FOOT NOTES

That the game we call soccer in America, and the rest of the world calls football, is a great sport is beyond serious doubt.

Too much of the rest of the world loves it fervently for us to believe that this country's traditional indifference to it means anything but cultural myopia. Securus judicat orbis terrarum. And even here in the U.S. soccer's popularity has greatly increased in recent years as a couple of generations of suburban kids have grown up playing it, and as Latino culture's influence has broadened here.

But I confess it's not my game. The few times I've watched a minute or two of "futbol" while channel-surfing, the vantage point has seemed to be from a hovering blimp, and the players looked like insects scurrying around. 

It's weird how that works. To the meager extent that I'm a sports fan at all, I'm a baseball fan. I can happily sit and watch pudgy guys throw, bat and catch for hours on the diamond. One friend of mine compares it, as entertainment, to watching paint dry. But somehow to me a baseball game has a narrative; characters, suspense, plot twists.

This is far less true, for me, of football and basketball. But even those games hold more drama and tension than televised soccer. On the other hand, last month I had the opportunity to see the "beautiful game" up close, and...it still isn't my game, I'm afraid.

Last week, for a work function, I had occasion to attend a game of the Phoenix Rising FC, at the new open-air facility at Wild Horse Pass in Chandler.

For the first half I was manning a booth outside the stadium, but was able to follow the game on the enormous TV screen that gazes down on the lawn. I enjoyed the friendly fans that braved the appalling heat; many of them were themselves kicking balls around on the grass, while others relaxed at the picnic tables with treats from the various food vendors. I myself enjoyed a tripas taco and a delectable mulita from a food truck there, and from another vendor, the most wonderful, refreshing shaved ice I've ever tasted, lime flavored. I wish I had one right now.

During the second half, after packing up the booth, I decided to go in and watch a bit of the game in person, eyeballs on the action. All through the first half, I had heard thunderous, repetitive drumming and chanting coming from inside the park, so constantly that I had wondered if it was a recording.

It wasn't. When I wandered inside, I found a seat behind the goal of the visiting team, the Rio Grande Valley Toros based in Edinburg, Texas. This area was full of a corps of admirably passionate fans, some shirtless and tatted-up, many carrying drums: snares, bass drums, the works. Many who weren't drumming were chanting. It was pretty hypnotic.

The heat was terrible, which may be why the rest of the bleachers were relatively sparsely populated. But it was a pleasant after-dark setting nonetheless, with a nice view of the casino in the distance. The stadium is more spare then many of the slick sports venues around the Valley, but I found it a nice place to be.

But as to the action on the "pitch?" I'm afraid it stubbornly refused to become exciting to me, philistine that I am. It was just two sets of guys, in different colored outfits, running around. Magnificent athletes, no doubt, but still just guys running around.

This was clearly not how it was for the fans around me. They hung on every second of the action, and said things like "Beautiful pass!" and "Hey, ref, what about it?" There were older guys sitting in the rear bleachers, watching quietly and judiciously.

Toward the end of the game, I started to try to get pictures on my cell phone. The results are not likely to make Sports Illustrated; I could barely keep up with the ball.

Then suddenly, in one of those strange moments when life downshifts into slow motion, I noticed the ball getting large on my cell phone screen, and then it banged into the bleachers, less than three feet to my left. It woke me up fast.

Despite my general confusion interrupted by this moment of terror, I was glad I had the experience first-hand, and I was pleased that the Phoenix Rising were victorious over the Toros, 2-1. Tickets start at $22, and the season continues through mid-October, when the weather should be a lot more agreeable. It could be a fun and fairly affordable family night out. Go to phxrisingfc.com for details.