Best 530 quotes in «soccer quotes» category

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!

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Dream big, because dreams do happen.

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

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!

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.

Football is an art players paint with their feet.

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

Football is the poetry of a motion.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

[...] insist upon remembering. Because we know that the lessons of yesterday's loss become the fuel for tomorrow's win.

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.

In any game, the game itself is the prize, no matter who wins, ultimately both lose the game.

I need young people who are ashamed of the current situation of the team -Red White Love: The Love of Liverpool FC

In three weeks, the women's team had done more for soccer in the United States than any team had ever done. Yet, the United States Soccer Federation was unprepared and unwelcoming in its acerbic response to the women's success. With petty, resentful, chauvinistic behavior, the federation would bungle what should have been its greatest moment as a national governing body. Its leaders would criticize DiCicco instead of congratulating him, they would threaten to sue the women over an indoor victory tour and they would wait an unacceptably long period before entering into contract negotiations with the team. Then, at the end of the year, the federation would offer a deal that the women found insulting. Unwilling to trust that the federation was bargaining in good faith, the women would boycott a trip to a tournament in Australia. They would become champions of the world, embraced by the president, by the largest crowd ever to watch women play and by the largest television audience for soccer in this country, embraced by everyone, it seemed, but the officials who ran the sport with the vision of a student council. Increasingly, it appeared, the only amateurs left in sports were the people running the federations that governed them.

I still remember what my father said "There are on the stadium 22 idiots, which are running after ball.". From where did he knew that?? He knew it from guarding the stadium, so my question is why we don't watch how a dog catch a ball? But we watch 22 idiots running after the ball?? What are the differences?? That the dog can't kick the ball, but the humanity can?? - Wow, wow that's a great discovery for a dumb person!

I read somewhere that spiders can spin silk strong enough to hold the weight of a thousand trucks. I tried to imagine those lines of silver, thinner than air, stronger than steel. Sometimes I think that a hundred webs, invisible gossamers, connect Gracie and me. They coat our bodies, tie our limbs together, link our hearts. They can stretch across cities, countries – even anger. Unbreakable. I felt them that first time I watched her play soccer. She needed to win so badly. I watched a new Gracie crack out of her cocoon that day. Grey, moth-like, she seemed covered in a dust that let her take to the air. Fly. They’re beautiful things, moths, with their dark patterned wings hooking on wind to push them forward. You have to be careful with them, though. Brush them just lightly, and they can’t fly anymore.

I think you're a shit,’ said Keith sharply. ‘I think much of what you’ve done this season is shit and I think what you've put everyone involved with this club through is shit. How’s that?

It is often said in soccer that a country's particular style of play bears the fingerprints of its social and political nature. Thus the Germans are unfailingly characterized as resourceful and organized, while Brazilians are said to dance with the ball to the free-form, samba rhythms of Carnival. In the husk of cliche lies a kernel of truth. The Communist system of China had produced a collectivist style of women's soccer from the early 1980s to the mid-1990s.

I thought, if we could just come together as a community, even if that just meant playing soccer together, that could be the beginning of something good. Coming together as a community, as a people, creates more power than exists when individuals are fighting each other for scraps. Soccer has always brought people together. Soccer was where I would begin.

Ma Gigi era doppiamente diverso: perché portava avanti certe idee in un ambiente che ne ha poche e poco ardite, cioè nell'ambiente dello sport; e perché le portava avanti con originalità, con profonda convinzione.

It’s an enemy that I can’t allow to wound me a second time. It’s already done enough damage: most of it hidden far from the surface.

I understand why people play [soccer]. ... I even learned how to talk the game. It was the opposite of trash talking—tidy talking. I suppose you'd have to call it. If you did something good, it was brilliant; something less than brilliant was useless; if all of you were useless together, you were rubbish; and if a person did something brilliant that nonetheless became useless, everyone cried, 'Oh, unlucky!' – 216

Oh really?’ said Mayes raising a mocking eyebrow which put Rob in mind of a poor man’s Roger Moore. ‘And what on earth makes you think that you of all people would be allowed anywhere near our board meeting? Rob’s smile widened as he realised that he was about to have one of those golden bombshell moments of the type he’d been on the receiving end of all too frequently over the last few days. ‘Because Mr. Mayes, I’m your new chairman.

No alaram clock needed. My passion wakes me up.. !

Okay, on my first night, he tried to chat me up. You know how the story goes. ‘You have the most beautiful eyes, I’m very rich, want to see my bedroom?’ Blah, blah, blah.” “And because you turned him down, he’s more determined than ever,” Will guessed, with amazing accuracy. “You did turn him down, right?” “Of course,” I told him, insulted by the insinuation I would drop my knickers for a glass of wine. “Do you think I’d risk my job for a quick tumble in the sheets with him?

Many before have hailed the end of history; none have ever been right.

Men spend their time in following a ball or a hare; it is the pleasure even of kings.

Nightmare completed, another humiliating defeat. 10 goals in 2 game. It will take time to come out from such humiliating defeat for Brazilian fans. But I think when you like something, when you fall to someone, when you are in love, you like them whatever happens, even they give tears to you time to time because you liked it from your heart.

One day the UN Secretary General proposes that, in the interest of global peace and harmony, the world's soccer players should come together and form one United Nations global soccer team. "Great idea," says his deputy. "Er, but who would we play?" "Israel, of course.

Por encima del contacto sólo existe ya un único nivel de actividad, el último, y quisiera señalar, para hacerle justicia a Martin, que aquellos que sólo persiguen este último nivel son hombres míseros y primitivos que me recuerdan a los jugadores de fútbol de pueblo, que se precipitan irreflexivamente hacia la portería del adversario, olvidando que lo que conduce al gol (y a muchos goles más) no es la simple voluntad alocada de disparar, sino, ante todo, un juego preciso y honesto en el medio campo.

One of the things about football fans in general is that they all think that they’re the same. But they are not. This is a myth put about by people who wish that they were the same as the geezers. There are, in fact, a number of distinctive types of supporter, and although they all have a role to play, they are all very different indeed.

Something deep in my character allows me to take the hits, and get on with trying to win.