Soccer and Spirituality

An unlikely duo, some may think, but as this World Cup progresses my certainty strengthens. Whether watching on TV or revelling in the atmosphere of the stadium, I sense an undeniable spiritual aspect to this game of 22 men and an Adidas Jabulani soccer ball.

The utter discipline and focus it takes to become a top professional footballer parallels the dedication needed to follow the path of yoga. To show up each day to practice, even if your mood is low or the body aches or feels heavy and exhausted. The mind rises above this. There is no question: just be there. Practice. Play.

Good soccer is about surrendering ego. In yoga we surrender to gravity. In an honest practice we relinquish goals and let the body guide us. We become passengers. Yes, we need strength, we need to stay present, but ego can dissolve. Watching the good teams play, they operate like well-oiled machines, each part supporting the other. The timing is right and it works. If one player seeks glory he is like a spanner in the works. Alone it is impossible. When ego moves out the way the defenders challenge, the passes are made and a flow begins that opens a window for a goal.

Just watching the game reveals the spirituality of soccer. A truly skilled player is not attached to the ball. He can kick it around an opponent, divorce himself from it and then duck around to the other side to reclaim his prize. In this willing separation from the ball to throw the opposition the player trusts that although the ball has been given up physically for a moment, it is still his. This speaks so clearly to me about confidence and faith. If we can let go of the reward we are fighting to hold, we become stronger and can regain it. A truly great player has no doubt he can do that. That same unfailing aim to succeed glints in Diego Forlan’s eagle glare as he launches a penalty onto its target. A yogi must have unwavering trust in the ground’s support to lift effortlessly into a headstand.

There are mysteries I wish to question, like the concept of country karma. Do ancestors crowd behind the German team avenging old wartime rivalries against the English? Do the ghosts of Ghanaian slaves rally against the descendant s of their American masters? Do Latin American footballers with their cocktail of Spanish, African and Indian blood avenge the sins of the conquistadors as the ball slams into the back of the net? If this is karma, or some form of justice beyond mortal hands, the players are merely pawns on a huge chessboard encompassing the souls of nations. I like to think these grand thoughts sometimes, dreaming of a world where soccer games could replace armed battle.

In Nelson Mandela Bay Stadium I felt the fire when Korea Republic raged out after half time to drive an attack against the leading Uruguay. I felt their unbridled wish to score. It was as clear as a Karoo night sky. So too did many other fans who had started out supporting the South Americans but whose hearts were warmed by the sheer wilfulness of this small country’s team. The Korean despair was piquant in that moment of loss, when all the players fell to their knees and bowed their heads to the ground. I wanted to hug each one of them. Uruguay won Match 49 but the humble South Koreans won the hearts of the spectators.

After the final showdown, when the players parade their chiselled physiques to soak up their glory or mourn their defeat I observe how a team treats their opponents. I notice if they hug and swap shirts or barely nod and walk away. Eastern spirituality highlights releasing attachments. Once the game is over, that same player whose shirt was yanked like in some schoolyard scuffle or who was slyly tripped up in a mishap revealed by slow motion replay to have more ominous intentions, gives a friendly pat on the back to his rival. The events are left on the field. Perhaps in reality there are footballers who lie sleepless reliving a missed goal, but I think a yogic player would let it go and accept what is unchangeable.

What I love about this game is the constant possibility for change. A team can rise so fast from nil to goals. Balance is redressed. Nothing is certain until the final whistle. This consoles me when I feel life is so uncertain. Just when something seems sure, it can back-flip the next day into chaos. The soccer field does not escape this natural law. Maybe that’s what infuses the game with such drama, such passion. Glory and disaster dance a wicked tango at the players’ feet.

For me there is comfort is witnessing unity triumph. The unity between players that creates a goal is like the unity of body and spirit that is yoga. So the vuvusela’s monotone becomes a primeval bumble Om that reminds me I am not just me, but could be part of something much greater.