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June 10, 2010

Like the vast majority of Americans, soccer has never really been all that big a deal to me.  The only names that come to mind when I hear the word “soccer” are Pelé, Kyle Rote, Jr. and Tatu.  Sure, plenty of youngsters across this great land of ours (my youngest son included) love spending Saturday mornings feasting on orange slices only to be periodically interrupted by the fleeting lure of running and kicking as part of a slowly moving herd.  But this youthful love of soccer very rarely translates into any sort of lifelong obsession with the sport.

The only time soccer really ever reaches anything remotely approaching fever pitch here in the good ol’ U.S. of A. is when the World Cup rolls around – and even then it’s only when the American team is decent enough to qualify and maybe even tie Paraguay or Cameroon once there.  But this year, there actually seems to be a lot more buzz than usual here in America about the World Cup.  Apparently, while we have absolutely zero chance of winning the whole thing, this is said to be one of the best teams we’ve ever had – maybe even good enough to make the quarterfinals!

So, while I can’t promise I’m going to emerge from this a freshly-converted soccer fanatic, I will admit to at least having extremely low-grade soccer fever.  And that alone should be considered a victory in and of itself.

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