Haaland cruises against the opposition. There's Earling, and there's everyone else. It's his world.
Four years ago I could not have predicted that I'd ever be watching as much soccer as I have been. And it's not just because the United States men's teams has advanced into the round of 16. I'd be watching anyway,
I used to make fun of my son-in-law in Westchester, who would always have a soccer match on when we went over. Now, I can't get enough of the Premier League broadcasts on the weekends when Rebecca Lowe talking so fast that I sometimes think she's auctioning off cattle.
They play quite well in the Premier League. Usually, I don't even know where a team like say Arsenal comes from (London), can't really care who's on top of the leader board, and who's trying to stave off "relegation," I like the fast pace, the resemblance to hockey, the crisp passing, and the fact that despite a 24' wide net that is 8' high, there's little scoring. The goaltenders actually manage to make acrobatic saves standing in from of an opening the size of a Lincoln Tunnel tube. Amazing.
The names of the players mean little to me, except one, Earling Haaland, the premier striker from Norway who helps Manchester City win titles (not this year.)
Haaland, pictured above is astonishingly only 25 years old, He looks like he's at least 35. His hair is always tied back in a man bun, and his thick frame rumbles down the field like a full back coming out of the back field at 100 miles per hour. He's incredibly fast.
His position is "striker" which means he plays forward in the center and is a pain-in-ass to defenders, and especially goaltenders. These guys can really kick the ball hard with uncanny aim. Thank goodness the measurement of "velo" hasn't crept into soccer—velocity off the bat in baseball, despite being caught. Hard hit baseballs that are caught are not exciting, even if they're traveling fast enough to get a ticket from an attentive state trooper. Listening to a baseball telecast is very tough these days.
Soccer matches generally take 2 hours to complete a 90 minute game divided into 45 minute halves. Give or take. There is the mysterious "stoppage time" that gets added by the referee to account for elapsed timed when no one is playing but are being attended to by trainers and medical staff. They don't stop the clock in soccer, even when they're arguing. It's very different.
The referee—and there is only one—keeps track of the time. "Stoppage time" will be added in accordance with what he determined to be the lost time due to "hydration breaks" and Video Assist Referee reviews (VAR).
Of course, during stoppage time, there is elapsed time that qualifies to be stoppage time, but is not shown what that is. Thus, playing through say 10 minutes of stoppage time might take 12 minutes because there were 2 down minutes. And it's always minutes. Stoppage time is never say, 8 minutes and 12 seconds. They announce stoppage time before the half or before the game is over, just to let you know to stay in your seat.
Haaland is one of the pre-eminent strikers playing in this World Cup. The World Cup is better than any Olympic games, and last longer. And it's televised "live, not "plausibly live" like the networks like to bring you televised Olympic events. What you're watching is what they might be staying up late to watch many time zones away on another continent.
The players have their names on the back of their jerseys. For some reason, the Norwegian players' names look like they are spelled out with strips of tape. Haaland adds his mother's maiden to precede his. Thus, the back of his jersey says BRAUT HAALAND.
Anyone who has been watching the news knows about all the foreign tourists who have come to the U.S. to follow their teams as they advance in the tournament. Stories of ranch dressing flying off the shelves have lead Kraft to make a small size that will fit in carry on luggage for departing foreign fans.
So many Norwegian fans have been bouncing around New York that they filled Times Square with their synchronized rowing tribute to the Viking heritage of Norway.
I was watching a Mets home game last week and there was considerable background noise of chanting during the telecast. I wondered if the shirtless fans had overtaken the bleachers, a growing trend of guys going topless at ball games.
The camera caught up to the noise. It was a conga line of Norwegians in their red jerseys threading their way through outfield seats, chanting in Norwegian. Steve Gelb, the roving SNY TV reporter caught up to the head Viking, who explained that a considerable number of the Norwegians were offered seats at the game, They didn't know anything about baseball, only to root for the team in white, the home team. The head Viking told Gelb that he wanted to see a home run. (It happened later in the game.)
The tournament is getting to the point where the top strikers are going to square off in a game. On Saturday, the Norwegians play a quarter-final against the so far undefeated British squad, lead by a possible Golden Boot winner, Harry Kane.
New York, New Jersey's Met-Life stadium is the site for the coveted championship match. The stadium has been packed, despite the astronomical cost of seats and transportation. New Jersey's newly elected governor, Mikie Sherrill, tried to defend the $150 round trip New Jersey Transit train fare to get to and from the Meadowland stadium from Penn Station for the 22 minute ride that should cost under $20. Parking at the stadium is not allowed. After the inevitable media screaming about extortion, the fare was lowered to $100. The place still fills up. Unbelievable.
Soccer has replaced my suffering through what is becoming a dumpster fire of a baseball season for the Yankees and the Mets. My 14-year-old granddaughter has proclaimed METS is the acronym for MY ENTIRE TEAM SUCKS/STINKS. I love that kid.
So, more important soccer tonight, with the U.S. men's team getting the services back of their red card banned player, Folarin Balogun due to a "presidential pardon." Gotta love that guy too.
How many red cards would be given to people who ride the New York City subway who bumped into people? No one would be at work the next day. They'd all be suspended.
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