Futbol 101

Are you ready for some futbol? Hank Williams Jr. doesn't care for the sport, but Europeans can't get enough of it. John and his wife Melissa accompanied me on my first journey into the sporting sensation those across the Atlantic call soccer. Real Zaragoza has a decent team this year, ranking somewhere between last and first. In 2004 they beat Barcelona in the European Cup, so don't count them out. Tickets are cheap and good seats are plentiful, but don't expect to find beer in the stadium. In Europe, people plus alcohol plus futbol equals death. Not death from overheating, or death from some old fart choking on a treacle tart, but death from a man draped in a flag bludgeoning you with a stadium seat. Add the fact that wine is cheaper than water here, and you can see why they keep the sauce outside the stadium.

For those Americanos who don't know what futbol is, I'll explain it to you. Each team sends eleven players onto the pitch. Pitch means turf. Turf means field. During play, the game is almost identical to "keep away," but the objective is not only to humiliate your opponent like the kid with the old biblical name at recess, but also to score a goal, also known as a GOOOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!!! This is done by strategically passing the ball up the pitch and shooting the ball into the opponent's goal. So why don't futbol teams sign Brett Favre and Reggie Miller to pass and shoot? Because they're too old. Also, you can't touch the ball with your hands.

Futbol players must be in tremendous physical shape, because they run on a field the size of Texas for ninety minutes, with twenty minutes for orange slices between halves. The training is intense across Europe, but one particular innovation gives Spaniards the edge on the pitch. In 1964, Coach Franco of the Spanish futbol team Ningunlado noticed that his players' long hair flapped in the breeze as they ran down the field. To decrease the drag of his players' heads, the coach was going to shave their lengthy locks. Naturally, the players protested, claiming that a drastic clip would strip their strength. But unphased Franco fired up his clippers and grabbed his first victim. He sheared the man bald. And another. And another. Randomly, he snatched players off the bench shaved their heads. He grabbed Pacito, a scrawny Spaniard shaking in his shin guards. Starting at the side burn, he sheared Pacito's head upward to the temple, arching toward the back in a semicircle at the last possible second. Like a nervous cat, Pacito wrenched free of his captor's grasp and sprinted down the field. Franco furiously ordered the team after him. The players sprinted as fast as they could to catch the scrawny Spaniard, but the Pacito ran faster than ever. The bald players were stripped of their strength and could not catch him. The players with all their hair could not catch him either. The Spaniard was free of drag and strong as a bull. Immediately, the coach saw the error of his ways. Franco began shaving the sides of their heads and leaving the back to maximize strength and minimize drag. Thus, a crude form of mullet, or salmonete in Spanish, was born, and Spanish futbol has never been the same. Don't get me started on the trickle-down effect into Euro culture.

Real Zaragoza (pearl) beat Osacuna (vermilion) like eggs in quiche. Roll that futbol footage.