Lincicome: The World Cup is back in America, not that we actually missed it
And so, it seems that soccer will not take a shrug for an answer. Nothing we have done since last the World Cup visited our shores should have encouraged it to return, but undeterred, here it is again, geographically jumbled and more or less tolerated.
Canada and Mexico get a little piece of the meal as well, like heels on a loaf of bread, which is sort of the way we think of them anyhow.
This time around we will not have O.J. Simpson’s white Bronco to distract us as in 1994, so we are left to puzzle over red and yellow cards, offside traps and, inevitably, penalty kicks.
We humor our guests by saying “football” when we mean “soccer.” We are forced to face strange math where zero is pronounced “zed” and the 7s look like the game “hangman.” The word “nil” appears a lot, meaning nothing.
I have always maintained that what soccer really needs is a shot clock; otherwise, the whole thing is as stirring as pulling taffy.
If we followed the World Cup with the same breathless concern and national anxiety of, well, just about everybody else but us, the next several weeks would be full of agony and anticipation. As it is we are left free to wonder, what were the Cubs thinking, paying all that money for Alex Bregman?
Too much detail nags, so I will not try to explain the tournament, except to say if Spain is not there at the end, the fix is in. And if the United States Men’s National Team (awkwardly anagrammed as USMNT) is there, call the cops.
Let’s not kid ourselves. We don’t care. Soccer can sell itself to whomever will buy it and it matters to us as much as rugby union or sumo wrestling.
And what difference does it make whether we love soccer? I don't expect a butcher in Lisbon to know who Caleb Williams is, so why should I be familiar with Cristiano Ronaldo?
It does not offend me that the beaches of Spain are not littered with two-man volleyball games or that innings in England mean something different from innings in Cincinnati.
Their sports are theirs. Our sports are ours, with the occasional Victor Wembanyama as a curiosity.
The world shakes its head, astonished that we will not lose ours over soccer. Why does America resist? Because we are wise, that is why.
It isn't as if we haven't given soccer a chance. We've had leagues forever, amateur, pro, outdoors, indoors. We even put them on television for a while. Pele came by. Then David Beckham. Lately Lionel Messi. We have liked them OK.
We do it the best way. I think it is gutsy to call something the World Series without actually involving the rest of the world. Or to give Roman numerals to Super Bowls without asking any actual Romans.
The thing about soccer is, the USMNT does not have to win. We are so insignificant that we only have to look like we might win. This is ideal, like wearing the same clothes as the groom but being an usher.
We are the Miss Congeniality of soccer. We hold the coats of the real soccer nations, like France or Argentina, and are given no more chance than a miller moth on a windshield.
I have had my ear to the nation's throat and while I cannot say the nation is all atwitter over soccer, I have detected the odd twit now and again. Often in my email.
Our very own president, ever alert to gifts, has been awarded a trophy already, the FIFA peace prize. So whatever happens from here, he got his.
It is a mistake to believe that any success by the USMNT in this World Cup will change anyone's mind about soccer here. American success does not mean American infatuation. Lance Armstrong taught us that.
We have only so much idiocy to go around, and we certainly don't need to be wasting it on soccer. Soccer can remain a third-world badge of honor and welcome to it. Good luck to both Uzbekistan and Senegal, wherever they are.
World Cup? If they say so.