Imrem: Goal on this day was to watch soccer

An odd sensation came over me Sunday, like eating pizza topped with anchovies.

I watched soccer.

Not like I usually do by flicking around the remote and absent-mindedly coming upon a game.

That would be like going to dinner at a friend's house and unexpectedly being served an anchovy pizza.

I actually decided - planned even like it was appointment TV - to watch the European Championship final between France and Portugal.

That's more like phoning your favorite pizza joint and ordering an anchovy pizza on purpose.

Spoiler alert in case you taped it: Portugal won 1-0 in France on a goal by, uh, somebody deep in overtime.

First let me explain the clumsy comparison of soccer to anchovies: I never have been partial to either because the former is too boring and the latter too icky.

While fewer and fewer pizza parlors offer anchovies these days, more and more soccer games are everywhere.

In Soldier Field, in the park across the street, on TV from Europe, everywhere … women's games, men's games, kids' games, college games, Chicago Fire games, everyone's games.

It's difficult to get away from soccer even if you want to, and who would want to considering these four compelling aspects derived from the Portugal-France match.

First, soccer is less stressful to watch than other sports because you can go to the bathroom, check out something on another channel or take a nap without missing much.

Second, fans dress in colorful costumes, roar creative chants and overall make college football fans seem sane.

Third, the players' names are fascinating, foremost being Pepe, a one-name wonder for Portugal, which is good because he formally is Kepler Laveran Lima Ferreira.

Fourth, players flop like they were whacked with a shovel and pretend they're hurt better than any NBA player or Cosmo Kramer ever could.

After covering a 1994 World Cup game in Chicago, it was easy to ignore soccer until recently, when a portion of the Copa America Something or Other tournament came to Chicago.

I sort of regret not going to see Lionel Messi play for Argentina. The opportunity to see one of the best in the world at anything generally is something to take advantage of.

Like, if Meryl Streep appeared in Schaumburg in a stage adaptation of "Porky's," you'd have to try to score tickets.

Portugal has Ronaldo Cristiano, another all-time great, though I thought his name was Cristiano Ronaldo.

Wait … scratch the previous paragraph … his name is Cristiano Ronaldo!

Whatever he's called, he seemed to be a better option than watching Chicago's baseball teams wheeze into the all-star break.

One championship soccer game once in a great while is a better option than one baseball game of 162 … or of 324 combining both our local teams.

Unfortunately, Cristiano and/or Ronaldo was injured early and left for good midway through the first half.

Portugal was dead right then, right? Wrong.

The game wasn't exactly scintillating but was at least dramatic at the end and worth a couple of hours on a summer Sunday afternoon.

Now, though, I'm concerned about what might be next for me.

What if it's a pizza topped with anchovies and I enjoy that, too?

That really would be an odd sensation.

mimrem@dailyherald.com