The Only Game That Matters

Something funny seems to have happened to coverage of the looming World Cup tournament here in the good old USA. Sure there's some predictable griping from baseball / football / basketball beat writers who give the normal reasons why the game never catches on here. But for the most part, the sports-media-industrial complex is embracing the event. Helped no doubt by ESPN's heavy investment in advertising and airtime which lends some much needed mainstream authenticity to the proceedings, I'm getting the feeling that us fans of the beautiful game may finally be getting some respect.

Casually interested in what's going on way out there, my non-footie friends? Consider:

• If it's one thing that sports fans do understand is spectacle and drama and there's nothing like fanatical jingoistic rivalries to provide ample quantities of that. You didn't have to be Italian to gasp in amazement at Fabio Grosso gutting the Germans with a sublime goal as time wound down in the 2006 semi final. Soak in the atmosphere at the stadiums and revel in the tension.

• Viewing times here on the east coast aren't going to be as brutal as Japan - South Korea 2002 but about 10+ hours of games and coverage for the opening two weeks will undoubtedly put a dent in your personal productivity. Take long lunches and keep the Guinness flowing.

• Lionel Messi is good. Really good.

• No Iran this year, so don't feel guilty about rooting heavily against North Korea. 

• My man crush on Gerard Pique dates to when he was clad in red (eventual betrayal notwithstanding). But then as a plodding full-back myself, I've always had a soft spot for tall, rangy defenders who suck up everything thrown their way. Stam, Hiero, Lucio, Desailly. Get a feel for how defense works in the game and embrace it. 

• At least you'll be able to tell your SO that you hate Cristiano Ronaldo with a passion. And mean it. 

• Be prepared to be outraged by at least one galling moment of blatant gamesmanship per match from the Argentines, Spaniards, French, Portuguese and of course the Italians. They're all multimillionaire athletes with the collective maturity of 11 year olds.

But what the hell. Me and a couple billion of my closest friends are going to be joined at the hip for the next few weeks. Enjoy.