It’s World Cup time again, and Americans from Bangor to Batavia don’t even bother to stifle their quadrennial yawns, while more fervent patriots are praying to the God who adjudicates sporting events that the US team flames out early, as usual.
It’s been 32 years since the World Cup first tainted American soil.
The 1994 invasion was a colossal flop, despite the corporate subsidies lavished by Coca-Cola, Mastercard and the usual suspects. The title game – oh, excuse me: match – a thrilling 0-0 tie in regulation between Brazil and Italy, did not win millions of new fans. There's a good reason it's not as big here as it is everywhere else. Americans want to see action. The want home runs. Touchdowns. Bench-clearing brawls. Holes-in-one, even.
What they don't like is the fact that a final game in a world tournament can end in a tie with neither team scoring anything more than just paychecks. It's that simple. And besides, the field's are too big and what the fuck is up with referees holding up colored cards? I don't get it. You probably don't either. Juss' sayin'...















































