There was no way I was going to let a breakaway soccer opponent score on me while my dad was in the stands.
Memories of my experience as my high school’s starting goalie are coming back to me this week as the United States hosts the 2026 FIFA World Cup—something we have not done since 1994.
Back then, Americans had little interest in soccer—even though it has long been widely considered the world’s most popular sport.
According to History.com, forms of soccer have been played around the world for more than 2,000 years.
Its simplicity is the reason for its popularity. All you need is a ball and a patch of grass—no expensive pads or helmets are necessary.
Organized soccer dates back to England in 1863, when various teams formed an association and began to standardize the rules of the game.
In 1930, the FIFA World Cup was born. This international competition takes place every four years. During the three years leading up to the Cup, teams compete to qualify for 48 spots.
Though Americans have long preferred sports with lots of scoring, soccer’s popularity is surging across the country—in some surveys, it overtook baseball as America’s third-most popular sport.
Youth participation is strong, fueled in part by parents seeking lower-contact alternatives to tackle football because of concussion concerns and rising equipment costs.
Outdoor soccer now attracts millions of children ages 6 through 17.
America’s 30 Major League Soccer teams are drawing huge crowds, and streaming and cable TV have made international leagues easy to follow.
With the 2026 World Cup being played in 16 cities across North America—including 11 in the U.S.—the buzz is greater than ever.
That certainly wasn’t the case in 1980, when, as Bethel Park’s starting goalie, my job was to protect a massive net that was eight feet high and 24 feet wide.
It was Senior Night, you see—the very first time my father, still sore that I quit football to play soccer, was in the stands.
Just then, an opposing player broke free of my defender and was sprinting right at me—with nothing but me and open grass between him and glory.
Goalies are usually lanky fellows with a very long reach—not 5-foot-10 guys like me, with arms so short I have trouble combing my hair.
My sprinting opponent surely expected me to hang back and react to his kick—but I did not.
Inside the penalty area, which extends 54 feet into the field from my goal line, I was free to use my hands—but I had to time my attack just right.
As my opponent neared the edge of the penalty area, I sprinted right at him. Just as he crossed the line, I threw my body at his feet, sliding torso-first into him and my defender as I scooped the ball up into my gut.
Both he and my defender went posterior over tin cups. As they crashed to the ground, I rolled to my feet and drop-kicked the ball 55 yards downfield to my winger.
My opponent, furious I could have hurt him, cussed at me.
I replied—in a most flowery manner—that he picked a bad day to try to embarrass me in front of my father.
As of this writing, the U.S. team is off to a terrific start in the 2026 World Cup, and I’ll be cheering our players on, hoping for a deep run on home soil.
Find Tom Purcell’s syndicated column, humor books and funny videos of his dog, Thurber, at TomPurcell.com. Email him at Tom@TomPurcell.com.
Editor's Note: Do you enjoy Townhall's conservative reporting that takes on the radical Left and woke media? Support our work so that we can continue to bring you the truth.
Join Townhall VIP and use promo code FIGHT to receive 60% off your membership.
Join the conversation as a VIP Member