Best 530 quotes in «soccer quotes» category

When you start supporting a football club, you don't support it because of the trophies, or a player, or history, you support it because you found yourself somewhere there; found a place where you belong.

When you've got a player who does what he does at that pace this late in the game than you know you've got an invaluable talent.

Who ever wins today will win the championship no matter who wins.

Why lie? I'm not going to be a hypocrite and say the opposite of what I think, like some others do.

With United, we'd all grown up together, we all wanted to win the biggest trophy in football. We did it togther.

Winning doesn't really matter as long as you win

Without football, my life is worth nothing.

You can feel the same thing in football or soccer - that for the best teams in Spain and England, for instance, the public... they're not really going to cheer at all when they play against bad teams unless they do something spectacular. Even if they're winning by a few goals they'll probably just say, "nah." That's normal and they're not excited about it.

You can have the top stars to bring the attention, you can have the best stadium, you can have the best facilities, you can have the most beautiful project in terms of marketing and all this kind of thing. But if you don't win... All the work these people are doing is forgotten.

You can't say my team aren't winners. They've proved that by finishing fourth, third and second in the last three years.

You'd better get onto MI6. They'll be in charge of security at the airport." "Of course." Sir Graham moved toward the door. He stopped and turned around. "And what happens if you're wrong?" he inquired. "What happens if these soccer players do somehow get killed?" Kellner shrugged. "At least we'll know what we're dealing with," he said. "And they lost every single one of their games while they were in Nigeria. I'm sure we can put together another team.

You don't play triathlon. You play soccer; it's fun. You play baseball. Triathlon is work that you can leave you crumpled in a heap, puking on the roadside. It's the physical brutality of climbing Mount Everest without the great view from the top of the world. What kind of person keeps coming back for more of that?

You have to play this game like somebody just hit your mother with a two-by-four.

You know, a lot of those angry sort of Southern man characters that I've been doing are based on different people I might've had as, like, a soccer coach or as a teacher.

You know, in ten years you're gonna be playing soccer with your tits, what do you think of that?

You look at boxing being an international, world-famous sport, right up there next with soccer, and there's only two fighters the people want to see fight. Two little fellows, Manny Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather.

You need teamwork to achieve real success, and that attitude comes straight from soccer.

Almost nothing is as dull as guys who pretend to be soccer experts, they're almost as dull as the poetry ones. All this crazy talk about 'soccer strategies' its just a silly ballgame. Hardly any strategy possible. You either put 4 or 5 guys in the middle of the field, that's about it. And yet they talk about it as if it the most complex philosophical problem ever invented.

You don't have to have been a horse to be a jockey.

You are much more dependent on luck than you think. People say if you want to have a good relationship, you have to work at it. But you never hear it about anything you really like, about sailing or going to soccer games.

You not only do you appreciate the sacrifices people have made and the hours they've kept and the soccer games they missed and the birthday parties, but I also had a lot of young people who came in here [to White House], and this probably, you know, echoes with you, in your own experience, you were young when you got here.

Youth soccer is big business. If I don't win, it doesn't matter if I'm developing players, my business is going to hell.

You will go through tough times, it's about getting through them.

Accepting the eventual certainty of defeat in turn liberates you to take real joy in any small victory, that one good kick. /225

A game?’ Rob spluttered. ‘A bloody game?’ He turned to face his father. ‘This is your bloody fault! I’m living your bloody karma!

A man with new ideas is a madman, until his ideas triumph.

As the Protestants celebrate a goal, they're egged on by the team captain, a long-haired Italian called Lorenzo Amoruso, who has the look of a 1980s male model. Flailing his arms, he urges them to sing their anti-Catholic songs louder. The irony is obvious: Amoruso is a Catholic. For that matter, so are most of the Rangers players. Since the late nineties, Rangers routinely field nearly as many Catholics as Celtic. Their players come from Georgia, Argentina, Germany, Sweden, Portugal and Holland, because money can buy no better ones. Championships mean more than religious purity.

Anson Dorrance ... left me a short, encouraging note: "The vision of a champion is someone who is bent over, drenched in sweat, at the point of exhaustion when nobody else is watching.

Anti-intellectualism is one thing, but faith in wrongheaded pseudointellectualism is far worse.

And I didn't think you believed in god or a heaven.' 'Having been here thirty-four days,' I tell him, 'I've changed my mind, Sydney.' 'Why's that then?' he smiles. 'Well, if there's a hell like this place, then there has to be heaven somewhere.

