The Worst Soccer on TV

In this piece, Nico Morales takes you through some of the more insalubrious depictions of the beautiful game as they have been represented on American television…

Though one could fill a book with reasons as to why football hasn’t taken to America as quickly as it has in just about every other corner of the globe, one thing that seems to ring true about sporting culture in the states is that it’s about as disparate as its people. In different parts of this massive country, you’ll find all sorts of fans in all sorts of places. Be it hockey, basketball, handegg, or something else, the American sports landscape is defined by its lack of uniformity. 

It’s within this melting pot of a nation that we find football to enjoy a wide range of conceptions. A Floridian’s understanding of the world’s most popular sport is going to be almost entirely different from a Masshole’s or whatever someone from Arkansas is called. While I might suggest this difference in understanding is largely influenced by the people who introduce and perpetuate it, ideas are also taken from the river of cultural diaspora available in every home: the TV. And boy is that sense of difference only amplified on the small screen. 

Like the range of its citizens, televised American depictions of ‘soccer’—it’s fine… who cares—are broad to say the least. With little else to do in quarantine, I subjected myself to the few strange depictions of football for your inquisitorial pleasure. 

There are, however, some rules. Obviously, all of these shows are American, but besides that, I’ve decided to stay away from both animated depictions and of shows that are specifically centered around the sport in question—though those are apparently few and far between. I have no issue with animation; it’s simply their representations were far less painful. They didn’t have to build it into some arbitrary plot point due to the more fungible nature of animated storytelling in the US. Also, for a show to qualify, actual football must be played by relevant characters—not just referenced. 

Without further adieu, graded depictions of ‘soccer’ in US tele. 

(All of these can be found on Netflix or Amazon Prime Video if you’d like to follow along!)

Community. Season 2, Episode 15: “Early 21st Century Romanticism”

Likely spearheaded by resident Liverpool supporter and ex-pat John Oliver, Community’s engagement with football is limited to a removed appreciation. As a plot point set on confining Winger and professor Duncan with Chang, the presence of football is brief but telling.*

Though the show was likely unable to use any official logos or team images, Oliver’s support of his dearly beloved Anfield club shone through—literally. Despite their character’s outfits invoking that of some very passionate Where's Waldo fans(?), professor Duncan sports a stylish retro Liverpool kit sans sponsorship. While both Chang and professor Duncan sport red and white scarves conveniently placed over where a team crest might show, Oliver’s ostensibly blank kit boasts a *clean* liver bird LFC crest.

The clout provided by the classic kit, however, is largely undercut by the weird soccerisms that prevail. Winger makes a variety of jokes about the sport being boring due to a lack of goals and Duncan is inexplicably holding a replica Jabulani as he watches what is supposedly Manchester United vs Liverpool. Y’know, as all us football fans commonly do. Casually hold a ball during our favorite match.

The presence of football is then vanished as Chang invites everyone over for a party, thus concluding soccer on Community. 

* I’ve violated the no playing rule here due to both my love for Community and Oliver’s stylish kit.

Grade: B+

Though by no means an egregious evocation of football, the Jabulani thing is strange. Oliver’s retro kit is pretty cool though. I can’t imagine he didn’t have some objection to just strangely holding a ball while watching a game.

Furthermore, they’re watching the game at Winger’s place—someone who apparently doesn’t like football. So in the Community extended universe, Professor Duncan is a Liverpool supporter who invites himself over to people’s houses and brings a ball just to hold during the game (no, I’m not reading too far into it, this is psychopath territory). 

Also, the 2011-12 season, when this supposedly takes place, was around when Suarez and Evra came face to face for the first time since the Uruguayan served his punishment for racially abusing the United defender. Just as a little tidbit of info for the ~boring~ match Winger might’ve been referring to.

Arrested Development. Season 1, Episode 21: “Not without my daughter”

This beloved sitcom’s foray into the world of football is generally inoffensive and more a view into what could’ve been. As an insight into the broken landscape of America’s soccer recruitment/scouting problem, Buster Bluth’s talent serves as a damning example of the kind of skills the US often misses out on through pay to play programs, the geographical issues of scouting, and US soccer’s failure to permeate American subculture. While the episode’s eventual focus on the game is extremely short, it’s one that hints at an undiscovered gem. 

With the patriarch of the Bluth clan locked up, Lucille Bluth looks for someone to accompany her to their adopted son Annyong’s (yes) game. Buster, overcome with jealousy, looks to rectify the natural order by fending off their looming uncle and winning back the love of his mother, eventually leading him to take the ball into his own, uh, feet.

