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They go this way. They go that way. They go this way again. Syndicated columnist Rick Horowitz is unmoved. Alive and Kicking -- So What?By Rick Horowitz The sidle -- unlike the saunter, unlike the stroll -- being a thoroughly undeveloped part of my repertoire and in constant need of polishing, I've finally found a reason to let the World Cup into my life: the chance to sidle up to some random someone on the street somewhere and say, "So, how'd you like Chile vs. Cameroon?" Or, if need be, Morocco vs. Scotland. Nigeria vs. Paraguay. Or even Belgium vs. South Korea. It's not enough. Call me crazy, but I just can't get into it. I know: World Cup soccer is the biggest, grandest sporting event on the planet. Every four years, entire countries come to a halt (not that you can always tell) when the home team takes the field. When they win, there's dancing in the streets; when they lose, there's much rending of garments, if not goalies. There's absolutely nothing like it anywhere. ... Sorry -- must have dozed off for a while. Still scoreless? I know what you're thinking: You're thinking I'm one of those front- running American fans who were only into World Cup as long as the boys from the Ol' Red, White and Blue were doing well. As soon as the Americans fell on their keisters, you're thinking, I was out of there. You are so wrong -- I was ignoring World Cup even before the Americans started losing. If I stay focused, I figure I can keep ignoring World Cup, with or without the U.S. of A., right through to the end of the thing in mid- July, or September, or whenever it is the hooligans get tired of beating up on the police and one another. I do like the pairings, though. I don't mean the games themselves. (I haven't been watching the games.) I mean the pairings. Every day the newspaper prints the schedule, and every day they've got some match going on between two countries you just never think of together -- or for that matter, at all. Brazil vs. Norway. Croatia vs. Argentina. The Netherlands vs. Anybody. It's like drawing up the seating chart for a really great dinner party -- not the kind where everyone sits with the person they came in with, but the kind where the hostess plays mix-and-match and says, "Let's see how those two get along." And I guess I like how the stories (I do peek at the stories) are always talking about how something happened -- or more likely, almost happened -- "in the 11th minute," or "in the 23rd minute." It's so nicely...imprecise. Michael Jordan hits the winning jump shot for the Chicago Bulls latest title, and everyone hears how he drained that sucker with exactly 5.2 seconds left. If they'd covered it World Cup-style, it would have simply happened "in the 48th minute." A bit understated, if you ask me. (Nobody asked me.) But nice, in its own way. And that post-game shirt exchange -- I guess that's a pretty good thing, too. Not that I'd necessarily want to put on a piece of sodden, smelly clothing some other guy has just spent the better part of the afternoon covering with bodily fluids, but sportsmanship-wise, I've got to admit: It's a nice gesture, and the sort of thing that would definitely liven up those post- game interviews in the NBA -- or the WNBA. Especially the WNBA. If they could only figure out a way to score more often. (And no, I will not lower my standards to offer up some cheap Viagra joke. Not unless I can think of one.) I guess I could forget about the low scores and look at the bigger picture if I had to. I guess I could lighten up and enjoy World Cup for all this other colorful stuff that goes along with it. Of course, if I do that, I'll have to find something else worthy of my inattention. And I'm already ignoring "The X-Files" as hard as I can.
Posted
6/23/98. Fresh stuff right here twice
weekly!
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