Introduction: ‘The “F” word’ | What is football?
‘Each country seems to have a foot-ball spirit of its own, and that spirit can be satisfied only with a characteristic game.’
Walter Camp, pioneer of American football, 1910
Towards the end of 2004, a minor linguistic storm was brewing in the Antipodes. The former Australian Soccer Association was rebranding itself as ‘Football Federation Australia’. It was a ‘symbolic move’, said chairman Frank Lowy, helping ‘to bring the “World Game” in Australia into line with rest of the football world’. Followers of rugby league, rugby union and Australian Rules football were not best pleased with this use of the word ‘football’.
Around the same time, in the United States, the Dallas Burn soccer team became FC Dallas, as part of Major League Soccer’s drive to eliminate ‘Americanisms’ from its product. A report explained that the ‘FC’ stood for ‘Football Club’ – perhaps a bit baffling to the average Texan, to whom ‘football’ means something quite different. Three years later, New Zealand Soccer became New Zealand Football. Few words in the English language have been the subject of as much confusion and dispute over their meaning as ‘football’, and this has been exacerbated by the increase in global communications.
So, what is football? Some people, mainly Britons, claim that the word can only mean association football – that is, soccer – and mock anyone (particularly Americans) who thinks otherwise. The truth is that it has different meanings in a number of English-speaking countries, and, in some of these countries, its meaning even varies between regions or sections of society. To North Americans, it means various forms of the gridiron game. In Australia, it can mean rugby league or rugby union, or in large parts of the country, Australian Rules football. To many Irish people, it means Gaelic football. Even in some corners of Britain where rugby is king, it is sometimes referred to as ‘football’.
Let’s turn to a dictionary for some help. In the United States, the Merriam–Webster online dictionary gives us a generic definition of ‘football’:
any of several games played between two teams on a usually rectangular field having goalposts or goals at each end and whose object is to get the ball over a goal line, into a goal, or between goalposts by running, passing, or kicking.
This is pretty comprehensive and, probably with Australian Rules in mind, was recently amended to point out that the field is usually rectangular and might have more than two goalposts at each end. The dictionary goes on to give alternative definitions suited to different countries. If we agree with the broad scope of this definition (and I hope we do, otherwise we’re not going to get along), we can see football not as a specific sport with one set of rules, but as a family of sports – the ‘F’ word can mean any one of them, or all of them at once.
In everyday conversation, ‘football’ generally means the version that is most familiar to the speaker. This habit can lead people to think that ‘their’ football game is the only one that anybody, anywhere in the world, should refer to as ‘football’. This is where the problems begin. The main exception to this rule is rugby (union and league), which is usually referred to as such – most likely because it has a short, snappy name of its own. As we shall see, even the origin of the word ‘football’ is far from clear.
- - -
Whichever way we look at it, football – in the generic sense – has made a huge impact on the modern world. Almost everywhere, some form of football is a major sport, inspiring fanatical support, extensive media coverage, patriotic fervour and even violence. Millions of people get much of their regular entertainment from watching two teams chasing a ball around a field, and millions play these games themselves.
In most countries, of course, the most popular form of football is soccer, with one prominent exception: the United States. Many theories have been put forward to explain this, most of which are almost certainly wrong (more on this later). In any case, contrary to a common myth, the US is not the only country where soccer has been overshadowed by other sports. The likes of basketball, ice hockey and cycling are hugely popular in many parts of Europe, as is baseball in parts of Central America, the Caribbean and the Far East.
Also, there are other countries, such as Canada, New Zealand and Pakistan (and, until recently, Australia), where soccer has made little impact. It is interesting to note that these countries (along with the US) are former British colonies, which have inherited many aspects of British culture, and yet have not fully embraced Britain’s biggest sporting export. However, other football codes, along with cricket, have found success in most of these countries. Soccer was also a relatively minor sport in the Republic of Ireland until the national team became a force in the late 1980s.
In these parts of the world, soccer’s relative failure, and the successes of other sports, can be explained largely by historical events, rather than by making simplistic, stereotypical assumptions about the supposed ‘character’ of each nation (at the risk of contradicting the venerable Walter Camp, quoted above). Likewise, the reasons why other forms of football have become popular in some regions, while remaining largely unknown in others, are more complex than many people seem to think.
National and social identities have been factors in the various splits in the football world, and in the evolution of distinct forms of football with their own cultures. Rugby broke up into two independent sports, basically along class lines. Gaelic football is linked with Irish culture and nationalism, and the birth of American football could be seen as part of a young nation’s attempt to create its own traditions (as with its earlier rejection of cricket in favour of baseball). Canadian football, despite its similarities with the American game, is at least presented as something distinctly Canadian.
