

Reflections on the Definition of “Pretty”
By: Laurie | May 25th, 2008Hey, Galaxy fans. Miss you horribly, but it’s good to know that you’re in good hands while I’m gone. With Jen sick, though, I thought I’d offer up some thoughts on tonight’s game so that she can post when she’s inspired and energetic and not when she feels like she has to.
So. About tonight’s game.
Nick Green over at 100% Soccer had this to say about it:
It was neither pretty nor convincing…
I know what he’s saying, and the rest of the article is worth a read. (Was Landon’s penalty a dive? Was Buddle’s goal offside?) But it did start me thinking about “pretty” soccer.
If anybody here has been around since the start of this blog, you know that I’m a big fan of European footy, especially the French game. And it’s not because I’m inherently a Eurosnob. (No, really.) It’s because, when it’s done right, the style of play makes my heart sing.
Quick, sharp, accurate, on-the-ground play, stretching across the entire field. Smooth, controlled dribbling. Perfect one-touch passes. Lots of movement off the ball. Lots of runs. A definite lack of I hope somebody can get to this long-ball blasts.
That to me is the definition of the word “pretty.” And that’s what I’m starting to see with the Galaxy this season.
Okay, so it’s not perfect. And they have my heart in my throat far too often with little gaffes. (Like Chris Klein having to save the ball off the line tonight. Chris, I love you. You are a god.)
But does it make me strange to feel, in my heart, that when they play like this I really don’t care whether they win or lose? Because that’s how I find myself feeling. I don’t care about the scoreline. I just want to see that pretty. I want to hear my heart sing.
Tonight when they went up 2-1, they could have hung back and defended. It probably would have been the smart thing to do. But they didn’t. And every time they surged forward, putting together another string of possession, I found myself thinking, “YES!”
I kept thinking that, even when they almost got burned on the counters and everybody was desperately sprinting back to try to protect Cronin one more time. It was a gamble that could easily have cost them two points. But instead they finished with three, and with Beckham’s spectacular sixty-yard goal.
And that was pretty.
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