On Saturday afternoon I loudly cheered the Chicago Fire’s third goal against San Jose. Not because I like Chicago (I don’t), and not because I especially dislike San Jose (though it was nice to see Landon Donovan on the losing side for a change). I didn’t even cheer until I saw the replay. It was only then you could clearly see that the goal had come from an attack where Chicago’s Evan Whitfield had been two yards offside.

Why would I celebrate an illegal goal scored by a team I don’t care about?

Because I love offside goals. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to see a linesman with his flag down while a forward races towards goal, especially if he was already two yards ahead of the last defender when the ball was played. It’s a side effect from having grown up watching burly defenders from the English lower divisions snuff out creativity in a depressingly coordinated line with their arms in the air, as if they had been practising nothing else all week.

The offside law is soccer’s terminal canker. It can spoil any game at any time, but nobody knows how to get rid of it. The canker is inoperable, because the offside law is necessary, but it has become so entrenched that discussion about a palliative treatment to ease its nullifying effect and better open up the game has become rare. However, by looking again at that Chicago goal, it is possible to reinterpret the ‘mistake’ of the linesman (or the assistant referee, if you must) for the wider benefit of soccer.

When the ball is played down the right wing to Whitfield he is, as mentioned, a couple of yards ahead of the last defender. But look at the nearest San Jose player. He’s not even trying to cover Whitfield’s run or to make a tackle, because he’s been caught out of position and is standing with his arm in the air, appealing for offside. He’s not exhibiting any kind of footballing skill in trying to stem the attack. You could get a traffic cop to stand with his arm in the air calling out to the linesman, and they certainly wouldn’t deserve an indirect free kick for doing it. On the contrary - they deserve to be punished.

Our linesman in San Jose, meanwhile, is only human and makes a mistake in allowing play to continue. But must it really be called a mistake? A few years back, in an attempt to encourage more attacking play, FIFA not only adjusted the offside law to make offensive players in line with the last man onside, but also instructed linesmen to give attackers "the benefit of the doubt". In the split second that the linesman has to make the decision, he must often be tortured by momentary doubt. So afterwards, when watching the TV replays that prove a goal should have been ruled offside, he can maintain, "Ah, but I was in doubt, and the guideline says in that case I should let play continue. So in fact I was right."

In this case, if the linesman had raised his flag we would have been denied Whitfield’s run into the penalty area, his perfect pullback, and Ante Razov’s cracking shot into the net. That’s the kind of thing FIFA, and MLS, wants to encourage. So not only are congratulations owed to the linesman that failed to raise his flag, let’s see FIFA distribute a video of the goal and make it compulsory viewing at referee training courses at all levels of the game.

In fact let’s see them write in red-inked, underlined block capitals GIVE THE ATTACKING PLAYER THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT and have it pasted to the inside wall of the match officials’ changing rooms at every professional ground worldwide, because I don’t think enough of them got the message the first time around. Let linesmen feel no fear when they say, "I wasn’t wrong, I was just in doubt". This may stop some of the endlessly frustrating decisions where the replay shows that a forward’s perfectly timed run through the middle was halted by a hasty linesman intimidated by the roaring centre half with his arm in the air. For surely it’s better to have a marginally wrong decision that leads to a goal than one that doesn’t.

If this seems an unsatisfactory conclusion, then consider this. The first version of the offside law was introduced in 1863 to prevent all ten outfield men playing in the centre forward’s position and hanging around the six-yard box. It was not intended to persecute attacking play and penalise nimble forwards in favour of cumbersome defenders and their donkey-brained tactical masters. And it’s plainly wrong for a skilful striker outpacing a defender, albeit by fractionally infringing the laws of the game, to be at a disadvantage compared with a big-boned lummox using the game’s laws to cover up his own shortfall in speed and skill by ushering his defence backwards and forwards in four-man, synchronised shuttle runs.

Give me speed, goals and uninterrupted play. Give me great defensive tackles too. And let doubting linesmen render the needless negativity of the offside laws so insignificant that the defender with his arm in the air becomes a conversation topic for soccer nostalgists only.