I grew up loving Dutch football but from what I’ve seen so far in Qatar, the US are more than capable of reaching the quarter-finals
The first time I realized that soccer was the world’s game was in 1978. I came home one day from playing soccer and I saw my father standing on the living room table and screaming at the television. He was wearing an orange shirt, drinking a bottle of something and eating what looked like herring in a jar. I realized he was watching the World Cup final, Argentina against his beloved Netherlands (we have Dutch roots). My father wasn’t a big drinker, but he was intoxicated both with what he was drinking and watching. My mother was in the other room shaking her head, as if to say, “I can’t condone this.”
In the course of the game, my father’s demeanor went from elation to sorrow to depression to “get away from me.” It wasn’t until a month later at dinner that my mother finally slammed her hand down on the table and said to my father: “David, talk to your son”, meaning my brother. See, the problem was my brother’s name is Brandt. And Ernie Brandts was the Dutch center-back responsible for one of Argentina’s goals. My father has not spoken to my brother for the entirety of that summer until my mother finally begged him. My brother smiled, my father realized his behavior was completely outlandish, he hugged my brother and it was over. But in that moment, I realized that this sport can touch people deeply, beyond reason and comprehension.
