Are You Ready For Some Futebol?

It's like Parachute Day in Gym Class - except replace the Second Graders with riotous soccer hooligans

Like many Americans that grew up in the suburbs, I spent much of my early childhood playing soccer in a local town league. Every Saturday, wearing shin-guards, Umbro shorts and a colored T-shirt emblazoned with the name of a local pizzeria, car dealership or weird fraternal organization (i.e. Knights of Columbus) – I would chase the soccer ball around like an idiot while my parents watched from the sidelines (pretending to be interested). Even at that early age, I was mostly looking forward to eating orange slices at half-time or going to the post-game pizza parties.

By the time I entered Middle School, my interest in soccer was already waning. I was playing on my school's intramural team, where the extent of my participation involved hanging back on defense and toe-balling the shit out of the soccer ball whenever it came near. I just wanted to go home and play GoldenEye.

Once I reached high school, I could officially give two craps about soccer. Every four years, I'd watch the World Cup, but mostly used it as an excuse to party. Or even worse, watch the Women's World Cup for the same reason. (PS: I guarantee no one will remember stupid Abby Wombach's name two months from now).

...that is, of course, until I moved to Brazil.