Another atrocity of summer is soccer. When the Euro Cup is on, it brings out the worst in people. It turns them into ravaging beasts who complain when a team they like, which they have done nothing to deserve, slips from grace and loses the match. An old man sitting beside me at the cafe was watching the men watch the soccer rather than watch the soccer himself. He found their reactions more entertaining than the game. "All this stuff and nonsense over men kicking a ball," he groused. "And they don't do any of the work themselves." I told him, "We should just have wars. Then we would not need sports." He laughed and quite agreed with me.

Baseball may be called the national pastime, but it survives on the sentimentality of middle-age men who wistfully dream of playing catch with their fathers and sons. Football, with its dull stoppages, lost its military-industrial relevance with the end of the Cold War, and has become as tired and predictable in performance as it is in political metaphor. The professional game floats on an ocean of gambling, the players' steroid-laced bodies having outgrown their muscular and skeletal carriages. Biceps rip from their moorings, ankles break on simple pivots. Achilles' tendons shrivel like slugs doused with salt. Soccer and basketball are the only mainstream sports that truly plug into the modem-pulse of a dot-com society. Soccer is perfectly suited for a country of the hamster-treadmill pace, the remote-control zap and the national attention deficit--two 45-minute halves, the clock never stops, no commercial interruptions, the final whistle blows in less than two hours. It is a fluid game of systemized chaos that, no matter how tightly scripted by coaches, cannot be regulated any more than information can be truly controlled on the Internet.

Before kids can play like a pro, they must enjoy playing the game like a kid.

Becoming a footballer is only the first half of the silent prayer a kid offers up to the sky or confides to his teacher in a primary school essay. The second part is the name of the team he wants to play for.

Dream big, because dreams do happen.

Before you start your full day of watching Equestrian Square Dancing, Soccer Balling, Hoop Dreaming, Cricket Batting, Rugby Punching, Volleyball Chopping, Skateboard Falling, Martial Arts Bowing, Bicycle Peddlers, and College Football Hecklers, maybe we have time to learn something Scientifically.

Britt-Marie moves out of the way as if the ball was trying to spit at her.

Critics of soccer contend that the game inherently culminates in death and destruction. They argue that the game gives life to tribal identities which should be disappearing in a world where a European Union and globalization are happily shredding such ancient sentiments. Another similar widely spread thesis that holds that the root cause of violence can be found in the pace of the game itself. Because goals come so irregularly, fans spend far too much time sublimating their emotions, anticipating but never releasing. When those emotions swell and become uncontainable, the fans erupt into dark, Dionysian fits of ecstatic violence.

Don’t you want to get well? Come on, Portia, this won’t be forever, mate: Dad’s confident, everyone’s behind you. Remember,’ I gave her an encouraging punch on the arm, ‘you’ll never walk alone, even if you are an Evertonian.’ She burst into floods of tears. ‘You mean I’ll never walk again!

ESPN, is having the ability to foretell future outcomes in sports.

Eight years in the Wolston academy and I knew it all came down to the next 90 minutes.

Football is an art players paint with their feet.

Football is the poetry of a motion.

For all the enlightened nations that profess a loyalty to liberty, democracy, economy and all the rest, there has long been a readiness to look for a chosen one; as Carlyle pointed out, even the French, those great anti-venerators, those relentless beheaders of Great Men, worshipped Voltaire.

I'm not saying that we're Disney, but if you think about it, it's not that dissimilar, Berrada said. We have characters - which are players - that our fans relate to; we put on a show every three or four days. And then we take that show around the world in the summer. In that sense, we are part of the entertainment industry.

Gli italiani perdono le partite di calcio come se fossero guerre e perdono le guerre come se fossero partite di calcio.

He looks at me, the circle, then me again. “It’s really you, right? I didn’t create some simulacrum that was inhabited by a demon? Prove it’s you. Say something only Spencer would say.” “Like what?” “Say something annoying.” I think about it. “Well, you claim to be British, there’s really only one thing I can think of.” “That being?” I lean in close, my lips gently brushing his ear. “Soccer.” He shoves me away. “Fuck. You. It’s foot… Yeah, it’s you.

He slipped his hands around my waist and pulled me against him, tossing the ice cream cone over his shoulder. It landed with a splat on the sidewalk. "So does that mean I have a varsity girlfriend?" I giggled like a total girl and linked my hands behind his neck. "Yeah I guess it does." "Sweet." Then he bent his head, and I stood up on my tiptoes and we met in the middle. And it was perfect.

His gaze was unflinching and solid. If someone could have light sabers in their eyes, it would be him.

He was the northern star. I had no choice but to become enveloped in his brightness and let it coax me toward him. Wanting him was an unconscious impulse, like taking my next breath.