On March 20th in 2008 my wife gave me my first child.  A boy.

Its been an amazing two years with my little guy.  I used to hold him in my lap for hours, just talking to him about all the fun times we were going to have together as he grew up and up and up into a man.  Soccer practice, camping trips, ghost stories, birthday parties, tickle time, and more.  At 2 and 1/2, he’s talking with his cheeky grin and bright eyes, running around the house with heavy footfalls as he chases another day away in the adventures of childhood.  His best friend, his grandpa, sits on the floor with him and plays games, practices the alphabet, and plays hide and seek.  And despite all the fun that this little boy is already having, he has no idea just how great and how wonderful his life is going to get.

Tomorrow, on June 30th, my wife will give him a brother.

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It’s nearly a day after the United States was eliminated from the 2010 FIFA World Cup by Ghana.  A tournament where not a single goal was scored by our attackers.  The second tournament in fact where not a single striker netted a goal for the USA.  And that’s why thinking of the tale of Giuseppe Rossi is all the more painful.

He is the star of American soccer that never was.

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America, welcome to the Beautiful Game.  There was no way you missed this goal.  This beautiful goal by Landon Donovan.

The story of soccer in the USA mirrors my own journey in the game.  I started late in life, 16 in 1993.  I played for a minnow in the football landscape in Oklahoma, Stillwater.  The powers in Tulsa and Oklahoma City routinely beat us 9-0 or worse.  So when the World Cup came to the States in 1994 and I saw a collection of Yanks that were disregarded, over-matched, and mocked by the rest of the soccer world, I did more than cheer for my country.  I was out there playing with them.   Their victories were my victories.

There is no sport or even a combination of sports that can approach my love for U.S. Soccer.  That’s why I have to tell you about this goal and what it means.

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The World Cup is well under way and already, its tearing the Internet apart like a German in the Rhineland.  Experts are calling it the biggest web event ever … yes, even bigger than Greg Oden’s penis.  So I thought to myself –  why not offer my American (and thereby non-soccer) friends an easy guide to the teams and culture of ‘football’.  Let’s start with Italia.

There are few countries that have mastered the art of proper football more than the Italians (see Brazil).  Soccer is the only sport that matters in the Boot.  Their credentials are impeccable.  Four World Cup trophies (1934, 1938, 1982, and 2006), an Olympic Gold (1936), and a European Championship (1968).  The names of their players rank among the best that have ever played – Paolo Maldini, Roberto Baggio, Silvia Piola, Giuseppe Meazza, Paolo Rossi, and many more.  As with most world powers in soccer, the paisano have a definitive, unique style in which they play the World Game and it is for this that they have become universally known.  And often … mocked.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present the Azzurri.

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I mentioned once in this column that my only superpower was my indomitable colon, a colon with a particular kryptonite.  But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have an array of Batman like skills that make me rather exceptional … if still only an ordinary human.  Call it Peak Human if you will.  Oh yes, I will.  Like Captain American and the Super Soldier Formula.  Some of these skills include the ability to loudly pop my ankle at will (a gift from soccer) or phonetic belching.

There is one skill though that was forged through long hours of pain and suffering, but when it came to fruition was masterfully used in absolute and total domination.  Pillow fighting. [Read Column]