I used to think Narnia was a disease. I’ve become accustomed to the confused looks that come when I say that I’ve never seen any of The Lord of the Rings movies.  And, in my opinion, Harry Potter needed a smack long before his seventh film.  For me, these worlds were meant for the pale dwellers of Star Trek conventions who don felt capes and wield cardboard swords.

I was a man who was planted firmly in reality- a reality that was (is) comprised of ESPN updates, excruciating fantasy football decisions, repeated and heated discussions of Mike Woodson’s inbound plays (or lack thereof), Hawaiian shirts spotted with the emblems of my favorite sports teams, mild hangovers, and nacho infused gas. I was and am the only acceptable type of dork: a fat, sports fan. But, during the end of the 2013-2014 basketball season, I changed.  Or, as some believe, I evolved.

I would love to hide my interest in George R.R. Martin’s fantasy behind Daenerys’ golden boobs or the Red Woman’s enchanting buttcheeks, but to say that I’m not captivated by Martin’s world in its complicated entirety would be a lie. Not so long ago, I watched four seasons of Game of Thrones in approximately two weeks and I am now fully entrenched in this fictional nerd paradise.

But, it is all over, at least until April. We all have to wait. It’s been difficult so far.

To fill the void, I have compiled a list of comparisons that blend this paradise with one my favorite summer pastimes-NBA Free Agency.

*Spoiler Alert* (I’ve always wanted to write that)

This year’s off-season has been a drama addict’s dream–Varys himself could not have designed a better blueprint. After King James’ “Decision II” (not made for TV), we were left to watch the rest of the chips fall.   As all the actionunfolded it was nearly impossible not to see, or force, the parallels between the NBA free agency and the most recent goings-on within “The Game of Thrones”.

In both worlds, only one king will prevail. Assemble your armies.

Dwayne Wade as Ned Stark

We are currently operating in an era of sports where loyalty is hard to come by. Players don’t stick with teams very long and what’s discussed in the locker room is becoming less and less sacred. It is very rare to see a player on the same team for 12 years—nevertheless a superstar. Even more unusual isa superstar taking a pay cut on his home team (where he has already won a championship and NBA Finals MVP) in order to provide cap space. Dwayne Wade is the consummate professional, team-player, fan-favorite (highest selling jersey 2005-2006), top scorer (led league at 30.2 ppg in 2009), and bona-fide superstar. But he just got his head chopped off. That’s right. With Wade’s performance in the most recent Finals, coupled with Lebron’s departure and Bosh’s “Jurgen Klinsman was right about U.S. athletes being rewarded for past performance” contract, he is royally screwed.

Ned Stark was a loyal and thoughtful King’s Hand in a land of political shysters. If he desired, he most likely could have forced his way onto the throne by using the common ruse and duplicity that we have become familiar with in King’s Landing, but he let his good friend Robert Baratheon reign. Even though Baratheon had one hand up a blouse and the other firmly gripping a drink most of the time, Stark trusted his companion. After all, they’d fought alongside each other for years and met great success in doing so. But when something unexpected happens, everything can turn to shit. And that’s exactly what happened. Baratheon’s unforeseen death led to the rise of psycho baby king. As a result, Illyn Payne’s axe ended the Lord of Winterfell. Lebron dijo adios a la Miami and left Wade’s team in shambles.

Sadly, the Heat are dealing with a completely gutted roster. The only returning players include a slowing Wade, an overrated Chalmers, a 60 year old Haslem, Norris Cole, and a half clipped Birdman. Perhaps Luol Deng, Danny Granger, and Josh McRoberts will help? I am not so sure in the now very much realigned Eastern Conference.

I think I just saw Illyn Payne

Pat Riley as Tywin Lannister

When a mastermind puts a plan in place, oppositions, regardless of how strong, will find it very difficult to deviate from genius aims. There needs to be a natural disaster, a planned disaster, or just a regular ole catastrophe for the arrangement to be deconstructed. I do not pretend to know exactly whatTywin’s plan was before he pinched the menacing turd. Perhaps it was to trim all the unwanted fat in the Lannister line and control (“oversee”) his puppet king with paramount authority. However, Tyrion had his own plan, and it apparently included offing his omnipotent father in the most vulnerable of situations (what looked to be a post coitus number two). He shot those arrows like he had been waiting to do so since his infamous birth. Oh… crap.

