Paul Daugherty

pdaugherty@enquirer.com

I changed my mind when Clint Dempsey abdomen-ed that ball into Portugal's net on Sunday. I'd never seen a jock do something so productive with his gut before, not even Willie Anderson. So when that happened, and the fans in the establishment I visited exploded like a bottle of shaken-up Harp lager, well...

They call me Mr. Futbol now.

It's been a long time coming. As soon as I walked into Hap's Irish Pub Sunday, a regular said to me, "Nice to see you once every four years."

I've gone from giving soccer the back of my hand to the shrug of my shoulder to, four years ago during the last World Cup, the corner of my eye.

After Dempsey's gut shot – fortified, ironically by the unfortunate thrill of Portugal's game-equalizer some minutes later – the transition was complete. Mr. Futbol has his head in the game. I downed the last of a warm Guinness and bid Hap's adieu until Thursday at noon.

Here's what's cool about the World Cup. Forgive me, Soccer Fan, if you find my mission of self-discovery amusing:

Everyone, everywhere is into it. Seemingly. Hap's and all the bars in Over-the-Rhine and on Fountain Square. Tens of thousands of folks, cheering and celebrating like it's Mardi Gras going to the Super Bowl. Did you see the video from other U.S. cities? Urban gathering spots, jammed.

Nothing like it, that I've ever seen.

I love golf. I don't go fantastically head-knocking, fist-pounding stupid when Phil Mickelson holes a sand wedge from 30 yards. Football is an acceptable excuse for an out-of-character personality experience. But not every game.

Basketball is mesmerizing. But only in small bursts. LeBron isn't King all 48 minutes.

Baseball is a reason to sit down for three hours. And I love baseball.

This stuff, though. This stuff is nuts.

In no other sport does the potential of something happening carry the heft that it does in soccer. Soccer fans are captivated by Maybes. They're glued to possibilities. They fix on the geometry in motion – a man with the ball on a wing, another man streaking down the center of the pitch – and foresee happy endings, in a way that football or baseball fans simply cannot.

You can watch a hanging curveball float waist-high down the middle. You can't anticipate the home run that follows. You can only watch it on replay. Hockey approaches soccer in this broad, visual respect. But compared with the vastness of a soccer field, a hockey rink is a compact car.

Soccer plays well on TV. The screen is big enough to capture a play unfolding.

When Christian Ronaldo sprinted down the right side of the pitch, controlling the ball, you could see his target, Varela, bolting past American defender Geoff Cameron, preparing to meet Ronaldo's cross. Sometimes, the anticipation of a monumental event compels as much as the event itself. Everyone in Hap's knew the U.S. was in trouble at least a full second before the U.S. actually was.

I haven't encountered a crowd that silent since the instant Buster Posey slammed Mat Latos, two Octobers ago.

Soccer still has its issues. Ties, for instance.

In this country, ties are not acceptable. We resolve things here. We do not award a "point" for a game with no resolution. Bud Selig tried the tie thing once. How'd that go?

The time clock forces me to perform simple math while I'm watching the game. Time winds down, not up. Do not ask me, after multiple Guinnii, to look at a clock that reads "71:12'' and figure out how much time is left. Start the clock at 90:00 and wind it down.

Give me an accurate accounting of the five extra minutes. Why five, and not four? Then, make it five extra minutes, exactly. Not five minutes, plus whatever additional time the timekeeper thinks is accurate. As we saw Sunday, an extra few seconds can make every difference.

Don't flop. Do not act as if you've died on the pitch, then when the yellow card flashes, mimic Jesus on Day 3. The NBA has rules against this. They are good rules.

Soccer Fan, I am one of you now. So I can say this with equanimity: Take it easy on Non Soccer Fan. If he does not enjoy the game, that does not make him stupid. Your snobbery is a turnoff. You sound like sabermetricians. Don't.

Ah, but Mr. Futbol quibbles. He is a changed man, letting go of his jingoistic traits long enough to enjoy the world's game. Carry on, mates. See you at noon on Thursday. Let's flash our madness all over again.