L

et’s set the record straight: The term “soccer” 
didn’t originate in the America. Rather, it first 
appeared in England, and by some records it pre-

dates the word “football” by about 18 years. So why does 
the rest of the world hate Americans for calling football 
“soccer?”

Well, I, for one, was born and raised in Pakistan. Where 

— like most places around the world — football referred to 
the sport where only goalkeepers were allowed to use their 
hands. I mean, it makes sense to me and it makes sense to 
everyone else in the world. I’m sure it makes sense to most 
Americans, too. In fact, the more I think about it, I realize 
the word “soccer” by itself doesn’t annoy me as much. It’s 
the fact that the word “football” is reserved for another 
sport where barely anyone uses his feet to touch the ball, 
and my — and the world’s — beloved football has to settle 
with being called “soccer.”

Growing up, I never had much against the major sports in 

the United States. Hockey was always cool; I skipped classes 
at school to play basketball. It wasn’t cricket, but even when 
I didn’t know what was happening, I always appreciated 
baseball. Heck, I’ve probably been to more pro-baseball 
games than any other sport now.

But I had always harbored an unreasonable dislike for 

American football. I made fun of it, the Internet made fun of 
it too and thousands of memes were made over it. Couldn’t 
they have picked a different name? (Just Google “handegg” 
for me.)

I remember applying to University of Michigan for 

the sole reason that it was a top-20 school on the various 
university rankings I checked senior year of high school. I 
came in knowing close to nothing about the University, Ann 
Arbor or its culture. When I got here I found out it was an 
American football school, and apparently a great one at that.

Three seasons worth of sitting in the Big House later I can 

proudly say American football has grown on me. Somewhere 
between all the tailgates, chanting “The Victors” with a 
sore throat, a fumbled punt, the man with the khaki pants, 
watching it snow in the Big House and JT Barrett’s first 
down (he was short!), this sport found its way into my heart.

I never thought it would happen. Seventeen-year-old-me 

would probably be “bitterly disappointed” in me right now, 
but truth be told, I couldn’t help it. American football is 
actually pretty neat. One jam-packed with the star names, 
the fan following, the heartbreaks and all the ecstasy one 
can expect from a major sport.

In retrospect, I never really hated it for not making much 

sense to me, or for it not being as rough and physical as 

rugby. My only quarrel was with the name.

I guess that’s what my relationship with America has 

always been like though — a gripe with the smaller things 
and indifference for the more mundane.

Like, why can’t price tags just include tax value like they’re 

supposed to? Why does everything have to be sponsored by 
something? Why is everything so commercialized? Why do 
I always have to wear a seat belt? Why are speeding fines 
more than $2? OK, wait. The last two make a lot more sense 
than I want them too. Why do Americans pronounce France 
like ranch, and not like flan? Why do they say Porsche, and 
not Porsche-uh?

And oh yeah, and let’s not forget the big one. Why can’t 

they just call football “football?”

But there are certain aspects of American life I’ve come 

to grudgingly accept. I’ll drive on the right side of the road 
now, for example, or occasionally hit the wipers when I want 
to hit the indicator. It’s kind of convenient that I can spell 
“color” without the U now, and I guess it’s cool if everyone 
else shows up to class in sweatpants and a hoodie when I 
wear chinos and a cardigan.

I’ve been told I’m pretty stubborn, too. I still call football 

“football” — except when I have to change it to “soccer” 
when I cover the Michigan men and women’s soccer teams 
— and refer to the other one as American football. My phone 
gives me the temperature in Celsius; the wind speeds are in 
km/h. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Full disclaimer: I really don’t hate America. Truth be 

told, other than the things I’m just too stubborn to change 
— and the foreign policy — I’ve really fallen in love with 
the country, and even more so the people in it. But I fear if 
Donald Trump ever read this far he’d deport me.

Here are some things I like about America: My closest 

friends are American. They taught me how to throw an egg-
shaped ball, how to get around Ann Arbor, how baseball 
works, and of course, how to play Euchre. They’ve made 
sure I’ve never felt too homesick, that I have something to 
do for Spring Break, and they’ve always offered to have me 
over for the holidays — even though I have grandparents 
who live about an hour away.

In America, I’ve learned I have the luxury to skip classes 

without consequence and still do well in school. That when 
I order something at a restaurant I’ll get more than I could 
hope for. That Wi-Fi and LTE are better here than at home. 
That I’ll find people from Russia, Norway, Poland and 
everywhere else around the world living here. And above 
all, American Netflix is better than Netflix anywhere else.

I can’t be anything less than grateful to have been able to 

live somewhere new. Not that I dislike Pakistan or anything 
— I love Pakistan, and you should all take a trip given the 
chance. But I did things I could never have at home: I’ve 
gone kayaking, played American football, received an 
education from one of the best universities in the world, and 
met some really cool people along the way.

But at the end of the day, I’ll still always prefer football to 

American football. I’ve skipped quite a few Michigan games 
to watch Barcelona play a La Liga match. As much as I love 
Michigan football, I would trade a win against Ohio State if 
it meant Barcelona would win the next El Clasico.

I still find it amusing how the United States stops for the 

Super Bowl, when a Manchester United vs. Chelsea game 
in the Premier League would get almost five times the 
viewership. Or how it’s called the World Series, when no 
team outside North America really plays.

Even though I enjoy going to watch the Tigers and the 

Red Wings (but Little Caesars Arena, really?), I’m still a lot 
more likely to go to Yankee Stadium for the New York City 
Football Club than the Yankees — for the record David Villa, 
Frank Lampard and Andrea Pirlo are more popular across 
the world than any baseball player can hope to be.

Football has been a big part of my life ever since I can 

remember. I would sneak into the TV room at 12:45 at 
night to watch Champions League games on a school night, 
praying to God my mom wouldn’t catch me. I hated the fact 
that there was another sport with the same name as this 
one, but never thought I would enjoy it too.

In the same way Islamabad, Pakistan, will always be my 

home, and will forever be a part of me. I go back about once 
a year to catch up on what I’ve missed. My parents, siblings, 
childhood friends; the food, the environment, the culture; 

3B
Wednesday, Janurary 4th, 2017 / The Statement 

Personal Statement: It’s Football, Not Soccer

B Y S Y E D FA H D A H S A N

“After a tumultous last year, my hope for this 
challenge is to get out and talk to more people 
about how they’re living, working and thinking 
about the future.”

— Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg, in a Facebook post on approaching 
the New Year.

on the record: the New Year

“The feathers — yes! That was... amazing.”

— Singer Mariah Carey, closing out a flawless New Years Eve perfromance in 
New York’s Times Sqaure.

“Happy New Year to all, including to my many 
enemies and those who have fought me and lost so 
badly they just don’t know what to do. Love!”

—Presiden-elect Donald Trump, in a tweet on New Years Eve

COVER DESIGN BY CLAIRE ABDO

ILLUSTRATION BY CLAIRE ABDO

