Fawkner Park, St. Kilda.  Saturday 3:30pm.

At this time and place, two disparate groups composed of mixed nationalities, a spectrum of ages, and a variety of skill levels gather to engage in the sport of kings, proper football, soccer.  One group represents all that is good in mankind, the hope for future peace, and the ambivalence of a trans-world understanding.  The other … assholes.  Pure and simple.

It’s good soccer vs. evil soccer.

GROUP 1: Good Soccer.

I play with this group.  On any given Saturday, our game includes Chinese, American, Bosnian, Egyptian, Greek, Lebanese, Vietnamese, English, Irish, French, Belgian, Indian, Scottish, German, Japanese, Polish, Welsh, Peruvian, Turkish, Jamaican, Argentine, Malaysian, Australian, Indonesian, Algerian, Saudi, and Philippino.

Instead of dissolving into a chaotic swarm of shin kicking, multi-lingual profanity, and eye gouging as you might expect or what worldwide conservatism would lead you to believe, we organize quickly and naturally into two semi-equal teams, mark out the field with bright orange cones, and construct our flimsy interlocking pipe goals. Truth is most players are wearing jerseys of players from a completely different country than their own (strong preference towards Brazil naturally).

Wallah!  The United Nations is born.

Of course, there are well earned stereotypes about each nationality’s playing style, such as 1) the Bosnians never pass and apparently will sponsor the AND1: Balkans Street Soccer tapes, 2) the Chinese are too nice to call fouls and never engage in egregious celebrations, 3) the Vietnamese smoke like crazy but still run more than any three players combined, 4) the English swear like gansta rappers with Tourettes, 5) the French slide tackle from behind causing multiple micro-fractures per game and still have the audacity to act surprised when a foul is called, and 6) Americans, particularly Oklahomans, are the undisputed kings of goal scoring.

OK, I personally made the last observation, but I’m pretty sure that the entire group concurs with my hypothesis.

Goals are scored, rough play is organically judicated, and winners are decided.  Is this not the hope of world?  We are inclusive, friendly, and cooperative regardless of Anglican, Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, Buddhist, Atheist, Zoroastrians, and even Voodoo cultists.  If you walk by our soccer pitch without a cane or a baby stroller and pause more than 0.3 seconds to watch our match, someone will immediately invite you to join the game.  And we’re often playing 8v8, 9v9, and beyond.

Altruism and goodwill reigns supreme.  Tiny Tim is our league commissioner.  God Bless Us Everyone.  Amen.

GROUP 2: Evil Soccer.

Similar scenario.  A mix of various nationalities, of which include Croatian, Polish, Norwegian, and more.  Ages ranging from late twenties to late fifties.  They too have cones and small, steel framed goals.  They organize quickly and play soccer.

Here is the big difference.

They are exclusive.  Under no circumstances do they allow ANYONE else to play with them.  These jackholes absolutely refuse to allow anyone to join their game, either by flatly ignoring any overtures to join or rudely condemning the option outright as a synchronous chorus of penil-licker-dom.  Let me give you an example:

We have literally been playing side by side with these shits for several years.  Not once do they speak to us, invite us to play, and even barely kick back a ball that has drifted back onto their field despite our own friendly invitations.  One day, Melbourne is hit by a cold spell that comes in bursting sheets of bone chilling rain.  Four of our players show up (the Europeans and Americans as you can probably guess) and we start up a small 2v2 game of screwing around.

Well, three of the ass clowns from Evil FIFA show up, apparently they didn’t get the bulletin board notice on the pederast website that they use to organize their games that no one else was going to show up.  They mill about like sad orphans on Christmas without a tree, kicking at the grass forlornly.  After ten minutes of sulking, their big guy (the Norwegian) comes over and asks if they can play as if its the first time they ever noticed us.  “Holy Cow!  Other people play soccer at Fawkner Park?  Gee Willickers!  Can we join you?”

So we let them play.  And our game becomes 3v4.  In truth, we had been playing for about 2 hours and we were already dead tired, but decided to suffer a bit longer to give these guys a proper kick despite the rain, aching knees, and angry wives and girlfriends.  Whatever.  The game was a wash, some dribbling, some cheap goals, nothing special, but we had an introduction with them.

Fast forward two months later.  I’ve gone to Fawkner Park on a holiday weekend and no one from my group has come.  I’m standing there by myself for 45 minutes, vainly hoping that anyone, even 1 person will show up, for me to just kick the ball back and forth for thirty minutes to feel like the entire Saturday wasn’t a waste.

Lo and behold, the soccer bastardos show up and begin organizing their game.  They start playing, oblivious to me standing 3 feet from the edge of their field in cleats with shin guards and a ball at my feet.  My hands are politely held behind my back like I’m gently protesting a red card from a referee during an international friendly.  Nothing.

All three of the guys that we allowed to play with us are on the pitch, playing.  Hmm.  I count their numbers, figuring that if they are even I could kinda understand if they don’t want to unbalance the teams.  Kind of a jerk move, but not such an egregious offense to be condemned to eternal hellfire.  I count … and these guys are playing 4v5.

Nothing.

What the hell?  They are down a man and they won’t even acknowledge me?  I start getting a little pissed, but I with hold my anger.  I meet the eyes of the Norwegian that approached us on that rainy day and I say, “You guys are 4 v 5.  You’re uneven.”  My eyes are hopeful, I hold up one hand with 4 fingers and one with 5 fingers.

He shrugs his shoulders and keeps playing.

Those muthafuckers.

I call to him, “C’mon, man, we let you play with us.”  My wife is Asian and in that culture reminding another of a previous favor is the last straw.  There is no way they can ignore it, even if it creates hard feelings.  Right?  Wrong.  The rest of the team immediately starts saying, “NO WAY!” and shaking their xenophobic, isolationist heads.  They keep playing, ignoring me.  Apparently, they were too busy plotting the next genocide in Darfur than to let me play.

Never in my years of playing soccer in Australia or in the States have I encountered such willful dickheadedness in the World Game. Never.  I’ll tell you the truth, I’m fearless when it comes to asking to join a soccer match, regardless of color, culture, or skill. Never had such rudeness been on display.  Not with mixed teams, not with Mexicans, not with Africans, not with Japanese, with South Koreans, and not with the Chinese.

The insult was unbearable.  Never have I seen people choosing to play with uneven sides than letting someone play, even considering that we let them play with us when their teams bailed.

So …

We started showing up a little earlier than them and took their spot.  Every week they sorta cluster at the edge of our pitch and then take a long walk to play on a less pristine patch of grass, hopefully loaded with used diapers and heroine syringes, to play their football.

If I knew these assholes’ names I would post them online right now so that they would forever live in infamy.  Down with evil soccer!  I have theories why they won’t let other people play … its because their skills are so shitty that any new blood would expose them as frauds, hacks, and windbags.  Instead, they play insulated, grandma-ball, knocking the ball around with their purses and high heels.

Friends, just remember, soccer is to unify us, to make us one people across this crazy world.  If you do encounter a bunch of nut-jobbers that refuse to embrace the true spirit of our sport, do me a favor:

Fling dog turds at their heads.