What Has Happened to Me?

I'm glad I was home alone on Wednesday, watching the USA vs. Algeria World Cup match on my laptop. If I were around anyone I knew, they would have suspected that some kind of alien sports parasite had infected my brain; causing me to act like a howling idiot.

I am not a "sports guy". Sorry, Philadelphia. I'm happy for y'all when one of your teams win, but it does not effect me viscerally at all. There's always a peripheral interest there, but I admit that I scoff and curse grumpily when fans pour out of local bars hooting and shouting and honking their horns. What a stick in the mud, eh?

I dig soccer, though. I don't dig it enough to carry a razor blade and get in rumbles with the fans of opposing teams, or paint my face and wear a jersey, but I dig soccer nonetheless. I began really liking the game while working in an English-owned pub in Pasadena, CA called Lucky Baldwin's, where passionate English and Irish soccer fans would crowd the bar and cheer on their teams. It was infectious: I learned players' names, who was ahead in the standings, who was in danger of being relegated, you know.

So I've watched the game pretty passively over the years from then on and have tried to keep up with the who's-who and what's-what of international play. When World Cup rolls around, I try to catch as many games as I can, and usually--randomly--choose a team to root for.

Why randomly? Well, who should I root for? America has been a non-presence in the Cup since, what, 1930?

Yes, until now. The US team this time around has a shot at progressing deep into the finals, don't they? This is astonishing to me for a couple of reasons. Firstly, that it is indeed possible at all. Secondly, THAT I CARE.

Watching that match against Algeria, I was yelling and pounding on the coffee table. I was groaning and curled up in a tense ball. I was peeping at the game anxiously through my fingers. When Buddle's strong header went zooming towards goal I nearly pooped a little. When Dempsey's shot hit the post I screamed, "aw, crap, COME ON!". And when, quick as a flash, Donovan blasted in that rebound in stoppage time, I sat slack jawed as tears began welling up in my eyes.

I sat there and laughed, because if my wife would have been home at that moment she would have stared at me in disbelief and asked in a mocking tone what the heck was wrong with me. WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH ME?

Okay, sports fans: I get it. It's awesome when the improbable happens and it's a rad feeling to have someone to root for, and I am rooting for USA hard from here out. You better believe that Saturday's match against Ghana is going to be watched by hook or crook, even if I have to hack our point-of-sales terminal somehow so that it displays the game.

Hmmm...