It’s here that we witness Buster’s natural talent. Starting at the opposition’s corner, Buster uses incredible close control to dribble his way through a crowd of jostling youths—one of which attaches onto his back. At the end of his Maradona-vs-England-like run, he takes the hardest shot in recorded TV football history, nearly killing his stepbrother Annyong in the process, thus ending Arrested Development’s sojourn into the world of, as Buster might put it, organized sports. 

Grade: A+

Unlike the others, there are no weird insults leveled at the sport or strange depictions of what someone thinks it may or may not be. It’s just the game.

Moreover, it’s the perfect encapsulation of the American game. A bunch of generally uncoached kids huddled around a ball and a lone maverick who slipped through the cracks showing unrefined skill is about as close as one can get to summating the broad landscape that is American soccer in just ten seconds.

The Sopranos. Season 1, Episode 9: “Boca”

Having never seen The Sopranos, I’ve spent quite a bit of time either nodding through references to it because I have anxiety or mentioning another show I’m more versed in. It’s something I’ve never quite gotten around to, and while this blog post may have given me the perfect opportunity, the mere idea of hour-long episodes doesn’t sound all that enticing at the minute. Berate me if you must, but I will still give my uneducated take on what I presume is its only direct contact with football.

Now, I’ve heard a lot of praise for the show, and right away it is something that extends to its depiction of the game. Unlike other shows, the people playing seem to have touched a football before. Though the important, plot relative characters are not so great, they’re clearly sharing a pitch with people who play. Starting with a great distributive ball from midfield, my football parched brain eagerly soaks up some adequate play.

That is, of course, until the camera cuts to the first of two plot relative players, Meadow Soprano. While I’ve never specifically analyzed the shot-stopping mechanics of professional keepers, Meadow’s aggressive positioning off the line, as well as her stiff posture looks and seems wrong. Nonetheless, she catches the one shot she faces and that’s quite promising for youth keepers.

What doesn’t bode well is her distribution. The camera doesn’t show the result of her near-immediate punt, but it couldn’t have gone more than ten feet. The defenders wouldn’t have had enough time to spread into an adequate buildup shape in that time, so I imagine it was nearly a turnover. 

After a brief stoppage to the game caused by the most Italian-American man I’ve ever seen, the second plot relative character gets her chance to shine. Unfortunately, it’s not anywhere near as promising as her friend Meadow’s showcase. While other shows tend to opt for a body double when choosing to show some actual skills, that part of the budget appears limited as they maintain their faith in Cara Jedell playing Ally Vandermeed.

Though her initial play evokes memories of Bobby Gardiner’s article on the effectiveness of Leo Messi’s lackadasicality, I cannot, in good faith, praise her solo run past two defenders given the effort these extras put in. Ally body feints as if she’s shit herself and I find it difficult to believe anyone would’ve reacted as the actors did.

The showrunners also inexplicably stuck the smallest person on the team in goal to cover for her poor shot positioning. The keeper has also seemingly balled themselves up to appear even shorter. Much like the Serie A of the time, this game reeks of [REDACTED].

Grade: A+

Much of what I said above was entirely in jest. Both Meadow and Ally deserve full rides to the nation’s top programs based on these short clips alone. From the athleticism to footballing IQ, I cannot recommend these young athletes enough. If any college or, as a matter of fact, professional program is interested, you’d be dumb not to pull the trigger on these young women. 

The Office. Season 5, Episode 2: “Dream Team”

The soccerism of the episode starts off in an innocent fashion: Andy Bernard’s desire to kiss up to new boss Charles Miner, played by a mustachioed (!) Idris Elba, is in the show’s unique humor. Andy puts a series of iconic football moments as his rolling screensaver, kicks his feet up, and waits for his unassuming prey to take the bait.

The two converse over Charles’ attendance at the 2006 World Cup which sets up the dynamic at play for the rest of the episode: Andy and the rest of the office’s desire to kiss up to Miner for a variety of personal reasons contrasts Jim’s inability to please the interim manager in any way.

The proceeding involvement is along the same sarcastically funny vein. Andy’s miming of a bike, to which Charles then says ‘that’s Pele’, while cringe-worthy, is all within the colour of the joke. The Office, as it often did, amalgamates the perspective of the average American- especially at the time- and invokes one of the three names they’d likely be familiar with: Pele, Maradona, maybe Ronaldo. Jim is then coerced into vying for Miner’s approval by suggesting he doesn’t share in the camaraderie of the memories because he’s a player. Thus, the bridge into this show’s brief journey to actual football. 

The cast takes to the parking lot in full business garb and kicks around what can be no more than a five-dollar Walmart ball before Charles sets up a food-related joke for Kevin. The generally sardonic attitude towards the sport continues as the office fails to properly kick off and subsequently follows the ball around like a YMCA youth league. After cutting back from the A-plot, Miner rockets the ball into Phylis’ head and quickly concludes the presence of the sport on the show as the plot moves towards Charles’ concrete disdain for Jim. 

