SATURDAY MORNING WITH CRANKY DON JOE | Everybody Suddenly Became an International Soccer Expert

By Cranky Don Joe

My name is Cranky Don Joe. Cranky DJ to a lot of my neighbors.

I am not an expert. Which immediately makes me more qualified than half the people on television.

Following last week's award-winning investigation into telephones, text messages, voicemail, and Larry's ongoing refusal to answer his phone, I had planned a quiet week. Then the World Cup started. And apparently, everybody in America became an international soccer expert overnight.

Now understand something. Three weeks ago, Larry couldn't explain the offside rule. Three weeks ago, Larry thought a formation was something the military did. Three weeks ago, Larry referred to Uruguay as "that country somewhere near Paraguay." Today, Larry is criticizing Uruguay's midfield strategy. With confidence.

That's the part that fascinates me. Not the soccer. The confidence.

Americans possess a remarkable ability to learn just enough about a subject to become completely convinced they should be running it. Give us twenty minutes, a YouTube video, and a podcast, and suddenly we're prepared to coach national teams. Last Tuesday, a man who once asked me whether Belgium was a city spent twenty minutes explaining Belgian football to me. This same man once got lost driving to St. Paul. Now he's evaluating international tactics. I sat there listening and thought: the World Cup may be the greatest confidence-building program in human history.

Deciding I should probably understand what everybody was talking about, I made the mistake of attempting to watch a World Cup match myself. That was mistake number four.

The first challenge was finding the game. When I was growing up, sporting events appeared on television. You turned on the television and there they were. Football was on television. Baseball was on television. The evening news was on television. Today, nothing is on television. Everything is on a platform. I don't know what a platform is. When I hear the word platform, I think of train stations and political campaigns. Apparently, now it means I need three subscriptions, two passwords, and a verification code sent to a device I can never find.

Twenty minutes later, I was finally watching soccer. At least, I think I was. There were advertisements, highlights, previews, recaps, analysis, predictions, and discussions about what might happen after the thing I was trying to watch had already happened. Modern television has become remarkably efficient at preventing people from watching television.

Eventually, the match started. Within five minutes, Larry began texting. Not answering phone calls, mind you. Texting. He immediately informed me that one team was having problems in the midfield. At one point, he even drew arrows on a napkin to explain formations. Friends, this is a man who still prints out physical MapQuest directions, yet somehow he now believes he can diagnose international soccer strategy from his recliner.

By Wednesday, my neighborhood had become the United Nations with lawn chairs. Everybody had a favorite country, everybody had predictions, and everybody had concerns. Nobody had credentials. One neighbor was explaining Germany. Another was breaking down Argentina. A third was deeply worried about Brazil's chances. This last man once forgot his own garage door code, but now he's analyzing South American football.

It's extraordinary. And everybody suddenly has a personal connection to some country. "My cousin studied there." "My roommate visited once." "My barber is from there." "I sat next to a guy from there on a flight in 2017." Congratulations. You are now a lifelong supporter.

The speed at which these allegiances form is remarkable. One fellow on my block switched favorite teams three times in two days. At this point, I believe he's supporting whoever scored most recently.

Larry has become particularly difficult. Every match now comes with analysis. Every goal requires commentary. Every substitution demands discussion. Larry recently said, "I don't understand what the coach was thinking."

Friends, I nearly choked on my coffee. Larry once spent forty-five minutes trying to assemble a lawn chair that arrived mostly assembled. Yet somehow, Larry believes he should be consulted on international soccer strategy. The confidence is breathtaking.

The other thing I've noticed is that everybody suddenly knows geography. For years, Americans have been accused of being bad at geography. Then the World Cup arrives and suddenly everybody knows where Morocco is. Everybody knows where Uruguay is. Everybody knows where Croatia is. Or at least they're pretending very convincingly.

I overheard a conversation at a coffee shop where two gentlemen were debating Group C scenarios. Last month one of them asked whether New Mexico was part of Mexico. Now we're discussing international advancement possibilities. The World Cup performs miracles.

The World Cup also appears to create temporary experts at an alarming rate. I wandered into a sports bar the other afternoon and immediately met a gentleman who had strong opinions about every country participating in the tournament. According to him, Brazil was overrated, Argentina was underrated, Germany was dangerous, England was vulnerable, Morocco was a sleeper, and the bartender was using the wrong glassware.

The confidence was extraordinary. This man had an opinion on forty-eight national teams. I don't have opinions on forty-eight members of my own family.

At one point, he began discussing group-stage mathematics. Friends, I failed algebra twice and still somehow became a functioning member of society. Now, people are calculating goal differentials, advancement scenarios, tie-breakers, and hypothetical outcomes involving teams they've been watching for approximately three days. The World Cup is the only event in human history that successfully teaches Americans geography against their will. School tried for twelve years. FIFA got it done by Tuesday.

And don't get me started on the predictions. People who cannot predict Minnesota weather five minutes in advance are now forecasting international tournaments. One neighbor predicted eight different outcomes for the same match. That's not a prediction; that's legal protection. No matter what happened, he intended to be correct.

Then there are the referees. According to the World Cup, there are approximately eight billion referees on Earth. Every person watching the match immediately becomes one. A referee makes a call. Half the planet disagrees, the other half agrees, and then they switch positions five minutes later. I've seen people argue passionately about rules they learned that morning. One gentleman spent twenty minutes criticizing an offside decision. When asked to explain the offside rule, he said, "That's not the point." Apparently, it wasn't.

My grandson tells me this is all part of the experience. The passion, the excitement, the drama, and the global competition. I suppose he's right. Because despite all my complaining, I've noticed something interesting.

People are gathering again. Neighbors are talking again. Families are watching together. Coworkers are having actual conversations, and strangers are becoming temporary friends. For a few weeks, people stop staring at separate screens and start staring at the same screen. That's actually kind of remarkable.

Even Larry has become more social. Granted, most of that social activity involves explaining tactical formations to people who didn't ask, but still. Progress is progress.

The truth is, there aren't many things left that bring the entire world into one conversation. The World Cup does. For one month, billions of people celebrate the same goals, complain about the same referees, argue about the same matches, and convince themselves they understand far more than they actually do. In other words, it's humanity at its absolute best. And occasionally at its absolute loudest.

As for Larry, he's currently predicting which teams will reach the knockout stage. I asked him how confident he was. He said, "Very."

Naturally. This is the same man who couldn't find his phone while talking on it.

Until next time, Cranky DJ

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