Mr. Riley’s plans have been assaulted by an unexpected twist as well. The Lebron Domino Effect obviously hit Miami the hardest, but they still have a lot of cap space to sign other really goodfree agents. Or, they did. They did until, of course, they signed Bosh to a historically awful max deal for 5 years $118 million, Wade for two years/about $30+mil, several aging role players, and Deng and McRoberts—the supposed game changers. This, of course, is not an awful line-up for a team with low expectations. But for The Miami Heat, a team that has won two titles in the past four years and talked about winning 6, 7, or 8 of them, I am not so sure that this was plan A, B, or C. These most recent moves make one wonder if Riley has been on his own porcelain throne, fighting something colossal, and effectively MIA while these decisions were made.   Luckily their fans don’t really care.

And honestly, do we? Yet, it leaves many questions unanswered. The most important of which: are these two masterminds really dead? Down for the count? Most would suspect so, but let’s not dismiss them just yet. It could have been their plan all along.

Chris Bosh as Lady Sansa Stark 

Chris Bosh and Sansa Stark have been wading in a shared confusion. They don’t know who they are, where they want to go, who they wish to become, or what part they want to play in the larger drama. Both supporting characters began their journeys in the North, moved to the South, and seized the least divisive opportunities available.

When Sansa defended Littlefinger during the tribunal of oldcranky people in the Vale, it marked the first time she actively played a part in her future. Long gone are the days when Sansa naively pursues the fairy-tale ending and cries meekly in the corner in the hopes that someone—anyone—will come toher rescue. Her most recent decision illustrated a veteran assessment of risk—she chose a probable pedophile over a group of geriatric strangers, which, according to the wacky rules of Martin’s world, could very well be the right choice.

Chris Bosh’s mostrecent decision was made in the same vein,as it seems that he fared on the safer side. When faced with the choice to go to Houston and attempt another title with two younger superstars or to stay in Miami, for an absorbent amount of money, to shoot futile 3s…Well, Miami has nicer weather anyway.

Most experts tagged Bosh as the most expendable player on the freshly thrashed Heat. Strangely enough, he turned out to be the most expensive (Martin may really be ghostwriting the NBA Free Agency). Like Sansa, Chris Bosh’s professional development has been confounding and, at times, frustrating. He entered the league as the fourth overall pick (behind Lebron, Darko, and Melo) in the historic 2003 draft. He was the best player on an otherwise mediocre Raptors team for seven years. During that time,Bosh was one of the top forwards/centers in the game and highly sought after. When he decided to team up with Flash and the King in 2010, they were deemed unstoppable. And that first year Bosh showed up (statistically). Averaging almost 19 ppg, 8.3 rebs, and 1.9 ast, his first year on the Heat remains his best thus far. Since then, Bosh’s numbers have declined in every statistical category, including minutes. He has evolved his game into a 2014 version of Sam Perkins and relies too heavily on three pointers and jumpers. Because of this, he was rewarded with a long-term max contract…more confusion? I know. Perhaps if Bosh looked anything like his GOT twin all the bandwagon Miami fans wouldn’t follow Lebron to Cleveland

Kevin Durant as Jon Snow

The beloved underdogs—there is one at the heart ofevery truly great story.

And so we have Kevin Durant—a too skinny kidraised by his mother and grandmother on the outskirts of DC. Sent to the basketball equivalent of a no-man’s land, Oklahoma City, he propelled himself to stardom by combining his natural talents and supernatural skills with his unwavering respect for team principles. And, of course, non-fans were turned, if only slightly, by his most recent MVP speech.

It is apparent that Ned Stark’s bastard son has inherited his late father’s unabashed courage, loyalty, and likeness for the sword. Shipped out to Castle Black (not a far cry from Oklahoma City), he has nearly proven himself a leader in the bleakest of lands, though not without great difficulty. While currently dealing with savages and white walkers with impressive dexterity, his last name continues to separate him from any legitimate honor.

Either way, Durant and Snow represent the only hope for Castle Black (and perhaps Westeros) and Oklahoma City, respectively. These two underdogs have some serious, untapped hero potential–something historic, monumental will occur with these two at the helm, we just don’t know what or when. But, until it does we will have to simply know them as the adopted sons of Winterfell and Oklahoma City.

Paul Pierce as Jaime Lannister

There is nothing sadder than watching a once all-time great deny his declining ability and his ascending age. Allen Iverson refusing to come off the bench, Michael Jordan playing for the Wizards, Evander Holyfield’s ear, Brett Favre almost retiring again, and again …it is not a pretty sight.