Grade: B

There’s not much to be made fun of here given the show is doing that itself by portraying Americans to be pretty nonplussed in their football knowledge. Everything is well within the realm of the joke.

The only complaint one might level is that if Miner were a versed football expert, ripping it from beyond what was halfway for the small field they set out in the parking lot isn’t proper etiquette for a small-sided game with no keepers. Practice your touches and close control, Charles. 

Friends From College. Season 2, Episode 3: “Out All Night.”

I have next to no understanding as to why this show exists. It’s a Netflix attempt at some sort of nostalgic sitcom and it’s pretty bad. Among other crimes, it tries to convince anyone unfortunate to see it that Nat Faxon, playing a trust fund baby, is some sort of undeniably smooth ladies man. 

Yes, I’ve seen the entire show. 

Aside from a few decent laughs, the show is awful. From the strange middle-aged jokes to the weird emotional stakes it tries to hinge its episodes on, there’s little to enjoy. There is, however, one strangest depictions of football I have ever seen. 

What many of these other shows have in common is that they seem to accept that they don’t know much about the sport. The Office even uses that as an advantage. Friends from College, however, takes the opposite approach. It very much believes it knows what football is and is desperate to tell you about it. 

The episode starts by using a peripheral character’s interest in soccer as a plot device. Lisa’s new boyfriend is a ‘soccer fanatic’, and propelled by the finalization of her divorce, she’s keen on joining his next pickup session. 

The offences towards the sport and a slew of other cultures start almost immediately. After telling Charlie she wants to join in, he breaks into an ill-conceived amalgamation of what I imagine the whitest person I know thinks football is. Charlie, in his excitement, strikes a flamenco-esque pose and begins twirling while yelling ‘joga bonito.’ Lisa joins in the racially-charged fun by imitating a stereotypical Mexican grito. You know, as we all do after learning pick-up. 

After taking a break from the cultural erasure, we rejoin the continuation of this plot point when Lisa and Charlie arrive at pick-up. We’re alerted to this through Charlie yelling ‘joga bonito’ at his soccer-crazed cohorts, to which they respond by yelling the phrase back.

Among other weird TV sports representations, the camera cuts to Lisa, arms crossed, playing as a right central defender in front of Charlie playing goalkeeper. Not where I’d stick my most inexperienced player but whatever. The show plays on her inexperience by making it so that she tries to converse with the forward she’s statically defending, who tells her to focus on the game. The ball is then played between Charlie and Lisa, the unnamed forward fouls her in the back, gains possession and takes a very saveable shot past Charlie who subsequently becomes irate. 

In the next play, Lisa is once more at the heart of the action as the same forward dribbles past someone who, according to the film, appears to tear both Achilles tendons at a body feint. The forward then takes a very soft shot from way out which Lisa decides to get in front of. Though the ball would’ve easily hit her leg, she tucks her arm down, almost below her knee, so that the next point of interest can be accessed—something the players refer to as a ‘p-kick’. Yes, after Lisa blocks a shot with a tucked arm and wheels off to celebrate, as people often do after blocking a shot that stays within bounds, they ruin her naive fun by claiming a ‘p-kick.’ 

This riveting sequence, underscored by whistly Latin music (because of course), climaxes in an argument between Lisa, Charlie and the unnamed forward. Lisa claims against the p-kick, is denied by the soccer-fanatics and cannons the ball out of shot, thus concluding this show’s representation of football.

Grade: F, it shouldn’t exist

Though many American representations of football are deeply flawed, this one takes it a step further. Like that guy who you know whose only understanding of the sport is that there is, in fact, some diving, this particular use of the sport as a means to advance the plot is particularly cringeworthy.

From the haphazard shove of cultures into a ‘sock-er’ package to the actual play, this is by far and away the worst use of football in American television. It’s evident that no one who’d even been tertiarily-associated with the sport was around to stop this monstrosity from seeing the light of day and we’re all worse off for it. 

While the cultural pastime of lampooning the sport we haven’t quite cracked has long drawn the ire of any stateside fan, I think I’d prefer that to some of these strange renditions. Though the conceptions depicted aren’t indicative of every US fan’s understanding of the game, they certainly summate some of them.

My 7th-grade history teacher whose understanding didn’t seem to go past just saying “Drogba, eh?” and every guy who has learned of my time as a football writer and then asked, “bro, Messi or Ronaldo?” fall within this caucasious form of knowledge and that itself is a step too far.

You can follow Nico Morales on Twitter @Nico_OMorales.

If you like this, why not subscribe to The Co-op and get our content directly into your inbox?

If you are a professional writer who finds themselves without a home in the wake of the pandemic, do get in touch with us. We would love to explore the idea of working with you.