No American whose great-grandfather was born here is watching soccer. In late fall 1966, an Irish Benedictine priest stood in front of a bunch of American football players next to a pitch in Missouri, some of whom had never played soccer before. He talked about the differences in the games, then made position assignments. I played right fullback/defender for three years. A helluva lot of fun. How was I to know I ended up on that pitch because my four great-grandfathers consisted of micks and wops whod come here by boat? Or so says this syphilitic bag of bio-medical waste.
Posted on: Fri, 27 Jun 2014 02:18:57 +0000
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