But when handled correctly, an aging star can be the missing piece to something special. The loss of Jaime Lannister’s dominant hand resulted in the fall of one of the best swordsmen in all of Westeros. This, of course, was a crushing blow to both Jaime’s function and ego. But the Kingslayer is making up for his lost abilities in other ways. His new vulnerability revealed a softer, more intelligent side of the once invincible member of the Kingsguard—Jaime’s new found attributes could very well play a big role in the future of the Lannister dynasty.

Correspondingly, The Truth has chosen a new home in our nation’s capital and may very well be the perfect veteran for this hungry and talented young team. Time will tell if DC reveals the Real Truth or if Jaime’s more enlightened disposition leaves him poached.

Jason Kidd as Petyr “Littlefinger” Baelish

Two years ago, Jason Kidd was exalted as the Knick’s mature, older brother. He warmed tri-state hearts everywhere each time he placated J.R. Smith’s technical-worthy behavior, subtlety encouraged Carmelo Anthony to pass the ball, and, during the most aggravating scoring droughts, showered the floor with humble veteran threes (for the first half of the season at least). Even when Kidd played poorly, his presence on the court had a calming effect on players and fans alike—it said, without saying, “Hey, everything is going to be OK. Dad’s here.”

His paternal position on the Knicks conveniently steered Kidd into a coveted NBA coaching position. The Brooklyn Nets, his old team, happily named him as their king’s hand and provided Kidd with a lucrative palace built by a Russian billionaire. And yet, Kidd has made it apparent that this is not enough. Or rather, that the title of “coach” is not the position he truly covets (or believes he deserves). For some reason, one that obviously exists only within Kidd’s ego, he desires a position of more power, closer to the ranks of Pat Riley or Phil Jackson, who hold eight and eleven championship rings, respectively. After one year of “medium” success, it is hard to understand why Kidd believes he belongs amongst royalty. One may say the same of Little Finger.

Another aspect that tarnishes both Kidd’s and Little Finger’s already questionable attempt at the throne is both men’s dubious character. A very short ride into each man’s past will unearth indiscretions—currently buried in very shallow graves. Littlefinger, a bit more unapologetic when it comes to a naughty past, has an impressive rap sheet. His resume consists of provoking the beheading of Ned Stark, sending “top prostitute” Ros to an early and gruesome grave, manipulating the murder of Jon Arryn (and, with the help of Lady Lysa, making the Starks suspicious of Lannister intentions), executing Joffrey’s death sentence (should we count this one?), and, of course, sending a mentally unstable wife millions of miles to her death.

If we look past the clean-cut persona Kidd has recently tried on, we will find, or remember, his sullied past. A quick interweb glimpse will reveal a history of domestic abuse, anger management issues, and, most recently, a DUI. Such a history does not correspond kindly to kingly behavior, at least not in the traditional sense. Perhaps Robert Baratheon would disagree.

If manipulation and clandestine trickery prove to be tools that will effectively elevate one onto the iron throne, it is best that Kidd take notes from Petyr Baelish. Making his intentions a little less accessible may work to his favor.

Phil Jackson as Aemon Targaryen

Come on. These two.

With age comes experience—such is the case with Phil Jackson and Aemon Targaryen. They’ve seen it all. The politically inspired ploys—the manipulation—the heartbreak—the fractured loyalties. Amid the excitement, Phil and Aemon remain calm. With the knowledge that all stories and histories are cyclical, both men seem to interject with caution—making their voices heard only when necessary.

While most people were experiencing daily man-cramps over the mere thought of Melo leaving the Knick’s franchise, Phil Jackson played it cool—approaching the situation with a “what will be, will be” attitude. Considering the outcome, a suspicious few may accuse him of having the foresight to predict Melo’s final decision. True Zen.

Aemon hid royal Dragon roots until he deemed a reveal necessary. He wheezed and gasped something about honor and that “love is the death of duty”—the seed that ultimately planted Jon Snow, the might be hero, firmly within the walls of Castle Black. And, despite his prevailing (and very literal) blindness, the giants, and the cannibal with the weird head, Aemon remained eerily calm and gave well-reasoned orders while Mance Rayder attacked the wall.

Height and wardrobe aside, these puppeteers are a match.

Carmelo Anthony as Robert Baratheon

I, admittedly, was skeptical of the Carmelo trade back in 2011. Although not a championship team, the Danilo Gallinari, Raymond Felton, Amar’e Stoudemire, Wilson Chandler, and Landry Fields lineup rightfully attracted a loyal fan base. They developed a player chemistry that was unmistakable on their best nights and very present, if staggering, on their worst. And, sometimes, when mere NBA mortals do something spectacular, it can be that much more exciting. Heroes can get predictable.

