Why do our bodies age? Perhaps surprisingly, scientists are not entirely sure. Certainly there would be many advantages both to the individual and to the species if the human lifespan could accumulate experiences in one long, linear progression towards perfection. Sadly, the window for the body’s chance at perfection is fleeting. And nowhere is this more evident than on the football pitch.
Why, at only 35, will David Beckham be lucky if he is able to contribute his years of experience to England next summer in South Africa? Why were MLS fans forced to watch Claudio Reyna fall apart in front of our eyes, when he once represented so much that could be good about American soccer? Why do both professionals and week-end warriors have to suffer through the indignities of playing the game through a long, slow, and tormenting decline?
These are the types of questions that are subtly raised—but not addressed—by a new documentary, currently making the rounds of American public television, about “The Golden Age” over-40 league for teams of Latin American immigrants in Corona Park New York (though advertised as starting September 20th, and available online for streaming, my local public television station is first showing it over the air on Tuesday, September 29th).
The documentary actually answers few questions of any sort; in a quick-cut hour exploring the competitive lives of over-40 players and soccer in the Latin American countries they call home, the documentary takes on many different potential story lines without fully exploring any one. But it does offer alluring pictures of the game (variations of which are also available on a pretty web-site for the film), and raises worthwhile questions about what the game means at different points in the world and different points in the life-course.
I suspect the questions raised for me, but not by the filmmakers, in “The Golden Age” are largely a product of where I am in my own relationship with the game: on the psychologically confusing downside of an undistinguished over-30 league career itself designed in some part with the vain hope of briefly reliving a few peak moments I had at age 21. During my aging seasons I find myself too often frustrated with an inability to receive a quite decent pass, too often debating referees for their reasonable judgment call, too often exchanging words with an opponent (or teammate) in a sorry dance of displaced disappointment. But I also often enough find myself in moments that renew my love of the game, and I suspect I am not alone in hoping that those moments mean the game still has something to offer me as I age.
“The Golden Age” is the product of efforts between a rather eclectic group; the television version credits Latino Public Broadcasting as a producer, the narrator is actor Edward James Olmos, the “director/cinematographer” is Scott Duncan (who counts Survivor, along with a number of sports documentaries, among his many works), and the “director/producer” is Phil Tuckett who has had a long career making promotional films for professional American football. On “The Golden Age” web-site it notes that Duncan and Tuckett met while working for NFL films—which goes a long way in explaining the style of the documentary (the web-site also notes in Tuckett’s bio that there is a 90 minute “feature length production” of the Golden Age—suggesting that at around 55 minutes the public television version is significantly abbreviated).
For an American kid such as myself the documentary style of NFL films was a foundational part of my youthful engagement with sports media. NFL films productions combine lush movie-style cinematography, detailed use of slow motion scenes that elongate the intensity of athletic movement, measured baritone narration, and story lines that implicitly validate sports as a crucible for determining merit. As a 16 year-old, the films served to make me feel as though the 1988 season of the Buffalo Bills mattered. But, of course, it didn’t. And while I appreciate Duncan and Tuckett applying their talents to global game, it is not always clear that the soccer they focus on here matters much either.
The premise of “The Golden Age” is that the Corona Park over-40 league is a hidden gem of sporting prowess, a league comprised of “a majority of former professionals” who are heroes in places like Paraguay, Ecuador, Chile, and Columbia. As such, in addition to documenting the league, the film takes short jaunts to Latin America in an effort to explore the global meanings of the game. The claim at the start of the documentary is that while soccer is the world’s most popular game in all corners, “true passion for the game burns brightest in Latin America.” Although that is a claim for which I’d like to see the evidence, it is plausible enough to pass.
While there may well be many formerly great players in the Golden Age league (a New York Times article on the league identifies at least one former New York Cosmos player from Paraguay who was an MVP of the NASL in the good old days), the case for their current sporting prowess is not visually convincing. The players on display in the documentary are better emblems for the aging process than for athletic glory. The receding hairlines, expanding bellies, and gnarled limbs that plague most of us as we age are on vivid display.
Though the documentary tries to steer the viewer’s attention elsewhere, the inevitable and dramatic decline of even the most gifted body is what I found particularly jarring. It brought to mind a familiar but disturbing feeling that I most recently experienced with the discordance of Paul Gascoigne in my memory and his visage at Bobby Robson’s funeral. It would be pleasant if our sporting heroes stayed forever young. But it is more interesting that they do not.
In the season documented by “The Golden Age” most of what I found interesting revolved around how the game goes wrong. We learn about and see players who are hanging on by sheer dint of cortisone, unseemly fighting resulting in team expulsions (explained away with “add team and country loyalties [to competition] and you have a volitale mix”), the seemingly obligatory complaints that the standard of refereeing is not up to the standards of the players (according to the players), the faking of injuries, off-field politics that lead to a late-season boycott of the league, and a general sense that aging and competition create much more in the way of anger than in the way of glory. Though the film tries to argue otherwise, I couldn’t help but feel a bit sad at how we cannot let go.