I’ve never particularly cared for scoring goals. I don’t discount the possibility that I might acquire the taste for it were I a more accomplished finisher, but goal-scoring has always seemed beside the point, the premise but merely that: the excuse to throw the party. The hunger for goals (in principle, not mine personally) and the fear of conceding them provide the game with its necessary intensity, the frisson of oppositional energy that tautens the pitch, that transforms a patch of grass into a thrilling battlefield, a giant green chessboard in which ground is fiercely contested and intensely significant. Empty space becomes precious; instead of nothingness, a manipulable element. You can see it, almost hear it: it swills and screams around an unmarked winger; it flows between centre backs, whispering to the striker.
我从来不特别在意进球。我不排除如果我是一个更出色的射手，我可能会对进球产生兴趣，但进球似乎总是无关紧要，只是一个举办派对的借口。对进球的渴望和对失球的恐惧为比赛提供了必要的紧张感，对抗性能量的刺激使球场紧绷，将一块草地变成了一个激动人心的战场，一个巨大的绿色棋盘，上面的地盘被激烈争夺，意义重大。空间变得珍贵；不再是虚无，而是一个可操纵的元素。你可以看到它，几乎可以听到它：它在一个无人防守的边锋周围涌动和尖叫；它在中后卫之间流动，对前锋低语。