Watch the World Cup

Paris, France: 1998. Two weeks in the City of Light, assisting a group of college students telling other students about Jesus. I attempted to play soccer once. The French guys must have kicked soccer balls in their cribs. It was embarrassing, and I will never do it again (at least in France). But that summer, I learned to watch soccer.

12 years ago, France hosted the World Cup. When they won, outclassing an exceptional Brazilian side in the final, the city erupted into the biggest street party since the Allies liberated Paris. I had a foretaste in Italy, where every Italian soccer victory turned the streets of Bologna into a scooter derby covered with red, white and green flags. I was in Germany in 2002, where both the Germans and their sizable Turkish minority had near daily reasons to celebrate - they finished second and third, respectively. But that '98 victory, in Paris, for France - nothing short of heaven will beat that spontaneous burst of joy, smiles, screams and fire-crackers.

At the time, I did not know that France featured the great Zidane, France's Michael Jordan, up there with Pele and Maradonna as one of soccer's all time greats. I had a vague association with Brazil and the great striker Ronaldo, who currently owns the record for most World Cup goals. But sitting between sweaty, intense continentals, staring at large screens, I saw why soccer is the beautiful game.

Yes, to American eyes, the field can seem needlessly big, with too much time in the middle, not enough time attacking the goal. Yes, the goals are infrequent. But watch those Zindane videos again. Good passing, good soccer play is skillful, beautiful, and, once you know what to look for, enchanting. As to the infrequent goals, I've never watched a sport where a single score is so special. It takes work, and when it finally happens, the celebration is infectious, and looks something like this.

Don't get me wrong - I'm thankful for American sports. I remain a huge college football fan, and I love me some baseball and basketball too. (Side joke - I had a baseball coach that once referred to soccer as "Communist Kickball," and whenever we made a mistake would say, "why don't you go kick black and white ball around!") I watch them enough that whatever soccer's flaws - the potential for a boring game, athletes behaving poorly - they certainly exist in other sports.

So, in ten days (or less!) find your European or South American or African friends. Go to an international sports bar open in the Middle of the day. Order a beer from the one of the countries on the flat-screen. Put away your biases, open your mind, put on your red white and blue (yes, America, our boys are in the tournament and favored to go to the second round. We play England a week from Saturday), and let yourself be mesmerized.