Let me begin by making a confession. In front of God, Governor Perry and my mom’s apple pie, I never in a zillion years thought the following words would be typed by my fingers. But here it is … soccer is better than baseball.
There, said it.
Sort of stings like when I watched Reggie Jackson hit three straight home runs against my favorite team, the Dodgers, in the 1977 World Series. Yes, I cried like a little girl. To understand how weird it is for me to say something as blasphemous as soccer is better than baseball, you would need a snapshot of my room in 1977. I was the biggest baseball dork on the planet. I collected baseball cards by the shoebox-full, pinned up posters of my favorite players on the walls, watched every Saturday Game of the Week and wore my favorite team’s T-shirt to bed … a bed that boasted Dodgers logos on the sheets and pillow case. Please don’t judge.
And of course I played the game. I was a decent player, nothing special. As a lefthander with a natural curve, I found some limited success pitching. I love Crash Davis, still “sports cry” at the end of Field of Dreams and although it’s preposterous, I still get chills when Roy Hobbs hits the lights in The Natural.
On the opposite side of the world – for me, at least – was soccer. For the better part of my life, soccer was something played by Communist countries that exchanged freedom for bread lines and goose-stepping. In fact, I never recall having a friend who played soccer until I reached college. When he would explain the game to me, it was as if he were an archaeologist telling me about some strange, distant culture. The kids who played soccer when I grew up had mullets and attitude. I figured they didn’t have enough talent to play any American sports, so they chose soccer by default. And they probably didn’t have dads. Or brothers. Or male guidance counselors.
Boy, have things changed. After many months of study, discussion and a few in-depth interviews with some opinionated 8-year-olds, I’m now sold on soccer.
Consider the following:
Soccer is all about running. Baseball is all about standing. In one baseball game, my son, the shortstop, got exactly no ground balls and swung the bat three times (grounder to the pitcher, base hit to right and pop-up to first). Other than running in and out of the dugout between innings, he ran inside the lines a grand total of 100 yards over 50 minutes. Since that day’s snack was doughnuts and Gatorade, he actually put on a couple of pounds playing a baseball game.
Soccer is easy to explain to 5-year-olds. Try explaining the force play vs. the tag play to a 5-year-old. You’ll need a shot of tequila and an Advil afterward.
Soccer is cheap. Ball, feet, field. You don’t need batting gloves, the newest mitt, the flat-billed hat that drives me nuts, the overpriced big-barrel bat that he’ll grow out of in … oops, already grew out of it.
Most dads I know have no clue about soccer. Few of us played competitively, which means we have a tougher time second-guessing the coach who actually does know what he’s doing. Everyone’s an expert at the diamond.
Soccer is better than baseball for kids. You see, I can say it over and over now. I’ve actually started making my controversial opinion known to my baseball-crazed dads. They no longer make eye contact. Look, I still love baseball. Despite the growing popularity in the states for the English Premier League and Major League Soccer, I’d still rather watch the Rangers play the Yankees than catch Man U vs. Liverpool. But even that is becoming a closer race.
My son plays baseball. He also plays soccer. Both are great ways to learn teamwork, sportsmanship, the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. Both also boast ridiculous parents who take this stuff way too seriously. All I’m saying is if I had to choose one over the other, soccer would win 1-0 in a penalty shootout.
Rudy lives in Flower Mound, works in Fort Worth and plays everywhere in between. He has one wife, one daughter, one son, one published book, one obsession with sports and 20 million observations on marriage and children. Follow him on Twitter: Manifesto10.
