Kicking and Screaming

Last Saturday afternoon was an especially difficult day for a patriotic American sports fan, such as myself. With only one television available and no picture-in-picture, choosing what to watch was not an easy task. On one network, the U.S. national soccer team was trying desperately to keep hope alive against Italy, while on another Colin Montgomerie was positioned to make a run at the first major golf title of his career. Do I focus on America's collection of athletes who were just not quite good enough or big enough to play a real man's sport -- American football -- during the high school fall season or do I watch whether Scotland's biggest embarrassment since the kilt can make history at Winged Foot Golf Club? Not an easy choice.

Ultimately, I wound up spending the majority of my time watching the soccer game. A week or so ago, I admitted in this space that I thoroughly enjoy the World Cup and, despite a lot of frustration and anger Saturday, I came away from the game with an even greater respect and appreciation for what is truly one of the most exciting and unique events on the sports calendar. I can think of no other event that triggers such intense national pride and that unites a country in quite the same way. It is truly remarkable.

Now, while I do enjoy the World Cup, I still don’t feel completely comfortable describing myself as a soccer fan and I do not pretend to fully understand the intricacies of the sport. That said, you can bet that I came away from the U.S.’s 1-1 tie with Italy with plenty to say. First and foremost, anyone who tries to argue that officiating cannot have a major impact on the flow and outcome of a sporting event probably also thinks that Jack Black will win an Oscar for his performance in Nacho Libre. Either that or their name is Vladimir Kondrashin and they keep the 1972 men's basketball Olympic gold medal that rightfully belongs around the neck of Doug Collins or Henry Iba right next to a bottle of vodka and an old Gorky Park cassette in the top drawer of their nightstand. Absolutley nobody who watched the game can argue that the U.S. completely controlled the play for the better part of the first half. In fact, the majority of the first 45 minutes was spent on the American half of the field. At one point, I think I may have seen U.S. goalkeeper Kasey Keller sitting in a lawn chair, sipping a lemonade and reading Crime and Punishment. And then, without warning, Jorge Larrionda decided that he would be story.

Who is Jorge Larrionda, you ask? Well, ultimately, in my mind, he is Uruguay's answer to renowned New York Knick fan Hue Hollins. For those of you who lost a bet and had to actually go and pay good money to see Nacho Libre on Saturday, Larrionda turned the entire game on its head by giving an extremely questionable red card to U.S. midfielder Pablo Mastroeni and following it up by giving an equally absurd card to defender Eddie Pope. As a result, the U.S. was forced to play the rest of the game with only nine players while the Italians had ten, a scenario which understandably eliminated any chance that the U.S. had to score a go ahead goal. How bad were the calls? Well, let's just say that compared with Larrionda's decisions, the foul call sending Dwanye Wade to the line for the game winning free throws Sunday night, seems justifiable. And that, in my opinion, was a really bad call.

In fact, I sort of felt like I was watching a Big Ten basketball game. Yes, it was that bad.

I can only hope that FIFA has some sort of a disciplinary structure in place. The bottom line is that Larrionda should be punished for his poor decision making. Look, I am not claiming that he should join Raskolnikov in a Siberian labor camp, nor do I even think that he should be forced to endure the pure mental anguish that haunted Dostoevsky's protagonist, but the next soccer game he should be allowed to officiate better be between the Bayside High School Tigers and their rival the Valley Bulldogs.

* And believe it or not, despite being unable to sustain any offensive pressure whatsoever, the U.S. would have won the game if not for a goal that was disallowed because the Americans were offside and "obstructing the goalkeeper." Offsides I can understand, but obstructing the goalkeeper? Isn't that kind of the point? I mean in a sport where there is all-too-often less scoring than at Sister Mary Alice's 80th birthday party (although Cosmo has had his eye on Sister Roberta and she is talking about leaving the church**) , you would think that rules would be instituted that would make it easier to score. Instead, the soccer powers that be seem insistent on making sure that soccer teams score about as often as the Cubs (before Henry Blanco's recent power surge, of course).

* Just wondering... What in the heck is up with the ball? Where is the good ol' black and white ball that we grew up with as kids? You know, the one with all the pentagons? You don't see major league baseball making changes to the tried and true white-with-red-stitching ball that we all love so much, do you? I mean besides for the tightening of the strands, the addition of the superball in the core and all the other things that Bud and his wonks are planning now that Jason Grimsley's affidavit has made MLB's final cash crop, HGH, officially obsolete.

