GOM World Cup Diary #3: Why Does Everything Have To Be Bigger In America?
The World Cup has now arrived in the United States, and after watching the coverage I find myself asking a question that has puzzled visitors for generations.
Why does everything have to be bigger in America?
Now before anyone accuses me of anti-Americanism, let me make one thing perfectly clear.
I rather like America.
The people are friendly.
The scenery is spectacular.
And they have perfected the art of refilling your coffee before you’ve even realised the cup is empty.
But honestly, the scale of the place is bewildering.
Take the stadiums.
I grew up watching football in grounds where the biggest challenge was finding somewhere to stand without getting soaked by the rain. These days, World Cup matches are being played in venues so vast they appear to have their own weather systems.
The television cameras pan across the crowd and I’m half expecting them to discover a previously unknown mountain range behind one of the goals.
Then there are the giant screens.
Every stadium seems to possess enough technology to launch a mission to Mars.
In my day, if you wanted to know the score, you looked at the scoreboard.
If you wanted a replay, you waited until you got home and watched the highlights.
Now every throw-in is analysed from seventeen different angles before the player has even taken it.
And don’t get me started on the food.
I saw a supporter carrying what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary hot dog until I realised it was roughly the same size as a canoe.
Everything comes in portions large enough to feed a family of four and leave enough leftovers for a village fête.
Even the drinks require two hands and a degree in structural engineering.
The strange thing is that football itself remains reassuringly small.
The pitch is still the same size.
The goals haven’t grown.
The ball hasn’t been replaced by something the size of a beach ball.
It’s still twenty-two players trying to kick a football into a net.
Perhaps that’s why the World Cup works wherever it goes.
Whether you’re in Mexico, Canada, America or England, the game remains wonderfully simple.
Although I must admit, if England do somehow win the tournament, I shall have no objection whatsoever to an oversized trophy presentation, a giant victory parade and a celebratory slice of cake large enough to require planning permission.
Anyway, what do I know?
I’m just a grumpy old man.
