Soccer Stadium Quotes

I’ve always liked you, from the first moment I saw you at the Pigafetta Stadium.” He kept his distance because he wanted her too much. “And ever since that day, I knew that you were in love with another guy, and that he would sooner or later feel the same way I did.” Cutting ties with her was excruciatingly painful. “I just hoped that he would be stupid enough to let me have you,” he gasped. “But he wasn’t.

Years have gone by and I've finally learned to accept myself for who I am: a beggar for good soccer. I go about the world, hand outstretched, and in the stadiums I plead:"A pretty move, for the love of God." And when good soccer happens, I give thanks for the miracle and I don't give a damn which team or country performs it.

The Stadium Have you ever entered an empty stadium? Try it. Stand in the middle of the field and listen. There is nothing less empty than an empty stadium. There is nothing less mute than stands bereft of spectators. At Wembley, shouts from the 1966 World Cup, which England won, still resound, and if you listen very closely you can hear groans from 1953 when England fell to the Hungarians. Montevideo’s Centenario Stadium sighs with nostalgia for the glory days of Uruguayan soccer. Maracanã is still crying over Brazil’s 1950 World Cup defeat. At Bombonera in Buenos Aires, drums boom from half a century ago. From the depths of Azteca Stadium, you can hear the ceremonial chants of the ancient Mexican ball game. The concrete terraces of Camp Nou in Barcelona speak Catalan, and the stands of San Mamés in Bilbao talk in Basque. In Milan, the ghosts of Giuseppe Meazza scores goals that shake the stadium bearing his name. The final match of the 1974 World Cup, won by Germany, is played day after day and night after night at Munich’s Olympic Stadium. King Fahd Stadium in Saudi Arabia has marble and gold boxes and carpeted stands, but it has no memory or much of anything to say.

there's a long history of resistance movements igniting in the soccer stadium. In the Red Star Revolution, Draza, Krle, and the other Belgrade soccer hooligans helped topple Slobodan Milosevic. Celebrations for Romania's 1990 WOrld Cup qualification carried over into the Bucharest squares, culminating in a firing squad that trained its rifles on the dictator Nicolae Ceausescu and his wife. The movement that toppled the Paraguayan dictator Alfredo Stroessner had the same sportive ground zero.

There was a famous incident during an Orlando Pirates soccer match a few years ago. A cat got into the stadium and ran through the crowd and out onto the pitch in the middle of the game. A security guard, seeing the cat, did what any sensible black person would do. He said to himself, “That cat is a witch.” He caught the cat and—live on TV—he kicked it and stomped it and beat it to death with a sjambok, a hard leather whip. It was front-page news all over the country. White people lost their shit. Oh my word, it was insane. The security guard was arrested and put on trial and found guilty of animal abuse. He had to pay some enormous fine to avoid spending several months in jail. What was ironic to me was that white people had spent years seeing video of black people being beaten to death by other white people, but this one video of a black man kicking a cat, that’s what sent them over the edge. Black people were just confused. They didn’t see any problem with what the man did. They were like, “Obviously that cat was a witch. How else would a cat know how to get out onto a soccer pitch? Somebody sent it to jinx one of the teams. That man had to kill the cat. He was protecting the players.

What is a club in any case? Not the buildings or the directors or the people who are paid to represent it. It’s not the television contracts, get-out clauses, marketing departments or executive boxes. It’s the noise, the passion, the feeling of belonging, the pride in your city. It’s a small boy clambering up stadium steps for the very first time, gripping his father’s hand, gawping at that hallowed stretch of turf beneath him and, without being able to do a thing about it, falling in love.

I noticed, as I often noticed at English soccer matches, that I was the only person in the stadium enjoying himself. The rest of the spectators, on both sides, were perpetually stressed and dismayed. A man behind me was simply full of despair. "Now why did he do that?" he would say. "What was he thinking? Why didn't he pass it?" His companion seemed to have some issues with eighteenth century German metaphysics because he kept saying over and over, "Fucking Kant." I am not quite sure how he was relating this to the actions before us, but every time Everton failed to score, he called them a "load of fucking Kants.

