Anyone who knows me knows this: I love football. That's soccer, for you Americans. I don’t understand why you call that other game "football" when you use your hands the whole time. Call it what it is—Rugby for Sissies.
Like most Parisians, I was pretty much born kicking a ball around—yes, even a street kid like me—but I didn't start playing on teams until the academy. I've gotten pretty good over the years. If I'm not working, I play on Saturdays in a police league, but I’ve also had the opportunity to participate in pro and semi-pro exhibition games with—and against—some pretty big names. Incredible for an old street bum like me.
I love football because it's the great equalizer. It's not about class or money or power. It doesn't matter if your team has the most superstars, or leads the league. It can all change in an instant. Like life. There's no way to guarantee the outcome. It's decided moment to moment—one little red card or a penalty kick and the favorite falls. I especially love when the favorite falls.
And like life, football isn't always about skill; it's about seizing your opportunities. If you can read faces and body language, understand patterns in behavior—like me—you can really bring your opponent to his knees. It's always the cocky one, wandering down the field like he owns it, thinking he's in the clear. Meanwhile, he's telegraphed his intentions from twenty meters, and I'm right there, taking the ball away. They don't call it the beautiful game for nothing. Sweet.
In some ways, I learned more about life from football than anywhere. Like, if you put your heart into it, you might lose but the romantics will pat you on the back. If you put your will into it, you could win, but you'll wear yourself out. But if you really want to win, it's less about what you put into your game and more about what you take away: ego, fear, expectations. Strip it down to the essentials: you and the ball. Everything else is negotiable.
Follow the 2010 World Cup
