One of the bizarre but unavoidable rituals that occurs whenever the United States does anything remarkable in soccer is the dreary line of contrarians who step forward, like meteorologists predicting rain on a sunny afternoon. They harrumph that no matter what happens, no matter how many World Cup games the country wins, no matter how exciting the matches are, no matter how many kids start sliding around the front lawn like the irresistible Abby Wambach, soccer will never be that big of a deal in America, that we'll all forget about it in a week.

It's a pooh-pooh argument thick with cobwebs and fiction—soccer thrives as a youth and school sport in this country, and there are Major League Soccer fandoms (like those singing South Ward maniacs at Red Bull Arena memorably rendered by the Journal's Kevin Clark not long ago) and rivalries (Portland v. Seattle) that would make executives in another sport shiver with envy. And no recent mainstream sporting event has come close to equaling the giddy rapture of the U.S. women's team's run to Sunday's World Cup Final, especially that breathtaking late victory over Brazil. Yes: not even Derek Jeter's 3,000, 5-for-5 spectacular.

Still, if we are to concede the croaky premise that professional soccer in this country is not as big here as the rest of the world, that it's not given the same level of worship as NFL football or the NBA or baseball, every soccer fan might consider offering the same, resistant response:

Who cares?

Seriously, who cares if U.S. soccer isn't as shiny as NFL/NBA Lockout Mania or the Home Run Derby or Mark Cuban's plutocrat grin? Has it diminished anyone's experience of watching this World Cup? A low Q rating doesn't appear to be troubling the U.S. players, now swarmed by bandwagoners who didn't know they existed six days ago. Those last two games in Germany have rocked like the starriest of Super Bowls, and it's not as if the sport's stateside popularity has any impact on play.