There's a strange uniformity in the vocabulary European soccer fans use to hate black people. The same primate insults get hurled. Although they've gotten better over time, the English and Italians developed the tradition of making ape noises when black players touched the ball. The Poles toss bananas on the field. This consistency owes nothing to television, which rarely shows these finer points of fan behavior. Nor are these insults considered polite to discuss in public. This trope has simply become a continent-wide folk tradition, transmitted via the stadium, from fan to fan, from father to son.

Years have gone by and I’ve finally learned to accept myself for who I am: a beggar for good soccer. I go about the world, hand outstretched, and in the stadiums I plead: “A pretty move, for the love of God.” And when good soccer happens, I give thanks for the miracle and I don’t give a damn which team or country performs it.

I still remember what my father said "There are on the stadium 22 idiots, which are running after ball.". From where did he knew that?? He knew it from guarding the stadium, so my question is why we don't watch how a dog catch a ball? But we watch 22 idiots running after the ball?? What are the differences?? That the dog can't kick the ball, but the humanity can?? - Wow, wow that's a great discovery for a dumb person!

As a fan I also left a lot to be desired. Juan Alberto Schiaffino and Julio César Abbadie played for Peñarol, the enemy team. I was a loyal Nacional fan and I did everything I could to hate them. But with his masterful passes “El Pepe” Schiaffino orchestrated the team’s plays as if he were watching from the highest tower of the stadium, and “El Pardo” Abbadie, running in his seven-league boots, would slide the ball all the way down the white touchline, swaying back and forth without ever grazing the ball or his opponents. I couldn’t help admiring them, and I even felt like cheering. Years have gone by and I’ve finally learned to accept myself for who I am: a beggar for good soccer. I go about the world, hand outstretched, and in the stadiums I plead: “A pretty move, for the love of God.

A school bus is many things. A school bus is a substitute for a limousine. More class. A school bus is a classroom with a substitute teacher. A school bus is the students' version of a teachers' lounge. A school bus is the principal's desk. A school bus is the nurse's cot. A school bus is an office with all the phones ringing. A school bus is a command center. A school bus is a pillow fort that rolls. A school bus is a tank reshaped- hot dogs and baloney are the same meat. A school bus is a science lab- hot dogs and baloney are the same meat. A school bus is a safe zone. A school bus is a war zone. A school bus is a concert hall. A school bus is a food court. A school bus is a court of law, all judges, all jury. A school bus is a magic show full of disappearing acts. Saw someone in half. Pick a card, any card. Pass it on to the person next to you. He like you. She like you. K-i-s-s-i . . . s-s-i-p-p-i is only funny on a school bus. A school bus is a stage. A school bus is a stage play. A school bus is a spelling bee. A speaking bee. A get your hand out of my face bee. A your breath smell like sour turnips bee. A you don't even know what a turnip bee is. A maybe not, but I know what a turn up is and your breath smell all the way turnt up bee. A school bus is a bumblebee, buzzing around with a bunch of stingers on the inside of it. Windows for wings that flutter up and down like the windows inside Chinese restaurants and post offices in neighborhoods where school bus is a book of stamps. Passing mail through windows. Notes in the form of candy wrappers telling the street something sweet came by. Notes in the form of sneaky middle fingers. Notes in the form of fingers pointing at the world zooming by. A school bus is a paintbrush painting the world a blurry brushstroke. A school bus is also wet paint. Good for adding an extra coat, but it will dirty you if you lean against it, if you get too comfortable. A school bus is a reclining chair. In the kitchen. Nothing cool about it but makes perfect sense. A school bus is a dirty fridge. A school bus is cheese. A school bus is a ketchup packet with a tiny hole in it. Left on the seat. A plastic fork-knife-spoon. A paper tube around a straw. That straw will puncture the lid on things, make the world drink something with some fizz and fight. Something delightful and uncomfortable. Something that will stain. And cause gas. A school bus is a fast food joint with extra value and no food. Order taken. Take a number. Send a text to the person sitting next to you. There is so much trouble to get into. Have you ever thought about opening the back door? My mother not home till five thirty. I can't. I got dance practice at four. A school bus is a talent show. I got dance practice right now. On this bus. A school bus is a microphone. A beat machine. A recording booth. A school bus is a horn section. A rhythm section. An orchestra pit. A balcony to shot paper ball three-pointers from. A school bus is a basketball court. A football stadium. A soccer field. Sometimes a boxing ring. A school bus is a movie set. Actors, directors, producers, script. Scenes. Settings. Motivations. Action! Cut. Your fake tears look real. These are real tears. But I thought we were making a comedy. A school bus is a misunderstanding. A school bus is a masterpiece that everyone pretends to understand. A school bus is the mountain range behind Mona Lisa. The Sphinx's nose. An unknown wonder of the world. An unknown wonder to Canton Post, who heard bus riders talk about their journeys to and from school. But to Canton, a school bus is also a cannonball. A thing that almost destroyed him. Almost made him motherless.

