I'm not sure how good of a thing this is in a relative sense, but once again, I find myself unemployed at the start of the World Cup. I know, I was kind of hoping to be unemployed now, which again, might not of been the best thing to wish for, but oh well. Doesn't make that much of a difference anyways cause I forgot about the whole time thing.

Last time there was a World Cup, most of the games were in the morning. The early games were at 8, mid games at 10 and the late games at 12. For the unemployed, this is perfect timing. For all the big games, I'd hop out of bed, throw on a sweatshirt and head down to the Mad Dog in the Fog for some pints and some football. Three to four hours later, I'd come stumbling out drunk, into the bright sunshine with the happy realization I just got drunk and watched some great games when I could have been at work. Can't say it was that awful of a thing.

This time around, it's different. The game's are in the middle of the night. Yeah, I can stay up to watch them, hell my insomnia is usually keeping me up at that hour anyways, but I don't really feel like schlepping to a bar to watch those games at 4:30 in the morning. And yeah, I could go watch them when they played them on tape, or I could even tape them myself, but it's just not the same. To get into soccer, to enjoy it to it's utmost, you have to watch it with others. And watch it with people who really, really, fucking care.

Because as the always excellent Brian Murphy pointed out in today's Chron, with soccer, it's all about the singing.

I learned the real meaning of soccer while travelling through Europe in '92. My first taste of it came while taking the train from Brindisi to Rome. Trying to get some sleep after three continuous nights of partying all night, I was woken up in the middle of the night by singing . The town's team was on it's way to Rome that night and what sounded like half the town had turned out to see them off. This was at like 2 in the morning. As the team bordered, some of their fans boogied down the aisles beginning what was going to be an all-night party. Those who weren't going along for the ride stood outside the train, singing what one of the British girls I was spending the night in the cabin with, told me was every soccer song known to man.

But I really got to understand it, to really know what it's like, when we went to Oktoberfest. Whenever the Oompah band would take a break, some group from like England would stand up and sing an English fight song. As soon as they started, someone from another country would counter the English cheer and stand up on their table and sing their country's soccer song. It was this big huge singing fight, with each country trying to prove they were the better country by trying to outsing another country. This would go on for a couple of minutes until someone, in the name of peace, love and understanding, would start singing "Ole"- the international soccer song and probably one of the greatest songs ever created- and the entire tent would start clanging their steins together and singing along. There is nothing that gives you that warm fuzzy feeling of brotherhood and peace on earth like singing "Ole" with several thousand other drunks in a beer tent, let me tell you.

So when the '98 World Cup came along and I had found myself recently laid-off, there was nothing much more than I wanted to do then go spend all my time at the Mad Dog watching me some World Cup.

Watched a game featuring the Netherlands with a bunch of guys all dressed in Orange. Went to a Brazilian club to watch Brazil win a big match, then later got caught in the middle of the impromptu street celebration involving climbing on MUNI busses when Brazil made it to the semi's. And there were all the games involving England, stuck in a jam-packed pub full of drunk British ex-pats at 10 in the morning.

And then there was the England/Argentina game. Now, I've seen a lot of sporting events and seen a lot of great games. I've been to a Phillies game in the'70's right after the Phillies fans psyched out the Dodger's pitching staff and blood was in the air. I was at Pac Bell when the Giants clinched in '00 and at the 'Stick when Kurt Reuter shut down the Dodgers 2-1 in the first of that super-huge two game series against the Dodgers (the one before the Brian Johnson home-run). And I've slept out for seats to see my Gaucho's beat then #1 UNLV and sat in the dorm's tv room surrounded by howling Broncos' fans cheering on John Elway during the Drive against my beloved Browns. Watching the England/Argentina game just might have topped them all. It was so much fun.

To understand what England vs. Argentina means in the scheme of things, think of Yankees/Red Sox but then imagine would it be like if New York had fought a war with Boston a couple of decades ago. Throw in Diego Maradona's "Hand of God" goal in '86 in which he won the game for Argentina by basically punching the ball into the net for the game-winner, and you got a lot of rowdy, excitable Brits.

Got to the bar at 10 for a noon-time game. Which came in real handy because by 10:30, the bar was so jam packed that I never got the lunch I ordered because the waitress couldn't make it through the crowd to get to me. The bar got the British TV feed from the satellite so we got the full English treatment. Before each Cup game, the British TV would show the official England World Cup '98 Video, which consisted, of some guy walking down the streets of London singing what I think was only two words "Engerland" and "Vanderloo" and being joined by hundreds of others singing the words with him. When the video started, the crowd cheered and sang along.

Throughout the game, the Brits sang every English soccer song (which, strangely enough, all were based on mainly American songs, but that's another story) and chanted the names of each of the players. When Michael Owen, the 18 year old pin-up English soccer wunderkind went down after a dicey tackle, some woman behind me, in a thick British accent screamed at the tv "don’t you hurt my baby!"

Which is the why the singing and the chanting is so cool. Because we don't do that in America. We don't have songs for our favorite teams. We don't chant out players names. Instead, we have big huge screens telling us when to clap. We have the PA playing fake claps to get the audience riled up. We have "We Will Rock You" and that God-awful Gary Glitter song. We don't stand up, in complete spontaneity, and sing. Our even chant. Most fans at Pac Bell can't even put down their cell phones long enough to cheer for Barry Bonds. But not with soccer fans. They kick American's sport fans butts.

Oh yeah, and then there was the actual game itself. England and Argentina both scored two goals in the first half, which, yes is pretty remarkable in and of itself. Not only that, one England's goals was scored in one of the most amazing athletic displays I've ever seen. Michael Owens basically took a pass from mid-field, dribbled past what seemed like the entire Argentine side, then nailed a shot past the goalie. It was the equivalent of watching, say, Jordan dribble down the court, juke and jive his way past the entire opposing team, then lay down a monster dunk. Except Owens did it all with his feet. And in a game where one goal is a huge deal, not in a game where the average point total for a team is somewhere in the 90's.

Then, at the start of the second half, David Beckham, aka Mr. Posh Spice, got Red Carded for a kicking someone. Which was totally lame because what basically happened is the Argentine guy kicked him while the ref wasn't watching, and when Beckham retaliated, the ref saw that and only kicked Beckham out. Which meant that England had to play the entire second half, and then two overtimes, down a player. Time and time again, Argentina would penetrate into England's defensive area only to be foiled by an English defender, emerging out of nowhere to save the day. Or England's shaggy haired, droopily moustached goalie would make an incredible save. England even almost scored in the first overtime, but got it disallowed due a ticky-tack call by the ref. England eventually lost by penalty kicks at the end of the second overtime, but it was probably the guttiest, grittiest, leaving it all out there performances by any team I have ever seen. The kind of game where you kind of win by losing. Except they lost and had to go home. It was tremendous. It rocked. It was so much fun.

And that's why it totally sucks that the games are in the middle of the night. Because I SO want to go through that again. England is even playing Argentina in a week in the first rematch since that game.

Just might have to pull an all-nighter for that one.