Far Post: The Beautiful Language – The poetry of Brazilian soccer

The Far Post is a co-production of Roads & Kingdoms and Sports Illustrated. Every other week until the World Cup, we'll publish a new feature on global soccer culture. For more Roads & Kingdoms coverage of food, war, and music, visit its online magazine.

By Jack Lang, The Far Post

I had been in Terespolis, Rio de Janeiro state, for two days and already I was running out of things to do. School children ambled between shops whose wares they must have known by heart. In the sleepy town square, old men gathered to play dominoes and chat, whiling away the hours under a winter sun rendered impotent by altitude.

There is a mountain trail that weaves through a jungle before coming up for air above the canopy, eventually scrambling up one of the mountains that flank the town. You can almost see Rio itself from the summit; almost feel its sands between your freezing toes. The youth of Terespolis migrate to the city during the school holidays to escape their parents and the cold. Eventually, even the tasty steaks, breads and fine local beers lose their charm. With little to do, I soon found myself wishing I could play soccer with someone.

There is a grass pitch just outside the house in which I was staying. It was well kept, even if its dimensions were distinctly unorthodox. I went to the pitch one day, ball in hand, hopeful of meeting someone -- anyone -- who might fancy a game. No one showed. Few of life's frustrations can compare to that of the lone footballer.

But I was told a group of men play on Sunday mornings so I tried my luck again. Sure enough, the town's husbands, uncles and probably the odd grandfather moseyed onto the field. I attracted a few bemused glances but was welcomed into the fold. The standard was good, despite the veritable encyclopedia of beer bellies worn by my new friends.

I started in goal (first rule of the pick-up game: pay your dues) but they dragged me out when they realized I'm prone to risky dribbles (second rule: an unreliable goalkeeper gets to play outfield). Someone muttered something about Rogrio Ceni, the adventurous 41-year-old So Paulo goalkeeper, who holds the world record for goals scored by players in his position.

Soon, though, they were calling me something else. It started with a jovial, graying midfielder on my side, whose words I couldn't quite make out in cut and thrust. Another teammate took the baton, and before long even players on the other side were giggling over my new alias.

When I finally understood what they were saying, I smiled. I will never have a better nickname. Apparently, with my blond hair I look Swiss or Belgian, so they gave me a name that sounded that way to them. They were calling me "Hagen-Dazs."

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Far Post: The Beautiful Language - The poetry of Brazilian soccer