You saw how busy and popular the battle arena was the other day, right?” “Oh, I see where you’re going with this.” The mayor nodded. “The sports stadium could have that same effect. It would draw more and more people to our city.” I nodded now that I understood. “So, what will they be playing in the sports stadium?” “Soccer. It was the only sport proposed by the proposer.” “Soccer? I’ve never heard of it,” I said as I scratched my head. “According to the business proposal, it’s a fun game that involves a lot of running.” “A lot of running? I guess it’ll be good exercise.” “Most likely,” said Bob. The mayor continued explaining, “The objective of the game is to score goals or points by kicking a ball into the opposing team’s goal. Players compete over control of the ball, and at any time, one team will be the attacker and the other team will be the defender.” “Oh, I think I understand how it works now.” The mayor nodded. “It sounds like it could be a lot of fun, right?” “Yeah, but it’s a pretty big project, isn’t it? It will require a lot of space, time and effort.

Had Garnacho’s magnificent goal against Everton been scored on home ground, the stadium would have exploded. Rather Goodison Park, the venue of the match, received the goal with graveyard silence. In the eyes of haters the diamond in your hand looks like the ordinary stone.

Had Garnacho’s magnificent goal against Everton been scored on home ground, the stadium would have exploded. Rather, Goodison Park, the venue of the match, received the goal with graveyard silence. In the eyes of haters the diamond in your hand looks like the ordinary stone.

Had Garnacho’s magnificent goal against Everton been scored on home ground, the stadium would have exploded. In the eyes of haters the diamond in your hand looks like the ordinary stone.

By the 59th minute, the match was still scoreless when German striker Alexandra Popp ran down a lofted ball into the box. Julie Johnston, chasing, tugged her from behind. Popp fell, and the whistle blew. Penalty kick for Germany. This was it. This was the moment, it seemed, the Americans would lose the World Cup. It was a given, of course, that Germany would score this penalty kick. The Germans never missed in moments like this, and a goal would shift the momentum of the match. Hope Solo did the only thing she could do: stall. As Célia Šašić stepped up to the spot to take the kick, Solo sauntered off to the sideline slowly and got her water bottle. She took a sip. Paused. Scanned the crowd. Another sip. She strolled back slowly toward goal. She still had the water bottle in her hand. She wanted to let this moment linger. She wanted Šašić to think too much about the kick and let the nerves of the moment catch up to her. Finally, Solo took her spot. The whistle blew, and without even a nanosecond of hesitation, Šašić ran up to the ball and hit it, as if she couldn’t bear another moment of waiting. Solo guessed to the right, and Šašić’s shot was going left. But it kept going left and skipped wide. The pro-USA crowd at Olympic Stadium in Montreal erupted into a thunderclap that made the stands shake. The American players cheered as if they had just scored a goal.

By the 59th minute, the match was still scoreless when German striker Alexandra Popp ran down a lofted ball into the box. Julie Johnston, chasing, tugged her from behind. Popp fell, and the whistle blew. Penalty kick for Germany. This was it. This was the moment, it seemed, the Americans would lose the World Cup. It was a given, of course, that Germany would score this penalty kick. The Germans never missed in moments like this, and a goal would shift the momentum of the match. Hope Solo did the only thing she could do: stall. As Célia Šašić stepped up to the spot to take the kick, Solo sauntered off to the sideline slowly and got her water bottle. She took a sip. Paused. Scanned the crowd. Another sip. She strolled back slowly toward goal. She still had the water bottle in her hand. She wanted to let this moment linger. She wanted Šašić to think too much about the kick and let the nerves of the moment catch up to her. Finally, Solo took her spot. The whistle blew, and without even a nanosecond of hesitation, Šašić ran up to the ball and hit it, as if she couldn’t bear another moment of waiting. Solo guessed to the right, and Šašić’s shot was going left. But it kept going left and skipped wide. The pro-USA crowd at Olympic Stadium in Montreal erupted into a thunderclap that made the stands shake. The American players cheered as if they had just scored a goal. “We knew right then and there that we were going to win the World Cup,” Ali Krieger says. “That was it. That’s when we knew: This is ours.