There is no question that Carmelo Anthony is superstar. He has the stats to prove it. He was the 2013 leader in minutes played, second in points per game, 9^th in PER, 20^th in 3pt FG %, and 30^th in rebounds at 8.1 pg (highest of any SF).   In 2011, his demand was met and came to New York to rule. And, Anthony’s athletic talents and expertise have made themselves present on the court in the past three years as the Knicks finally have a true go-to-guy, something they’ve lacked for over a decade.   Rather, what remains questionable is his ability to be a leader. He has yet to find a way to make his team play as an effective, cohesive unit. Excellent kings make those around them better, and this quality in Anthony has yet to be seen.

Granted, Anthony is still far from the obese, drunken, cavalier mess Robert Baratheon evolved into before he was gutted by a boar. But, the hopelessness one felt during their 3-13 start or 2-11 February– felt all too familiar— it was one of a flailing king. This year, as a deflated New York fan base looks on eagerly for a reason to believe, all eyes will be on King Melo and his contentious throne.

James Dolan as Robin Arryn

A lifetime of sucking on another’s teet for sustenance is bound to make one weak. Such is the case with Robin Arryn and James Dolan—though decades and fictional worlds apart in time and space, these two weenies make for an irresistible comparison.

Dolan’s history of temper tantrums and impulsive decisions, for the sake of time, can be listed in proper nouns: Isiah Thomas, Isiah Thomas, Scott Layden, Stephon Marbury, Donnie Walsh (who was unfairly moon doored), Jerome James, the Restrictive Media Policy, and Isiah Thomas. The list could go on.

Casted to perfection, Robin Arryn is a bully’s dream. Spoiled, whiny, and shockingly dependent, he’s been successfully creeping viewers out since his first appearance, not unlike Dolan. The glaring difference between these two seems to be that Robin, recently teet-less, has been unknowingly pushed into a treacherous, hopefully backbone building adventure. Will Jackson have any luck weaning Dolan? Time, or this season, will tell.

Gordon Hayward as Bran Stark

Besides the scary resemblance, neither of their storylines are anything anyone is too excited about right now. Both Bran and Hayward may also want to consider new hair-cuts.

Marcin Gortat as Hodor

The Polish Hammer.

Hodor.

When Marcin Gortat gets taken over by John Wall’s inner warg with his pinpoint passes and playmaking ability it is a thing of beauty. Who knows, maybe it could get these Wizards to the three eyed crow—whatever that thing is.

Roy Hibbert as Theon Greyjoy

Sadly, this spring neutered more than one man.

Far from his 2012-2013 play-off dominance, Hibbert lost a bit of his manhood this post-season. But Pacers fans should remain optimistic—there is still time for Hibbert to snap out of what seems to be a mental block and regain his form. And, Paul George’s horrendous injury may be the necessary stimulus to force Hibbert’s testicular fortitude out of sabbatical.

Reek’s situation, on the other hand, is much less hopeful. Unlike Hibbert, whose balls are actually still attached in a literal sense, Reek is going to have to dig deep to find some gusto. Weiner or not, I can’t help but have a little hope that Theon will emerge from the psychologically abused Reek mask. If it does happen, and Theon pushes past his own mental block, he may provide a better redemption story than Lebron’s return to Cleveland. Reek jerseys may be in order.

Lance Stephenson as Ramsay Bolton

These two are both psychotic, but they are finally getting some respect from decision makers. Stephenson was offered some big money after his wildly entertaining season, which was filled with excellent all around play and unpredictable, off-center shenanigans.

Anyone in tune to Martin’s world is fully aware of Ramsay’s bone-chilling, nightmare worthy insanity. And, just when audiences were convinced that his psychopathy would ruin him, it earned him more responsibility and a recognized title—Bolton.

Inspiration for crazy people everywhere.

Ray Allen and Mike Miller as Barristan Selmy

These salty dog vets have come forth to protect the king. Although Allen and Miller’s three pointers could have served other teams well, it seems that their choice has firmly landed them on the winning side.

Kevin Love as Daario Naharis and Kyrie Irving as Greyworm

A King must be supported by hungry, world-class warriors. With the impending arrival of Kevin Love teamed with Kyrie Irving, King James will have two of the most talented young commanders in the game. The potential roadblocks for Daario and Greyworm so far have been the worldly distractions of their female associates. In Cleveland, the capital of casserole and bad perms, I think it is safe to assume that Love and Irving won’t have as much of an issue there.

