Our Lingua Franca

Christmas day, 1914. Facing each other in trenches separated by dead bodies and mortar holes, a group of British and Allied soldiers and the opposing German battalion laid down their arms and played one of the most famous football matches in history. Germany reportedly won, 3-2. The next day, the shelling resumed. But football and peace had become synonymous, at least temporarily.

In 2001, Swedish politician Lars Gustafsson actually nominated football for the Nobel Peace Prize. Though it was a stretch, he had a point. Whereas our religious and political beliefs all too often breed fanaticism and cause conflict, football is something we all share in spite of differences. On the tumultuous streets of Third World Port au Prince, Haiti, I recently played football with a group of kids half my age. I scored, did a little celebration dance, and we were all friends. In a slightly swankier section of that same city, Bertrand, a 21-year-old gardener, told me how much he would love someday to go to England and Germany "to see how they play their wonderful football." Ten-year-old Jeremy from Jamaica was rather shy until I turned the conversation to this year's competition. "Jamaica's not in it this time," he lamented. "But I don't care. I'll support Brazil," he added excitedly. Recently, toward the end of an interview with Ion Iliescu, the president of Romania, the conversation turned from HIV to football. I mentioned Gheorghe Hagi, one of Romania's greats, and a broad grin spread across his face. "You know him?" he asked. Of course, I replied. "He is a national hero," said the president proudly. For a few brief moments, football had bridged the divide between journalist and politician. Once again, it had brought down the barriers of race, age, class, culture and nationality that so often keep us apart.

French-Algerian philosopher--and avid footballer--Albert Camus once wrote: "All that I know about morality and the obligations of man, I owe to football." I would not profess as much. But from football I have learned much about the dreams and goals of humankind, and the metaphorical and stereotypical images we hold of each other. The English still dream of a glorious past (the Empire--and the 1966 World Cup final victory over Germany). And no one can doubt the potential of the Chinese, once they put their minds to something. As recently as 10 years ago, China still lacked a professional league. Then, in 1994, the government endorsed the Chinese Professional Soccer League, and quicker than I could have learned to say "goal" in Mandarin, China qualified for its first World Cup. Africa's footballers are some of the best, yet they always fail to live up to their potential--they drown under the structures imposed by European cultures. Nigeria, Senegal and Cameroon are famous for their flair--until they lose control in the final minutes, argue among one another and start fouling. The result: red cards, squabbles and tragic endings. Not all that different from post-colonial African politics, really.

Often, football is a form of politics. Take the story of Holland, 2002's "disaffected white male." Despite being one of the best sides in the world, Holland isn't going to Asia this summer. Someone recently asked me why, if the Dutch are so good, they didn't qualify. My answer reminded me of an explanation of affirmative action I once gave a white male friend in college. In the aim of globalizing and equalizing world football, I said, quotas restrict the number of qualifiers from each continent. Europe gets 15, Africa 5, Asia 3, and so on. So while Holland is ranked ninth in the world, it didn't qualify because the other continents must be represented too. Sound unfair? In the short-term, yes; maybe Holland is getting the short shrift. But in the long-term, affirmative action will improve the world's undernourished domestic football systems, which in turn will increase "minority" chances of qualifying and, ultimately, create a level playing field.

But mostly football is about dreams. For Argentina this year, it is an opportunity to make up for the country's dire economic and political woes. Cameroon, Senegal, Nigeria and South Africa have another chance to show us that sub-Saharan Africa, too, can play well to the end. Look for the United States to tell us that it wants to be part of the world. (Once again, it will likely slip back into isolationism after the first round.) China will try to prove that if it maintains its present growth rate, it will be a football powerhouse within the next two decades, by which time it also may be the world's foremost economy. Brazil's inherehent pride, genius, passion and flair will overcome the corruption scandals and in-fighting that have recently tainted both its domestic game and its politics. And the other 24 teams? They'll prove that despite ongoing bloodshed in the Middle East, terror on all fronts, poverty, disease and inequality throughout the world, there is still one place we can all live in harmony: on the football pitch.