World Parties, Should We Go?

The standout midfielder launched himself into the corner, and battled off two opposing defenders to secure possession.

He sent in a dazzling cross, right to the foot of the team’s star striker, who put away a one-time rip into the side corner of the net, giving the squad a 1-0 lead it would never relinquish.

It’s an intro that could describe any number of plays: a pass from Crimson star senior Mike Fucito to fellow standout junior Andre Akpan to secure a victory over rival Yale, a cross from Harvard’s sophomore leader Katherine Sheeleigh to senior striker Erin Wylie for a one-time tally, or the closing minutes of the 2008 Africa Cup of Nations this past February.

It’s the latter.

And the goal, tallied in the 77th minute of the final on Sunday, February 10, 2008 by Egypt’s immortal Mohamed Aboutrika, sent a country into pandemonium.

While the coffee shop turned sports-bar jumped for joy, while the red, white, and black of Egypt’s flag waved from the balconies in the crowded streets of Cairo, I sat and watched.

When the final whistle blew, the city erupted. It seemed, I told my friend, that all of Egypt was out tonight, dancing, jumping, and singing in the streets.

I had been in Egypt for just about two weeks. Having left the friendly confines of Ohiri field, I moved on to cover an away game of sorts; to see where soccer really lives and breaths: in every single other country in the world except for the United States.

I’ve never been one for columns that come out admonishing Americans for hating soccer, being so ignorant to this beautiful game, or choosing WWE Monday Night Raw over a good MLS game.

Because I love WWE. I know how to do a stone-cold stunner. And the MLS is, for the most part, horrible. But at some point, we, as great lovers of sport, are going to have to get with the program.

Put simply, we’re missing out on the greatest party in the world.

I had never experienced something like that celebration in Cairo.

I was lifted up on people’s shoulders, given flags to raise and wave in the air, danced with people like they were family. All because of one stupid sport that nobody really likes.

I jumped in the back of a truck and road along a main city block bordering the Nile, waving my hands in the air while trying to hold on for dear life. My friend Jordan and I were a commodity, yes, two Americans somehow in Egypt, somehow celebrating with them on this hallowed day.

But we were nonetheless—and with the little Arabic we knew—able to join in the chants, meet these people, and understand that this was far more than just a game.

Egypt is not a pretty place. It is the number-one most polluted country in the world, over-populated to endemic proportions, and generally facing a dramatic political crisis.

But soccer, this one sport, overcomes it all. They all love that moment; it’s a singular joy that I have yet to find elsewhere, and I’ve been looking. Sport, and especially soccer, is the one thing that does it.

So I’m not saying it’s bad being here in the United States, just different. I wonder if I walked outside and asked an average Bostonian whom the U.S. played in the Olympics, whether they could name even one team we played.

For the record, we were one minute away from advancing, when the Netherlands tied the team 2-2 in injury time in its second game. Following a 2-1 loss to eventual silver medalist Nigeria, the squad was done.

At the opposite extreme rests Argentina. After routing rival Brazil 3-0 in the semifinal, the team won gold by outlasting the Nigerians. If Egypt went crazy, Argentina went dragon crazy. Dragon crazy! That’s so crazy.

I don’t need this level of commitment in my own country. It’s part of the joy in going abroad to see these new sights and enjoy these new celebrations.

All I want is a little more. Come World Cup South Africa 2010, I just want to dance in the streets a little, maybe ride in the back of a car, and for just a couple of minutes, I want to join the party.

But for now, I’ve got to go. WWE Monday Night Raw starts in 10 minutes.

—Staff writer Walter E. Howell can be reached at wehowell@fas.harvard.edu.