LeBron James as Daenerys Targaryen

“King James,” “The Chosen One,” “We are all Witnesses,” “Breaker of Chains,” “Mother of Dragons,” and “The Unburnt”—like the legends before them, both Daenerys Targaryen and LeBron James have earned immortal monikers. This said, the current contenders to the throne may be exerting futile efforts, as there is no denying the talent, power, and god(s) -given abilities that these two possess.

James’ freakish athleticism combined with his high basketball IQ and sense of camaraderie position him, far and away, as the best basketball player on this earth. Similarly, Khaleesi’s own freakishness, birthright, intellect, and valor push her to the top of the list as the Seven Kingdoms’ most qualified leader. These facts leave us with very little doubt against either of these specimens. As we speak, James’ Cavs are the odds on favorite to win the 2015 NBA Championship and if I were to check the endless amounts of GOT message boards I would probably find that Daenerys Targaryen is the preferred ruler of Westeros. So why not crown them both right now? While most odds makers have already done so, the question we have to ask ourselves during this analysis is not whether or not Targaryen and James have the skills to reach noble ranks, but if they are ready to TRULY lead?

Lebron will no longer have the supporting cast of a late prime Dwayne Wade or Chris Bosh. Instead, he will have to educate and establish chemistry with a new, unfamiliar, and much younger band of brothers. As mentioned in his essay, which announced his return to Cleveland, he realizes that his patience and resilience will be tested and that there will be bumps in the road. Will he be able to overcome these obstacles in his first real experience playing in a veteran leader role? It is important to keep in mind that he is on one of the youngest teams in the league with a rookie head coach and a roster with very little NBA experience. It’s going to be tough for him to subdue that playful, jovial, gentle giant that we love him to be and focus on being the disciplinarian, teacher, and father figure. This is new territory for James.

Meanwhile, as King James is proving to us that he can be the wise elder while maintaining a killer instinct, Daenerys Targaryen is attempting to demonstrate that she can lead her thousands of soldiers and mercenaries across The Narrow Sea and into Westeros. The questions concerning her success as a leader remain clear: will her generosity and sense of charity weaken her position? Will she be able to tame Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion and use them to her benefit? Unlike her predecessors, will she be able to sustain and maintain power? It can, after all, be a destructive force.

Regardless of the outcomes, both journeys to the throne should prove entertaining. Ser Jorah Mormont seems to illustrate the daunting predicament of both legends during one of his horndog moments with Dany:

“You have a good claim: a title, a birthright. But you have something more than that: you may cover it up and deny it, but you have a gentle heart. You would be not only respected and feared, you would be loved. Someone who can rule and should rule. Centuries come and go without a person like that coming into the world. There are times that I look at you, and I still can’t believe you’re real.”

We shall see if their hearts lead them victorious.

I climbed into a yellow taxi cab in New York City.  It was hot and humid—one of the first steamy summer days of the year.  I gave the driver my destination and he asked if I minded if he put on the radio.

“Of course not,” I said,  “not a problem.”

At this point, most of my day was being consumed by a sport that many United States citizens, myself included, barely follow: soccer.  In the past, following soccer in the U.S. during the World Cup could very well be compared to the release of a hybrid car.  In the beginning, everyone is excited by the anticipation.  People crowd around the possibility that one good idea could change the culture of the world.  No one disagrees that this is good.  For the first time ever, the former lacrosse player now stockbroker high fives the Tolkien obsessed IT guy; the edgy hipster with the nihilistic tattoos and harsh bangs chest pumps the manicured daddy’s girl; Pelosi chin nods to Boehner across the floor of the House.  This could work.  This could be it.  Go USA.  Go clean energy.  Then, slowly, the “newness” fades and  most people forget about it until a few years pass and a new model with new features comes out to attract attention again.

(This clip seems to sum it up nicely)

This year the new World Cup model launched and it was the opening round.  My whole office was preoccupied with the 12 PM EST game:  Mexico versus Cameroon.  Apparently, the World Cup has the potential to not only save the world, but the ordinary man from his tedious job. After leaving the World Cup headquarters (my office) for the day, I was hoping to catch the end of the 6 PM game: Chile versus Australia.  Sadly, I had been consigned to a dinner with the in-laws and would be in transit during the end of the match, unable to watch.  I was bummed–relegated to periodically checking updates on the trusty iPhone.  Recent technology has led me to develop this obsessive tendency while following football, basketball, baseball, and even the NHL playoffs this year, but never soccer.  But, I was hooked and it was just the beginning.