We’re talking about them as athletes, rather than some of the conversations we had in ’99: My god, who are these women? They’re kind of hot!” Julie Foudy said. After the team won in 1999, the players turned into one-of-a-kind heroes, pioneers, and role models overnight. Many people rooted for them as a larger statement about women in sports. But by 2015, the players of the national team were athletes that America grew to love simply as athletes. If fans were going to be jubilant about a victory in the 2015 World Cup final, it wouldn’t just be because of some deeper meaning or greater impact—it would be because fans knew these players and wanted them to win. It was evidenced by Alex Morgan’s almost 2 million followers on Twitter, Hope Solo’s autobiography becoming a New York Times bestseller, and Abby Wambach appearing in Gatorade television ads on heavy rotation. No longer did the players need to show up at schools and youth clinics to hand out flyers, like the 1999 team did. The word about the national team was already out. In the team’s three May 2015 send-off games, they sold out every match, drawing capacity crowds at Avaya Stadium, the StubHub Center, and Red Bull Arena. Consider what Foudy told reporters in 1999 after the World Cup win: “It transcends soccer. There’s a bigger message out there: When people tell you no, you just smile and tell them, Yes, I can.” By 2015? Players like Carli Lloyd were talking about world domination. It was all about the soccer—and that, in and of itself, was something special and powerful.

The final straw for the players was a game scheduled in Hawaii at Aloha Stadium during the victory tour. No one from U.S. Soccer had gone to inspect the facilities before scheduling the national team to play there. The practice field was grass, but it was patchy, bumpy, and lined with sewer plates that had plastic coverings. It was on that sub-par practice field that Megan Rapinoe tore her ACL, which meant she might have to miss the 2016 Olympics the next year. Then, the next day, the players got to the stadium where they were supposed to play the game. Not only was it artificial turf, but the players were concerned by the seams on the field where parts of the turf were pulling up off the ground. Sharp rocks were embedded all over the field. If someone from U.S. Soccer had been there beforehand to inspect it, there’s no way they could’ve believed it was an appropriate venue for a national team soccer match. The players unanimously agreed to boycott the match and stand up to the federation together. The federation officially cancelled the match, and Sunil Gulati, the president of U.S. Soccer, publicly apologized, calling it “a black eye for this organization.” The players seemed more determined than they had been in a long time to fight for themselves.

Unequal support with respect to items such as equipment managers, trainers, massage therapists, meals, hotel accommodations, and transportation; • The commitment of funds to pay for 14-year-old boys and not girls to live and train in Bradenton, Florida, while attending a private soccer academy; • The commitment of $10 million to build soccer stadiums for a for-profit professional league for men, Major League Soccer (“MLS”); • The commitment to loan or give millions to assist in the start-up of MLS. Correspondingly, when repeatedly asked by the Women’s United Soccer Association (“WUSA”) for start-up funding to help relaunch a league, US Soccer has repeatedly claimed “it is not in the business of building leagues”;

It is true that surveillance can at times promote what some may consider desirable behavior. One study found that rowdiness in Swedish soccer stadiums—fans throwing bottles and lighters onto the field—declined by 65 percent after the introduction of security cameras. And public health literature on hand washing has

Soccer is Italy’s favorite sport, and is played and watched all over the country. Each Sunday the great stadiums of Milan, Turin, Naples, Rome, and Bologna are filled with thousands of fans. Italian club soccer teams are among the best in the world, and regularly win international competitions. The national Italian team won soccer’s World Cup in 1982. Wages for successful players are high, and this helps to attract soccer stars from many other countries. Cycling also is very popular, as a sport to both do and watch. The Grand Tour of Italy takes place each year, following a long, grueling course over mountainous country. Many Italians forsake their favorite cafes to watch this bicycle race on television. Other popular pastimes include bowls, a game played on a sanded rink, and card games, commonly seen in cafes and bars across the nation. During August, many businesses close and workers go on vacation to the coast or mountains. The big cities are mostly deserted, except for tourists.

