Under normal circumstances, a 2-0 victory over reigning World Champions Germany would be a major headline in the French media, a promising plot point in the narrative of France’s progression toward hosting Euro 2016. In the shadow of terror and tragedy, however, the play on the pitch is all but forgotten—Olivier Giroud and Andre-Pierre Gignac’s goals, and even the result of the match are now simply footnotes to history. But even as the tragic overshadows the game’s details (and rightfully so) it’s worth remembering that, at its best, beneath the thick veneer of commodity and seemingly incessant, sensationalist media coverage, international football maintains an enduringly noble symbolism.
That athletic competitions are commercialized and commodified is a commonplace. From the names of stadia, to logo-blasted backdrops for post-match interviews, to even the jerseys themselves, the global reach of soccer has lent itself—some might say too willingly—to high profile advertising for some of the world’s largest and most profitable companies. For many, especially American soccer fans unaccustomed to jersey sponsorships, it might seem unsavory that companies are advertising on football kits, blazoned bigger than the club’s crest on the chests of its players. I imagine that, especially among fans in the United States, I’m not alone in having had a stranger approach me while I was wearing my Arsenal kit to say, “Hey, where is that ‘Fly Emirates’ team from?”
The game, from top to bottom, is saturated with the spectacle of commodity fetishism. In addition, it receives an arguably disproportionate amount of attention in the media, especially in comparison with the relatively scant coverage of many other events around the world. It is hard to argue that the growth of Al-Shabaab’s strength in Africa or an earthquake in Japan or Nepal are not, by miles, more gravely important for the global community in which we live than a Thomas Müller hat trick.
Yet that doesn’t mean football is without meaning. The commodification of global football is perhaps unsavory, but it would take a staunch cynic to argue that soccer is only about the money. It is also about loyalty, camaraderie, about submitting your joy and your sorrow to something bigger than yourself, something you have no control over, and admitting you do so willingly. Of sport’s deeper value, French philosopher, novelist, and Nobel Laureate Albert Camus famously said, “What I know most surely about morality and the duty of man I learned from football, and I learned it at the RUA [youth football team].”
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And beyond the values to be learned as a player on the pitch, or as a patron in the pub, there’s something important about global athletic competition. That Friday’s match was France vs. Germany places the attack against its attendees in a particularly vivid historical context. Less than a century ago—a small amount of time on the scale of human history—France was occupied by Nazi Germany. In August of 1944, only 71 years from this summer, allied forces liberated the city of Paris from the Germans. In November of 2015, a few dozen Germans traveled to Paris to participate in a friendly game.
That contrast, in a relatively short amount of time, is not worthless.
Football will not solve the world’s problems. Football will not broker peace in the Levant, will not create a global coalition to combat climate change. But its place as a symbol of peace, of friendly competition between nation states so recently at war with one another endures. On Friday, that symbol was attacked at the Stade de France.
In the battle against ISIS, or Daesh, much more is at stake than the symbolism of sport—but it is on the table as well. Not only as an exemplar of cooperation in the global community; not only as a reminder how recently nations competed not on the pitch but in the trench; but also as a way of life.
Destroying a sense of comfort with the familiar is at the heart of every terrorist project. In contrast to political protest, to commentary on the gross variety of injustice in the world, football is frivolous, a “pastime.” Yet letting it fall by the wayside, to let football matches be canceled and dismissed as unimportant in a time of crisis would be to concede to Daesh’s terrorism a significant victory.
On Tuesday, England and France are set to play an international friendly at Wembley in London. Following Friday’s horrific attacks, the English Football Association reached out to the French Football Federation, suggesting they could cancel or postpone the match. The response?
Absolutely not.
Not only will the game go on as planned, but all 23 players called into the French team—all those who were themselves on hand at Friday’s fateful game in the Stade de France—will travel with the team to England, some of them grieving not just nationally, but personally. Midfielder Lassana Diara’s cousin was among the 132 people murdered on Friday, and Antoine Griezmann’s sister fled the Bataclan theater, where she had been attending the concert that night.
On Tuesday night, the men who were on the pitch at the Stade de France will again take the field in an international friendly, will—as they did that night—place arms around one another’s shoulders, raise their eyes to the flag, and sing La Marseillaise. On Tuesday, many of those eyes will not be dry. On Tuesday, a great many of the English fans will join them in singing the French national anthem. And then, on Tuesday, they will play a simple match of football.
From buying a coffee to attending a soccer game, terrorism is about denying human beings a sense of comfort, and with it, an ability to take joy in the familiar. Last week’s attacks by eight Daesh-sponsored militants shook Paris, all of France, and much of the world along with them. But to be shaken, to be grieving without being deterred from a commitment to our lives, a commitment to not being terrorized—that is key to victory over not only Daesh, but terrorism any and everywhere.
Football’s role in that may be a small one, but it has a role nonetheless. On Tuesday, millions of us across the world will watch Olivier Giroud, Anthony Martial, Paul Pogba and the rest of the French team take the field against England not simply because we are bored and want distraction; because we are committed to the lives we have chosen, from their noble pursuits to their pastimes; because the players of the French national team have stood up to say that they refuse to be terrorized, and by going to the stadium, by lining up in bars and cafes to watch the match, we will say so with them.