The World Cup

Confession: For the most part, I don't get the whole sports fan thing. I don’t hate sports; I just generally don’t care much about them. Sure, there have been times I've gotten caught up in the excitement. I think watching a Twins game can be an amusing distraction, and I'll pay attention to the Vikings season with reasonable interest. I love following the narrative of the Olympic games. But I've never felt the need to paint my face. And I don't memorize statistics in preparation to debate the value of any particular player at a moment's notice. I don't talk about the problems of my local professional teams saying what "we" need to do better, as if I have any involvement beyond that of spectator. If you really think about it, Jerry Seinfeld said it best: "You're actually rooting for the clothes when you get right down to it."

But soccer? That was always my exception. That was my sport growing up. I played on teams for ten consecutive summers of my childhood and teenage years. I know how physically exhausting it is to run at an off-and-on sprint for ninety minutes. I've played in extreme summer heat and have seen sweat so rich with salt it was as white as milk as it dripped from my skin. I know what it feels like to have a plastic shin guard shatter against my tibia. I saw the Kicks play at the Metrodome. I tailgated with my friends outside Met Center before Strikers games. I even kept my own stuffed Ozzie the Parrot -- Tino Lettieri's personal mascot, which he kept in his net during games -- in my dorm room, even though hardly any of the other guys on my floor knew who Tino Lettieri was. I went through the training and passed the test to become a registered FIFA referee. I coached two different youth teams during two collegiate summers. I spent a childhood guiding my younger sister into becoming the kind of dominant high school player who was named to two high school all-conference teams.

So when I see so much interest and American media coverage explode around this year's World Cup, I have mixed feelings. On one hand, I love seeing people get so pumped up about my game after witnessing its consistent maginalization for so long. But on the other hand, I know it won't last. I know these are fair-weather fans, hopping on the latest bandwagon distraction. Maybe some of the more recognizable players will make it around the talk show circuit for a few weeks, but after that they'll quietly slip back into general anonymity. Terms like "the Group of Death" will fade from the cultural consciousness as quickly as catchphrases like "the polar vortex" did.

But for the moment it's nice to see American fans temporarily pretending to care about a great sport, that's only truly appreciated by a relatively small number of us here in America.

As well as the rest of the entire world.