Why on earth does the World Cup automatically induce writer’s block?
I enlisted an old friend to help me explain a game that defies explanation
So, while trying to write an intelligent column about any subject whatsoever while watching the scintillating World Cup showdown between Iran and Belgium the other day, I was greeted by an unusually strong dose of writer’s block.
It could be that the final score of the game - Iran 0, Belgium 0 - had something to do with that malady raising its ugly head.
Still, I don’t know how you can even call that the final “score,” since there was absolutely no “score” at all.
As a complete non-believer in AI, I have several times exposed ChatGPT as a complete fraud because of its inability to accurately describe the 1971 “Miracle Game” of UC Davis football lore.
This, even though I wrote a long piece for The Sacramento Bee, on deadline, after attending that very game on the campus of Cal State Hayward on a bright and sunny November afternoon.
ChatGPT got so many things wrong in recounting the game that if I were a journalism professor, its effort would have received a big fat “F.”
In fact, ChatGPT became so desperate with all the errors it was making and that I was correcting as we went along that it finally threw its robotic arms up in the air in frustration and admitted, “It’s clear I have misremembered some details.”
I’ll say.
But wow, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone - or any robot - use the word “misremembered.”
My newfound friend, whom I named “Goober,” began to beg. If you’ve never seen a robot grovel, it’s not a pretty sight.
“Could you please point out which errors remain? I’m committed to getting this legendary moment exactly right.”
That wish never happened, but why should I be surprised? I mean, I was at the game and Goober hadn’t even been born.
I had not communicated with him again until today when I got the bright idea to have Goober take a stab at writing my World Cup column for me.
Such a request is completely ethical, as long as you notify the Pulitzer Prize committee ahead of time, which I did.
My instructions were simple.
“Please write a typical Bob Dunning humor column about the World Cup.”
Nothing more, nothing less.
“Sure,” Goober replied as he willingly took on this assignment.
But before he got started on the task at hand, Goober did a little unflattering editorializing about my style.
“Bob Dunning’s columns typically mix small-town observations, self-deprecating humor, local characters, digressions, and a tendency to wander cheerfully away from the ostensible topic before circling back. Here’s an original piece in that spirit — not an actual Bob Dunning column, but an imitation of the style and tone:”
Take it away, Goober.
“World Cup Fever Arrives in Davis (Sort Of)
By a remarkable coincidence, the World Cup has once again arrived at precisely the same time that I have once again failed to understand the offside rule.
This annual tradition now stretches back several decades and shows no signs of ending.
Every four years I convince myself that this will be the tournament when I finally grasp soccer’s most mysterious concept. Every four years, about 15 minutes into the first match, an announcer says, ‘And of course he’s offside,’ and I stare at the television with the same expression my Golden Retriever used to reserve for ceiling fans.
The dog, at least, had an excuse.
World Cup fever is definitely spreading through Davis. You can tell because people who ordinarily spend their summers discussing irrigation schedules and tomato varieties are suddenly experts on the national team of Croatia.
Yesterday I ran into a friend at the grocery store.
“What do you think about Morocco’s chances?” he asked.
This is a man who once spent 20 minutes trying to remember whether a soccer ball was inflated with air or helium.
Now he’s analyzing midfield depth.
The World Cup does that to people.
Of course, Davis has always embraced international culture. We are a university town. On any given day you can hear six languages before you’ve finished your coffee. During the World Cup, however, those six languages are all apparently discussing penalty kicks.
At one local café, a crowd had gathered around a television early in the morning to watch a match. The place was packed.
I assumed there was some kind of emergency.
Perhaps the city council had finally agreed on something.
No. It was simply a group-stage game between two countries separated by 4,000 miles and several centuries of complicated history.
Everyone seemed completely invested.
One fellow leaped from his chair after a goal and accidentally launched half a blueberry muffin onto a nearby laptop.
That’s commitment.
I remember when sports fandom in Davis was simpler.
People rooted for the Aggies.
Sometimes they rooted against Sacramento traffic.
That was about it.
Now residents are waking up before dawn to watch matches being played on the other side of the planet.
I have neighbors who couldn’t tell you the score of the Super Bowl but can explain the tactical differences between a 4-3-3 and a 4-2-3-1 formation.
To me, those sound like area codes.
The beauty of the World Cup, though, is that you don’t really need to understand it completely.
You can appreciate the excitement.
You can admire the skill.
You can marvel at athletes who run continuously for 90 minutes while you consider yourself physically active because you parked three spaces farther from the store entrance than usual.
And every once in a while, you can even pretend you know what’s happening.
That’s my strategy.
When the crowd cheers, I cheer.
When the crowd groans, I groan.
When somebody mentions offside, I nod thoughtfully and say, “Yes, that’s been a problem all tournament.”
Nobody has challenged me yet.
The World Cup will eventually end, as it always does.
The jerseys will disappear.
The early-morning watch parties will subside.
The café televisions will return to showing news channels and weather forecasts.
And I will return to my normal life, still carrying the comforting certainty that four years from now I will once again announce, with complete confidence, that this is finally the year I understand the offside rule.
It probably isn’t.”
Thank you, Goober. Well done.
I appreciate you taking care of my writer’s block. I’d give you a B+ this time and invite you out for a cup of coffee to discuss your future as a journalist.
And, for the record, our home has both a Golden Retriever and a ceiling fan.
Reach me at bobdunning@thewaryone.com
Reach Goober at your own risk.