Sports history, in this writer’s humble opinion, is a neglected subject, although it has seen something of a boom in recent years. Sports coverage in the media is almost entirely focused on the here-and-now: the latest controversy, the rumour mill, the reasons why you must watch the big game this weekend. I’m not suggesting that we should live in the past, but there is surely a place for reflection on the roots, traditions and stories behind the sports that we follow and watch. Sports history is not merely about statistics and record books. It is also about the tales of how and where these sports began, how they became popular, how the rules, tactics and playing styles evolved, and the people who helped to make all this happen.
Football’s roots are in various local games – often loosely regulated and roughly contested – that were played hundreds or even thousands of years ago. The story of how it evolved from these beginnings into a range of modern, well-organised, mass-audience sports is a story worth telling. It deserves to be told in a global context, without bias or prejudice. This is what I have attempted to do on these pages.
Readers will inevitably have their own preferences for one or two forms of football, and negative perceptions about others. I hope this book will at least go some way towards fostering an appreciation for the bigger picture. You might find yourself getting the urge to learn about, and watch, a type of football that has never interested you before; you might even enjoy it.
A few notes about the terminology used in this book. As mentioned already, words such as ‘football’ and ‘soccer’ can confuse and irritate many people, depending on those people’s backgrounds and how and where the words are used. I have tried to tackle this conundrum as effectively as possible without appearing pedantic, although it would be impossible to please everyone.
In some parts of the book, ‘football’ means one specific sport, but only where the context makes it clear which one is meant. For example, in the ‘Gridiron glory’ chapter, which is entirely about American football, it would have been cumbersome to qualify it with the word ‘American’ throughout – so ‘football’ is mostly used instead. And, although the word ‘soccer’ makes many Brits come out in a rash, there are times when it has to be used for clarity (unless we are to persist with the cumbersome ‘association football’) – and, in any case, there is nothing actually wrong with using it.
Imperial measures are used in some parts of the book, and metric units in others, depending on which are more appropriate in the context. So, for instance, an American or Canadian football team must gain 10 yards to keep possession, whereas an Australian Rules player may only carry the ball for up to 15 metres without bouncing it. I have also tried to avoid using words and expressions that might not be understood by readers in all parts of the English-speaking world. So, for example, ‘field’ is generally used instead of ‘pitch’, and ‘stadium’ in preference to ‘ground’, with a few exceptions where appropriate. British spellings are used throughout, even though they may occasionally look incongruous to some readers, such as ‘offence’ or ‘defence’ in an American football context (although ‘offense’ is used where it is part of a recognised term, such as ‘West Coast offense’). If anyone still manages to be confused or irritated, I apologise (rather than ‘apologize’) – but, please believe me, I have tried.
- - -
Graham Hughes
Chester
April 2012 / January 2017
Around the same time, in the United States, the Dallas Burn soccer team became FC Dallas, as part of Major League Soccer’s drive to eliminate ‘Americanisms’ from its product. A report explained that the ‘FC’ stood for ‘Football Club’ – perhaps a bit baffling to the average Texan, to whom ‘football’ means something quite different. Three years later, New Zealand Soccer became New Zealand Football. Few words in the English language have been the subject of as much confusion and dispute over their meaning as ‘football’, and this has been exacerbated by the increase in global communications.
So, what is football? Some people, mainly Britons, claim that the word can only mean association football – that is, soccer – and mock anyone (particularly Americans) who thinks otherwise. The truth is that it has different meanings in a number of English-speaking countries, and, in some of these countries, its meaning even varies between regions or sections of society. To North Americans, it means various forms of the gridiron game. In Australia, it can mean rugby league or rugby union, or in large parts of the country, Australian Rules football. To many Irish people, it means Gaelic football. Even in some corners of Britain where rugby is king, it is sometimes referred to as ‘football’.
Let’s turn to a dictionary for some help. In the United States, the Merriam–Webster online dictionary gives us a generic definition of ‘football’:
any of several games played between two teams on a usually rectangular field having goalposts or goals at each end and whose object is to get the ball over a goal line, into a goal, or between goalposts by running, passing, or kicking.
This is pretty comprehensive and, probably with Australian Rules in mind, was recently amended to point out that the field is usually rectangular and might have more than two goalposts at each end. The dictionary goes on to give alternative definitions suited to different countries. If we agree with the broad scope of this definition (and I hope we do, otherwise we’re not going to get along), we can see football not as a specific sport with one set of rules, but as a family of sports – the ‘F’ word can mean any one of them, or all of them at once.
In everyday conversation, ‘football’ generally means the version that is most familiar to the speaker. This habit can lead people to think that ‘their’ football game is the only one that anybody, anywhere in the world, should refer to as ‘football’. This is where the problems begin. The main exception to this rule is rugby (union and league), which is usually referred to as such – most likely because it has a short, snappy name of its own. As we shall see, even the origin of the word ‘football’ is far from clear.
