New America Media

    It’s not the game of soccer that means so much to people around the world. It’s the way soccer connects them.

    The homemade ball 10 centimeters in diameter, made of plastic bags, rags, and socks held together by twine, rolls off toughened black soles and lands between my 25-year-old feet. I look up for a teammate to pass it to. As I scan our makeshift “field” high atop a ridge on Mt. Elgon on the Kenya/Uganda border, deep green majestic peaks surround us, the sky displays azure blue with pearl white clouds bespeckling the sky.

    There’s Patrick just to the right of the mud hut or the skinny kid just to the left of the mountain goat. Then I spot one of the teens, legs and arms all akimbo, running in front of the goal—marked by two stones. A flick with my feet and the small round object, lovingly made by a 7-year-old, arcs upward and then onto my target’s head. Bam! In between the stone posts it goes. Goal! Here in “stadium” Mt. Elgon, as the women grind the dirt away off dirty clothes with stones in plastic orange and blue basins, as shirtless men stand astride a huge log sawing it into lumber, the game of joy – fútbol, football, soccer— unfolds. We can’t speak each other’s language, but in the play we feel the shared moment. The ball, and then a smile, connect us.

    The memory of this long-ago game floods back to me as the referee’s final whistle signals that España is the new World Cup champion. The month long party has come to an end. But for billions around the world, the South Africa 2010 World Cup and other Copas Mundiales are not just a party of games, they are a vital expression of life. It’s been that way for me as I recall how much soccer has been the backbeat to how I have experienced la vida as I’ve traveled the world.

    A snapshot from just a couple of weeks ago: In the back of a cab in San Francisco, Italy vs. Paraguay in the 2010 Cup is streaming live into my iPhone through my MobiTV service. I’m on my way to a Fortune 500 client. But this marvel of technology means I don’t have to miss a moment. I share the play-by-play with Mwangi, my cab driver. We relive past World Cups, give our predictions about this one. “My country of Kenya never makes it in,” he lamented. “Jambo!” Hello, I say to restart the conversation under a different context. He brightens up even more. “Jambo sana! “You have been to my country?” Yes, yes. Malindi, Mombassa, Nairobi. Mt. Elgon. chai, ugali. matatu. Kenyatta. With every Kenyan geographical point, every mention of a Kenyan culinary delicacy, every reference to a mode of transportation or to a historical figure, Mwangi hums in homesickness delight. Then back to the present. Paraguay scores! I celebrate, and Mwangi suddenly is also rooting for Paraguay. When we arrive at my destination, I show him the replay, he gives me his card. Yes, a business transaction, but its soccer that connects us in a memorable cab ride.

    Another memory, this one dating back 40 years. Grainy black-and-white images transmit the drama of Peru vs. Argentina in La Bombonera stadium in Buenos Aires. A tie would qualify Peru for the 1970 Mexico World Cup. If Argentina loses, it’s eliminated from the Cup. Lima’s streets are deserted, with everyone indoors watching the game. Peru scores! 1-0. Argentina ties it 1-1! Peru goes up again 2-1. The albicelestes, the white-and-blue team, tie the game again, but they have to score once more for it to make a difference in their fate. Peru has to hold on just three more minutes. And do! We’re going to the Mexico World Cup!

            In these moments, it’s as if all of Lima’s buildings are turned inside out and they pour their inhabitants out into the street. Rivers of Peruvian red-and-white flag wrapped people in this city of 6 million flow down side streets and main avenues from the richest neighborhood of Las Casuarinas to the poorest of the pueblos jovenes, shantytowns. My Mom prepares buckets of pisco sours, the national Peruvian cocktail, and we ladle it into plastic cups and hand them out of the back of our yellow Opel station wagon as we inch our way up Arequipa Avenue in a spontaneous citywide parade. Car horns are blaring. Strangers kiss and hug. As a country, for a moment we are connected. We are somebody!

   And so it goes, memory after memory. After the 31 days, 64 games, 32 teams of the 2010 South Africa World Cup, I feel so connected to my friends and family around the world, through the games we watched together and the parties we hosted, through the controversial plays we discussed by cellphone, email, instant messages, texts. Can you believe that Forlán goal? What happened to Brazil? Send that ref home on the same plane as the French team! Was that cheating or an astute soccer play by Uruguay against Ghana? The South Africans may be eliminated in first round but what a great World Cup they put on! The first one ever on the African continent. . Africa. Africa. Go go go. Goooooooal!

   The World Cup may be over, but there’s a soccer ball in my car, ready to join a game wherever it may happen. There’s the World Cup app on my iPhone so I can easily relive the best goals. There’s futbol in my heart, giving me energy to play, to have fun, to gain new insights into different cultures and nations. Soccer also gives me insights into how to maneuver through corporate politics and metaphors for how to coach my team of colleagues.

   But most importantly, this beautiful game has been one of my primary ways of making friends whether they grew up with soccer or not — a way to connect and share our common humanity and yet be proud of our nations and. While the politicians and the warriors fight their senseless battles and mind games, the ball rolls and lands between the feet of a newfound friend—a fellow human being who also seeks beauty, love, and joy.

Andrés Tapia is Chief Diversity Officer / Emerging Workforce Solutions Leader of Hewitt Associates. He is the author of The Inclusion Paradox: The Obama Era and the Transformation of Global Diversity.