The day I became a soccer fan

I can still remember the day I became a soccer fan.

It wasn't when I started playing youth soccer in Clinton, Oklahoma. While I learned the basics of the game as well as the positions (I was a central defender) opportunities to watch the game were few and far between.

It wasn't when the U.S. hosted the 1994 World Cup. While thousands of Americans poured into football stadiums to view soccer at the highest level, we stayed in Oklahoma. Besides, I was too young to appreciate such an event.

I had no idea who this guy was

I became a fan of the sport during the 2002 World Cup held in South Korea and Japan. While the U.S. had been an embarrassment at the 1998 World Cup, my brothers and I had vowed to watch the tournament anyway.

Up until that year, I hadn't really gained a passion for watching soccer because I didn't feel like I had much at stake. I didn't have a lot of pride steeped in the national team. And why should I? We were still a country that considered just qualifying for the World Cup to be a major, major accomplishment. And while many countries do indeed consider qualification an honor, defeating countries Antigua and Barbuda just doesn't command the world's respect like you might think.

These were the guys we beat. WE DID IT!....I guess?

And so we committed ourselves to waking up at 4:00 a.m. so that we could watch the games live with the time differential (ESPN was not replaying the games on primetime) We set our alarms, got up in our pajamas, fixed up some bowls of frosted flakes, and turned on ESPN, which happened to have nothing better to show that early (I've been frustrated when the network has opted to show "rock-paper-scissor" tournaments before).

This year, however, the tournament started off very well for the U.S. We actually beat Portugal. Portugal, for heaven's sake. This wasn't a fluke. You don't just beat Portugal by accident. There are no accidents when Portugal is on the field. Usually, the only accident that takes place is Portugal accidentally crushing you to death.

But we won.

Now all that would be for naught if the U.S. didn't perform respectably against the other two opponents in its group. A loss to Poland but a tie against South Korea was good enough to put the U.S. through to the round of 16.

By this point, I was excited. We were among the top 16 countries in the world. You don't find yourself at this point in the tournament by fluke. It just doesn't happen. You have to have something special going for you and I finally felt like I had a team I could be proud of.

Then we found out our opponent.

Mexico.

Of all the teams to end up against, we were playing the only team we can really call a rival.

Even as a kid, I remember having the overwhelming feeling of inferiority against Mexico when it came to soccer. The U.S. was normally the best at everything. Just look at how many medals we won at the 1996 Olympics (hosted, of course, in the USA). We always won, it seemed...except when it came to soccer.

I even remember my Mexican classmates talking about how much better Mexico was at the sport and how they themselves dreamed of being on the Mexican national team.

Heck, even soccer video games had all the U.S. players as tiny, slow, pixelated messes.

We were, (and to some extent still are) the underdogs when it came to soccer.

But now it was the World Cup. We had actually made it to the second round and we had a shot to take our neighbors to the south down a peg.

I can still remember how excited I got when Brian McBride blasted a shot home in the 8th minute--a quick start to a thrilling game. Later, I was out of my chair when Landon Donovan nodded in another goal in the second half. We were heading to the quarterfinals. The top eight teams in the world was pretty exclusive company.

Then, Mexican captain Rafael Marquez, completely frustrated by his team's inability to do anything, directed an intentional, cheap-shot head butt straight at American player Cobi Jones.

You....jerk......face

I was livid. I was indignant. The jerk nearly gave one of our best veterans a concussion and I wanted vengeance. I wanted justice. I wanted the entire U.S. squad to get a free shot at Marquez's crotch. 

Well, the crotch shots didn't happen. But the ref did see the foul and ejected Marquez from the game, reducing them to 10 men and virtually assuring us passage to the quarterfinals. 

When the clock passed 90 minutes and reality set in for the Mexican fans, the camera began to focus on all the sad, sad faces in the crowd. While the U.S. began celebrating, the Mexicans were gearing up the waterworks, and I remember feeling a twisted sense of joy at their misery. If Marquez had not just been ejected from the game, I'm certain I would have been feeling more sportsman-like, but not tonight. Tonight I was happy my team had dominated a rival. 

BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

We would lose in the quarters 1-0 to a fantastic German team, but I still remember the passion I felt watching that World Cup. It's remarkable, really, to think about how much has changed since then. Major League Soccer matches appear on TV with some regularity. ESPN announcers hold back their sarcastic comments when discussing the sport (which they're finding they actually need to promote to help their own ratings). And as I type this, I'm watching Mexico play Costa Rica in a World Cup qualifier, which is right before the U.S.'s game versus Panama, all on the night before Christina and I go watch Sporting Kansas City play a Cup match at their high class soccer-specific stadium.

In 2002, I had to wake up in the wee hours of the morning to become a fan of the sport. Future fans might find themselves following the game much more easily. And that can only be a good thing.