- - -
Whichever way we look at it, football – in the generic sense – has made a huge impact on the modern world. Almost everywhere, some form of football is a major sport, inspiring fanatical support, extensive media coverage, patriotic fervour and even violence. Millions of people get much of their regular entertainment from watching two teams chasing a ball around a field, and millions play these games themselves.
In most countries, of course, the most popular form of football is soccer, with one prominent exception: the United States. Many theories have been put forward to explain this, most of which are almost certainly wrong (more on this later). In any case, contrary to a common myth, the US is not the only country where soccer has been overshadowed by other sports. The likes of basketball, ice hockey and cycling are hugely popular in many parts of Europe, as is baseball in parts of Central America, the Caribbean and the Far East.
Also, there are other countries, such as Canada, New Zealand and Pakistan (and, until recently, Australia), where soccer has made little impact. It is interesting to note that these countries (along with the US) are former British colonies, which have inherited many aspects of British culture, and yet have not fully embraced Britain’s biggest sporting export. However, other football codes, along with cricket, have found success in most of these countries. Soccer was also a relatively minor sport in the Republic of Ireland until the national team became a force in the late 1980s.
In these parts of the world, soccer’s relative failure, and the successes of other sports, can be explained largely by historical events, rather than by making simplistic, stereotypical assumptions about the supposed ‘character’ of each nation (at the risk of contradicting the venerable Walter Camp, quoted above). Likewise, the reasons why other forms of football have become popular in some regions, while remaining largely unknown in others, are more complex than many people seem to think.
National and social identities have been factors in the various splits in the football world, and in the evolution of distinct forms of football with their own cultures. Rugby broke up into two independent sports, basically along class lines. Gaelic football is linked with Irish culture and nationalism, and the birth of American football could be seen as part of a young nation’s attempt to create its own traditions (as with its earlier rejection of cricket in favour of baseball). Canadian football, despite its similarities with the American game, is at least presented as something distinctly Canadian.
Sports history, in this writer’s humble opinion, is a neglected subject, although it has seen something of a boom in recent years. Sports coverage in the media is almost entirely focused on the here-and-now: the latest controversy, the rumour mill, the reasons why you must watch the big game this weekend. I’m not suggesting that we should live in the past, but there is surely a place for reflection on the roots, traditions and stories behind the sports that we follow and watch. Sports history is not merely about statistics and record books. It is also about the tales of how and where these sports began, how they became popular, how the rules, tactics and playing styles evolved, and the people who helped to make all this happen.
Football’s roots are in various local games – often loosely regulated and roughly contested – that were played hundreds or even thousands of years ago. The story of how it evolved from these beginnings into a range of modern, well-organised, mass-audience sports is a story worth telling. It deserves to be told in a global context, without bias or prejudice. This is what I have attempted to do on these pages.
Readers will inevitably have their own preferences for one or two forms of football, and negative perceptions about others. I hope this book will at least go some way towards fostering an appreciation for the bigger picture. You might find yourself getting the urge to learn about, and watch, a type of football that has never interested you before; you might even enjoy it.
A few notes about the terminology used in this book. As mentioned already, words such as ‘football’ and ‘soccer’ can confuse and irritate many people, depending on those people’s backgrounds and how and where the words are used. I have tried to tackle this conundrum as effectively as possible without appearing pedantic, although it would be impossible to please everyone.
In some parts of the book, ‘football’ means one specific sport, but only where the context makes it clear which one is meant. For example, in the ‘Gridiron glory’ chapter, which is entirely about American football, it would have been cumbersome to qualify it with the word ‘American’ throughout – so ‘football’ is mostly used instead. And, although the word ‘soccer’ makes many Brits come out in a rash, there are times when it has to be used for clarity (unless we are to persist with the cumbersome ‘association football’) – and, in any case, there is nothing actually wrong with using it.
Imperial measures are used in some parts of the book, and metric units in others, depending on which are more appropriate in the context. So, for instance, an American or Canadian football team must gain 10 yards to keep possession, whereas an Australian Rules player may only carry the ball for up to 15 metres without bouncing it. I have also tried to avoid using words and expressions that might not be understood by readers in all parts of the English-speaking world. So, for example, ‘field’ is generally used instead of ‘pitch’, and ‘stadium’ in preference to ‘ground’, with a few exceptions where appropriate. British spellings are used throughout, even though they may occasionally look incongruous to some readers, such as ‘offence’ or ‘defence’ in an American football context (although ‘offense’ is used where it is part of a recognised term, such as ‘West Coast offense’). If anyone still manages to be confused or irritated, I apologise (rather than ‘apologize’) – but, please believe me, I have tried.
- - -
Graham Hughes
Chester
April 2012 / January 2017