The taxi driver pushed the power button on the radio.  I’m sure you can guess what protruded the airwaves. He eagerly turned up the volume and we both listened in as one of the eloquent and humorous British soccer broadcasters announced the match I thought I was going to miss.

“Have you been following the games?” I asked my new best friend.

He looked back with a smile, “Yes, my friend. I am going to Brazil tomorrow.”  We proceeded to spend the rest of our ride together ignoring the game I so desperately had to attend to, and rather discussed soccer, his plans in Brazil, and his national team, Algeria.  We discussed Brazilian culture, activities his family would partake in, and the games he planned to attend.  Of course he would be there to support Algeria.  He was hoping to catch Iran’s game and maybe one more if he was lucky.  Without knowing much about soccer, I had assumed that neither Algeria or Iran had a chance in hell of winning a single game in this event and I kind of felt badly for this man who had saved up his very hard earned money to take his family to South America. (Brazil is beautiful and all, but man, this guy was really taking a chance on being pissed at his family the entire trip.)  But the hope and excitement he expressed in our short ride made me believe.  I wanted to  be the weirdo who tagged along with my new friend and his family all the way to Brazil.  It would at the very least provide a reasonable excuse to skip yet another in-law dinner.

“Karim,” he said as he extended his hand.

“Mark,” I said, “nice to meet you…and go Algeria!”

The Algerian National Football team (a.k.a the Fennecs), much like many other African national teams, has an interesting background.  Their roster consists of eight French born players and all of the 23 players on their final roster, except four, boast their skills in Europe (far more than the current U.S. squad). They have qualified for four World Cups, most recently in 2010 in South Africa where they finished last in their group with the US, England, and Slovenia as they could not register a W.  After their 2010 performance, they had a difficult time getting their mojo back as they did not even qualify for the 2012 Africa Cup of Nations and went through three coaches during the process.  Algeria got back on track with their new coach, former Bosnian star Vahid Halilhodžić, who lead the team through the 2014 qualifying matches.  Their qualification loomed difficult, however, after finishing at the top of Group H when they needed to defeat Burkina Faso (a country not a person) in order to fully qualify.  The first leg of their battle concluded in a loss for Algeria after a controversial penalty call (highlights seen here) led to a deciding PK and a 3-2 result.   The Fennecs had better luck in the second game as their 1-0 victory granted them the right to dance in Brazil.  Although I privately hoped that Karim’s travels were secretly fueled by a desire to learn the Samba, it comforts me to know that his extravagance was justified by this win.

Since that taxi ride I have watched/listened to every possible soccer game I could.  I was mesmerized when Iran took Argentina to the 88th minute at 0-0 and the favorites were saved by Messi’s brilliance.  I attended viewing parties for every U.S. game where friends I haven’t seen in years came out of the woodwork to watch and support a sport that supposedly has limited value in our country.  I watched Chile nearly steal one from the host team who, a week later, were on the wrong side of one of the most lop-sided and surprising World Cup results ever.  And, of course, I followed Karim’s Algeria as they were the first African team to score four goals in a World Cup match.  They shocked the world by making it to the knockout stages for the first time in their nation’s history- just barely losing to Germany-this year’s champion.  What a ride and what a sport, uma pintura.

Soccer is one of the few sports that doubles as a common language spoken throughout the world.  While traveling, most of the time the best way to find common ground with a stranger in a foreign land is to talk soccer, one of the reasons why I am trying to increase my own fund of knowledge.  I have practiced this approach briefly in Europe, South and Central America, and Mexico and it has yet to fail me.  That is the thing I love most about sports–a game can bring many different types of people together.  In the purest form, that diverse group of people-whether watching or playing–only care about one thing:  their team winning.  And over the last four weeks, during all of those games, that is really all we cared about–32 countries all wanting to win “the beautiful game.”

The question now for newfound soccer fans in the United States stands:  Is this a hot new pair of wheels or is it here to stay?  A nation that founded baseball, basketball, football, and many other mainstream sports, was captivated by soccer in these past few weeks.  Does this mean that we put all of our “own” “children” briefly aside for a month and bask in the international flavor or do we permanently adopt this new child as our own?  Our decision will affect the participation of future generations in the sport and, certainly, our performance in future World Cups.  Perhaps environmentally savvy soccer moms had it right all along, having had always adopted two good ideas.