Sports Soccer, or football, is the most popular sport in Italy. Children play soccer in squares, on streets, and in fields. Almost every community has a soccer team, and when local teams play on Sunday afternoon, everything else stops. The Italian League, which has existed since 1898, is regarded as one of the toughest in the world. Rivalries between towns can be bitter and raucous, and sometimes even violent. In Rome, the two main competing teams--Roma and Lazio--play their home games in the same stadium, Stadio Olimpico, which holds more than eighty-two thousand spectators. Every four years, national soccer teams from around the globe compete in the World Cup, the world’s biggest soccer tournament. Italy has won the World Cup four times, in 1934, 1938, 1982, and 2006, making the country’s team second only to Brazil’s in number of wins.

He poses the existential question of the modern soccer hooligan: “If football violence doesn’t take place in the stadium, is it even football violence?

If soccer really is a ‘a slum sport played in slum stadiums increasingly watched by slum people’ as declared by the Sunday Times in 1985 after the Bradford fire disaster that took 56 lives, then Rayo Vallecano wear their slum affiliation like a badge of honour.

Because soccer clubs are the only businesses that get daily publicity without trying to, they treat journalists as humble supplicants instead of as unpaid marketers of the clubs’ brands. The media often retaliate by being mean. This is not very clever of the clubs, because almost all their fans follow them through the media rather than by going to the stadiums.

players. Leo trots proudly toward the light at the end and the stadium beyond, surrounded by his teammates. When

Barca became my team in 1994 on a winter trip through the city. My visit coincided with the annual gratis opening of Barca’s museum. It is the most visited museum in the city, even ahead of a massive collection of Picasso canvases. With no admission fee, lines crawled across the stadium parking lot, filled with eight-year-old boys and their mothers, silver-haired men paying a visit to old friends in the trophy case, and teenage girls apparently brushing up on team history. The transcendent enthusiasm for a bunch of artifacts and sepia photos moved me. I felt like a nonbeliever watching a religious pilgrimage. And the sheer depth of their faith made me a believer, too.

Moore’s language fuels such enthusiastic approval in Europe because—on the one hand—it now seems legitimate, even laudable and progressive, to express prejudices and derogatory views concerning Americans publicly in a way that one may no longer do precisely because advances in the discourse and demeanor of tolerance over the past forty years have made the expressions of similar derogatory sentiments regarding other nationalities unacceptable;12 and because—on the other hand—these negative tropes are magnified and fortified by several degrees by Moore’s being so quintessentially American. With the exception of the British yellow press and the stands of European soccer stadiums, public expressions of humiliation like these are no longer acceptable in today’s Europe. In this context, a German friend quite correctly told me the following: “It would be unthinkable for books like Stupid White Men to hold leading positions for months at the top of Germany’s best-seller list if these stupid white men were anybody but Americans, say if they were Italians, Frenchmen, or Brits, let alone Germans. No German author would ever dream of publishing an equivalent book on Germans, and if he or she did, the book would surely not catapult to the top of the charts as it has in Moore’s case.

He [Steve Ross] said he used to have the same prejudices against the game as most Americans: It was too slow, too "foreign," too difficult to understand what was really going on. But once he started watching the game, and had some friends explain it to him, he realized how fascinating soccer could be. He believed that it just needed the right conditions to thrive. In other words, he saw soccer like an entrepreneur, which of course was exactly what he was, and an excellent one at that. He spotted an unmet need, an undervalued asset, and made it his personal mission to make it succeed, come hell or high water. After the Cosmos struggled through its first few seasons, switching stadiums every so often and failing to generate much buzz, Steve purchased the team from its original investors for the grand price of one dollar. And then, for no good reason other than his own passion and drive, Steve decided to throw the entire commercial and marketing weight of Warner Communications behind the team. He would not only make the Cosmos a winner, but bring a "new" spectator sport to the American public.

