France, Argentina, and Portugal made unexpected and embarrassing exits from the Japan/Korea World Cup, becoming what Senegal's Henry Camara might describe as accidental tourists. The three national teams, all ranked among the top handful of potential champions, bowed out early through pitiful performances, while Senegal has won its way through to the final eight, after starting with a shocking 1-0 upset over Les Bleus of France in the competition's opener.

"We're not here to be tourists," said Camara, after his sudden death "golden goal" -- his second score of the match -- gave the Lions from Dakar a 2-1 win over Sweden after 14 minutes of extra time.

While Senegal's run to the quarterfinals may be opening eyes, the performance of the US team in reaching that level has been the talk of the soccer world. After playing like tourists on a cut-rate plan in 1998, when they were the worst team in the field of 32 in France, bickering and going home to disgrace even in this less-than-soccer-friendly nation, the Yanks are having such a pleasant stay that they decided to book their rooms for a third week. The win over Mexico on Monday, June 17, was well deserved, gaining the US worthy respect on the world stage. It also diminished the slight taint of the squad's qualification after the Americans backed into the knockout round, getting undressed by Poland, 3-1, while South Korea beat abysmal Portugal, 1-0.

Even with that break, the US was given little hope against Mexico, which had looked lively and lethal against Italy. The Azzuri were stretched to the max, grabbing a tie with a late goal to sneak into the second round, thereby avoiding a ticket for the tourist bus with other esteemed friends who had been considered locks to move on to the next stage.

The win over Mexico has vaulted the Americans to rightly won international prominence. The names Brian McBride and Landon Donovan are becoming as well known to fans around the world as those of Brazil's Ronaldo and Christian Vieri of Italy, strikers with established pedigrees. And Brad Friedel in goal has done nothing less than secure his reputation -- earned last season while playing with Blackburn in the English Premier League, in addition to his international appearances with the US -- as a world-class goalkeeper.

The Yanks now face Germany, which almost kicked our ass, literally, four years ago in France. German defender Jens Jeremies delivered a crunching tackle to the top US player, midfielder Claudio Reyna, within the first five minutes. From that point on, Reyna and his teammates went on a walkabout in a match that Germany won, 2-0 -- a score that doesn't reflect the total dominance of the Germans. The American tourists essentially packed their bags for home right on the field that day.

But as even the legendary Franz Beckenbauer, the sacred monster of German soccer, said of his country's team before the Cup began: although Germany can beat any other side on a given day, the same is true in reverse. The Americans must just hope that it is their day when the whistle blows for the kickoff. The arrogance and imperious attitude may be gone from Germany, but their steel, stamina, and almost mystical aura of being able to pull out close matches at the end is still present. The Americans have to remember that this isn't the Germany of Beckenbauer, Mueller, Netzer, Matthaeus, or Klinsmann. The confidence in attack, in which the US has scored at an astonishing rate at this level, has to hold firm, no matter how hard the tackles are in the first half hour. (Bet the house on Jeremies sending a "Welcome back, remember me?" message to Reyna before all the fans are in their seats.)

One final note: the US team players deserve respect from their fans, however unschooled in the sport, simply because they aren't the typical morons you find plying the Sweaty Sciences. While interviewing some of the players following the bon voyage friendly against the Netherlands at CMGI Stadium in Foxboro, Friedel spoke as though he was a diplomat discussing international policy on the steps of the Capitol.

Nearby, John O'Brien, the unsung but invaluable midfielder, who plays his club soccer with Ajax in Amsterdam, answered questions from reporters from America and the Netherlands reporters, slipping effortlessly between English and Dutch. His ability to do this, a skill acquired as athletes pursue their sport outside the US, isn't unusual among team members. Contrast that with many of our pro baseball, basketball, and football players who have trouble speaking basic English -- I'm not talking about Vlade Divac and the rest of the NBA's expanding global village -- and make Dubya Bush look sophisticated by comparison.

Thinking back to playing against Bruce Arena, the country's head coach, in college 30 years ago, when soccer was "only five years away" from becoming a major US sport, it's evident that soccer hasn't yet fully caught on with the Chevrolet, apple pie, and Mom set. But it has attracted the attention of casual viewers, as well as the international cognoscenti, who have longed feared what would happen if we ever start taking the game seriously.

A friend from New York City, who thinks a soccer ball moves because there is a frog inside, wrote to say she was awakened by a dull road through her West Side neighborhood just before 3 a.m. during the Mexico-US match -- about the time of Brian McBride's goal. For all the fans, old and new, who have endured sleep deprivation to follow their team through this magical ride, there will forever be a memory of how the US team delivered the goods beyond any expectation.

They may not have planned on coming to Korea and Japan to see the sights, but the US team has certainly become one of the premier tourist attractions in the Far East this June.

Farcical fastball

All of us have had the experience of being in the middle of a spat with a loved one when someone says or does something so absurd that you both guffaw, and the anger and heat of the moment are reduced to shoulder-shaking laughter and sheepish grins.

This was certainly the case during the media-inflamed confrontation between catcher Mike Piazza's New York Mets and pitcher Roger Clemens of the hated New York Yankees at Shea Stadium. Clemens would be hitting against the Mets for the first time since he beaned Piazza during an interleague game two years ago, before later throwing a jagged piece of bat at him in the World Series, drawing a major fine and ensuring Rocket Roger's enduring reputation as one of the biggest a-holes in the game.

All talk was of retribution by the Mets for Clemens' bad behavior, and sportswriters were happy to lace the water with blood for days in advance. Eating in a restaurant during the first inning of a game, I heard a nearby father say to his son, who was whining and wanting to leave, "Just two more innings. We have to see Clemens hit. That's what we came here for." Bon appetit.

Clemens walked to plate, ignoring the crouching Piazza and digging in, and the crowd was on its feet as Mets pitcher Shawn Estes wound up and threw. But instead of drilling Clemens in the shoulder, or flipping him with a heater at the head, he threw a fastball that went behind the frozen Clemens and rolled to the backstop. (Given normal human instinct, if you want to bean a batter, you throw slightly down and behind the player's head, since the typical reaction to a ball coming at your noggin is to fall back and away.) The umpire immediately jumped up, waving his arms in a prelude to warning both teams that he would tolerate no more throwing at hitters. Clemens, Estes, and Piazza stood there looking bewildered, while the fans were stunned, and then, like the mood among my fellow diners, they began laughing as the drama turned to farce.

Clemens stepped out of the batter's box and touched the bill of his cap with a small grin to indicate he got the point. The scenario was so silly that it should properly negate any future acts of vengeance, lest the people involved end up looking like prime chumps in front of a national audience once again. Sometimes the sports gods just need to embarrass their Mr. Man worshippers and get a good chuckle, and this will go down in baseball history as one of their greatest jokes.

Issue Date: June 21 - 27, 2002