The artist’s guide to World Cup soccer

How to watch football when you don’t really know that much about football

I love to watch European football. Footy. “Voetbal,” as my Dutch relations call it, which, funnily enough, is pronounced like football.

I love everything about the experience of watching football. I cheered my little “oranje” heart out during the 2014 World Cup when my favourite team (Hup Holland Hup!) won third place, beating out host Brazil.

Don’t even talk to me about the Netherlands’ rapid downfall after the loss of coach Louis van Gaal, who had brought them to near-victory, only to jump ship for English waters, taking the helm at Premier League’s Manchester United.

It sounds like I know a thing or two about football, doesn’t it? I don’t, really.

I can find immaculate beauty in the gazelle-like leaps of the athletes, the skilful manoeuvres, the orchestration of their passes. I can see if a team is playing well, and if a goal is hard-earned or a lucky snag.

What I can’t do very well is grasp the rules or the strategies, and I don’t have much historical knowledge of the game itself, the teams, or the players. Just, you know, put the ball in the net, OK?

So, how do you watch football — and I mean really watch it, passionately, not just passively — when you don’t really know much about football?

The thing is that my brain is wired differently from people who really “know” the game on a deeper level, who have a fundamental understanding of the complexities, the why’s and how’s behind the what’s.

I’m a conceptual thinker, rather than a strategic thinker.

You would likely imagine that, as a writer, I would easily win at Scrabble, but I actually tend to lose, because I make the words I like instead of the ones that will gain me the most points. I value artfulness over ultimate success.

That being said, I still want my teams to win. For the record, I have been cheering for Germany and Belgium, since the Netherlands didn’t make the cut.

If you’ve been following this World Cup, then you know that my last chance at satisfaction will come this weekend, when Belgium, former favourites for the big win, take on England for the third place nod.

Getting back to the purpose of this column, here are some practical pointers.

My painter’s strategy for engaging in the World Cup is to employ my visual strengths. Knowing the colours and designs of the flags and jerseys helps me quickly identify teams.

As a portrait artist, I also have excellent facial recognition, so I try to learn players visually and then connect their appearances to their names so I know who the commentators are referring to, since I have a much harder time remembering them by their numbers.

A large part of my artistry involves social observation and analysis. While I may not know a lot about the technical aspects of football, I have a natural grasp on the social aspects, both on and off the field. I watch the body language of the players to tap into the emotions that are running alongside the physical game. I like to devise theories on whether or not a foul was intentional, based on behavioural cues.

Off the field, I follow things like trades, hirings, and firings from a social standpoint — I may not know exactly why a change was made, but I can consider the implications for team morale.

Above all else, I embrace my nature and watch the damned thing anyway. I watch it with excitement and romance. I go to the bar and yell at the TV along with all the other footy fans, because sports are best enjoyed in the company of others — with a cheer and a cheers — and because my understanding of the game is bolstered by those who know it in ways that I don’t.

And, I do it because there is no shame in being a football fan who doesn’t know much about football.