They narrowly missed out on the league title in 1929, but did win the US Open Cup, Eisenhoffer’s goal giving them a 1–0 win over the Giants in the eastern section final before victory over the winners of the western section, St Louis Madison Kennel, in the first two matches of a scheduled three-game final. The second game, played at Dexter Park in Queens, drew more than 21,000 fans, the largest attendance at a US Open Cup final until Seattle Sounders beat Columbus Crew at their own stadium in 2010.

Q: What lights up a soccer stadium? A: A soccer match!

THE ROAR of the death blast on the Avenue of the Americas cannot be heard in faraway Johannesburg. With eight weeks to go to the opening game in Soccer City, Sepp Blatter and his South African capos have enough problems. Outraged by price gouging, fans are staying home. In the townships citizens protest every day; ‘Service riots’ send messages to politicians that public money should be spent on homes, water, sewage plants and jobs, not stadiums that will become white elephants. Why should they listen? They have the police beat back the protestors. The World Cup is good news for Danny Jordaan, leader of the bid and now chief executive for the tournament. Quietly, his brother Andrew has been given a well-paid job as Hospitality liaison with MATCH Event Services at the Port Elizabeth stadium. A stakeholder in the MATCH company is Sepp Blatter’s nephew Philippe Blatter. The majority owners are Mexican brothers Jaime and Enrique Byrom, based in Manchester, England, Zurich, Switzerland and with some of their bank accounts in Spain and the Isle of Man. The Brothers are not happy. Sepp Blatter awarded them the lucrative 2010 hospitality contract aimed at wealthy football patrons, mostly from abroad. If that wasn’t enough, Blatter also gave them the contract to manage and distribute the three million tickets. The brothers are charging top rates for hotels and internal flights and expected to make huge profits. Instead, they are on their way to losing $50 million. They plan to recoup these losses in Brazil in four years time.

For the prediction of football matches, it is possible to use Bet9ja vip, that is, to provide a data analysis program with as much information as possible and variables that allow a prediction to be made that is closest to the actual result. They are bookmakers, sports television channels, sports newspapers, sections of this area of printed and digital newspapers, and the same soccer teams, who make predictions of football matches and tournaments using Bet9ja vip and analytical programs, through the use of a predictive mathematics that is based on a very extensive menu of data that is processed once obtained. The data used are the variables that combine to define possible outcomes: team history, evaluation and soccer background of each player, statistics of wins and losses, results of teams as visitors and locals, technical, mental and emotional evaluation of each player, figures of results with teams that a team will face, strategies and tactics with which it has won and lost, climatic variables of the places where it is played, characteristics of each stadium including the behaviour of the people, political and economic variables of the countries where a team will play (in case of international games), among others. The combination of these variables makes it possible to predict football matches and tournaments, in particular of a football world cup where 32 teams face each other and where it is possible to apply the stated variables with a margin of error of approximately 20%; that is to say, that the use of Bet9ja vip to predict a Football Tournament has between 70% and 80% probability of hitting. All in all, the variables of a match and an international soccer tournament, the most important on the planet, that is, a World Cup, are so wide and diverse that we are only in conditions -from Bet9ja vip, analysis programs and even Machine Learning- to partially predict them. So to the question: is it possible to predict who will be the World Cup champion? we can answer that not absolutely and safely, and yes in a tendential and approximate manner; that is, if we use the Bet9ja vip correctly to predict each of the matches of the Tournament and predict who will be the champion of the same, we have between 70% and 80% margin to avoid mistakes. Therefore, when placing your bets, even when you rely on Bet9ja vip to perform them, bear in mind that there are variables that cannot be predicted, so there is no science that predicts with complete certainty their behaviour; finally human actions, in particular a game like soccer, are full of surprises and contingencies that we cannot control or predict yet.

It wasn’t long ago, when we were young, that people like the professor, probably with a handful of his students, would be shot in the soccer stadium on a Monday morning before work. While we were in college, the big trend was to throw them all into the prison mines, where life expectancy is six months. And of course now organ harvesting is where so many of our subjects meet their end.

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