* There is no doubt that a soccer player's endurance is second-to-none and, when all is said and done, I think it is accurate to say that most truly qualify as tough. That said, why do most soccer players insist on acting like they have broken all 206 bones of their body everytime they are knocked to the ground? I was mighty proud of the Americans who did not seem to resort to such tactics. The same cannot be said of the Italians. In fact, after the game, I reviewed the final statistics and noticed that Italy outshot the U.S. 10-8, had seven corner kicks to the U.S.'s three, and outpaced the Americans in needless stretchers used 7-0.

At least, when our guys got injured, they actually looked as if they had just skated a shift with the Hanson Brothers.

* I was disappointed, however, in U.S. coach Bruce Arena's apparent refusal to actually go for the win. With ten minutes of so left to play, it was quite clear that the players on both sides were extremely tired and play had gotten sloppy. What a perfect time, in my mind, to take advantage of your third and final substitution and replace a tired player with a set of fresh legs. Arena, however, did not want to replace an experienced player whom he could completely trust defensively with a younger player who may not be as savvy on the defensive end. In other words, Arena elected to simply play for the tie. Wait a minute, I thought this was America. Discounting Kentucky, of course, since when are we satisifed with kissing our sister when the Prom Queen is tantalizingly close? Bruce, Bruce, Bruce...to the victor goes the spoils.

* And as a result of the 1-1 tie, the U.S. now has to beat Ghana and hope that Italy defeats the Czech Republic for the Americans to advance to the round of 16. I suspect that the U.S. will knock off the Black Stars, but Italy will not hold up there end of the bargain finishing in a 1-1 tie with the Czechs.

* Finally (with regards to soccer and the World Cup), I thoroughly enjoyed the many traditions that accompany the actual game. Walking out of the tunnel side-by-side with your opponent, while holding the hand of a young child and standing at rapt attention and singing out loud during both country's national anthems are really neat things to watch. One of the most unique traditions, however, is the trading of jerseys after the match. How cool is that? So cool, that I am hoping that I can somehow do some legal work against an attorney from Donnell, Young, Dole and Frutt. Bobby was one hell of a dresser and I am sure that his Italian made suits sure beat the heck out of my Men's Wearhouse two for $399 specials. Sure, George Zimmer was right, I do like the way I look, but Bobby scored Lindsay and that is good enough for me.

* While, on Saturday I spent the majority of the afternoon watching the soccer game, Sunday was dedicated to the U.S. Open and Bill Parcells' er... Colin Montgomerie's attempts to become the single biggest ass to ever win a major golf tournament (and trust me, Nick Faldo is no Fred Rogers, although he does occasionally wear a cardigan sweater and has been known to play with trains).

A couple of observations about the U.S. Open...

* First and foremost, congratulations to Geoff Ogilvy on winning the championship. Sometimes it pays to be surrounded by complete ineptitude.

* I guess it is a good thing that Tiger Woods was not in contention on Sunday, as you just know that Tiger would not have imploded the way that almost everybody else did. Woods of course, did not even make the cut -- the first time that he has failed to do so in a major in his entire career. Facing a summer weekend with no plans, I can only assume that Tiger spent Saturday and Sunday with Elin Nordegren. Boo hoo.

Missing the cut ain't so bad, eh Tiger?

* Ty Webb was also not in contention on Sunday. Too bad. That guy can putt! Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah. Bub-bub-bub-bub-bub.

* Phil Mickelson, of course, was in contention and picked precisely the wrong time to turn back into the "can't win the big one, fold in the clutch Phil Mickelson." Not only did he make club choice decisions that left the entire golf world scratching their heads, but his execution left more than a little to be desired. One drive landed in a plastic waste can full of crushed beer cans. Another hit the hospitality tent. Heck, the only place that one of Phil's drives did not land was on Carl Spackler's coffee table.

* And that brings us to Mr. Parcells (crap, there I go again), er... Mr. Montgomerie (you tell me that they were not separated at birth). Upon double bogeying the 18th hole on Sunday, the television announcers stated "This is sad. This is difficult to watch.” Excuse me?

I, for one, could not have been happier about Monty's misfortune. This is a guy who speaks about America as Ozzie Guillen speaks about Sean Tracey. Sad? Difficult to watch? Only if you were hoping that Colin's collapse on 18 could be accompanied by a visit from the Legge family.

Back to more mainstream sports tomorrow...

***Today's pop culture trivia: What "affliction" did Cosmo claim to have that he said made him irresistible to women? What "remedy" was prescribed? What type of a church did Sister Roberta belong to?