An American Who Became a Football Fan (DAVID CAMPBELL, 5/02/26, Country Squire)
I grew up in the era of the Pittsburgh Steelers dynasty of the seventies, when Coach Chuck Noll, Quarterback Terry Bradshaw, Franco Harris, and the Steel Curtain Defence led by Mean Joe Greene ruled the roost. They were the American equivalent of Liverpool FC during those same decades—the Liverpool of Shankly and Paisley, of Keegan and Dalglish, Rush and Souness.
Now here is the surprising thing: for all my travels throughout England, my love for Premier League football was discovered not in a Liverpool pub or a London stadium, but in a sports bar in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. There, a faithful congregation of Liverpool supporters gathered to cheer their team at unholy hours, watching matches beamed across the Atlantic. The brethren took me in and patiently explained the intricacies of the game: the positions and responsibilities of the goalkeeper, the defence, the midfield, and the attack (and yes, a striker and a forward can be the same thing, but do not assume they always are). They taught me it is called a pitch, not a field; a match, not a game; a kit, not a uniform. They reviewed the laws of the game and the endless complexity of tactics—a lifetime’s study, I am discovering.