A quick scan of the roster finds: three Polish born players, including two star strikers; a Bosnian and a Brazilian on the bench; four players with one immigrant parent; and two sons of Turkish Germans, including one of the young sensations of the tournament.

Move beyond the pure make-up of the team to the way they play. Announcers and writers still like to point out the solidity of the German back line, the way they strike quick on the counter, and their level-headedness throughout, but Germany has been the closest to a successfully exciting side we’ve seen at this World Cup (their trouncing of Argentina made it clear why Argentina missed out on the “successfully” part).

Germany is not the only team to subvert stereotypes or open up the meaning of nationality. As far as styles go, many South American squads played a tight European game, either getting the most out of their talent (Uruguay, Paraguay) or restricting themselves overly (Brazil). Meanwhile, the triumphant Dutch have both a more boring style than normal and several members with national ties to South America or Africa.

The U.S. is a multi-ethnic team as ever (and will continue to be: a New York Times Magazine preview story on the World Cup about the future of the U.S. squad almost solely featured 1st-generation Americans), and though Spain are mostly patching together their own nationalities at this World Cup, they had a Brazilian play a vital role in their European Championship run two years ago.

This blurring of national lines for the sake of representing a country is neither new nor unique to football. For two small examples, see the American J.R. Holden starting for the Russian basketball team, or take a glance at the rosters for a given European or World Championship for Wrestling, where the Russian Diaspora apparently spreads to Sweden, Turkey, the UK, Australia, and beyond.

Just as vague are the allegiances of fans around the world. While the World Cup is the pinnacle event of the global game every four years, only 32 countries are involved. That leaves a lot of free hearts out there to win.

Obviously, there is great pride and joy in cheering for one’s own. But the freedom to choose is fundamental to agency and identification in sports – basically, the liberated fandom that the basketball blog Free Darko has been pushing for years. And with so many countries losing dogs in the fight before the fight starts, or increasingly quickly during the tournament, it becomes easy to latch onto new bandwagons, identify with new lands, and believe in new stories.

The decision-making process here is the beauty of the World Cup from a fan’s perspective. One can easily call upon their ancestral ties to substitute their nationality, at least if they didn’t choose ancestry in the first place. There are some who go for mere proximity; the African support for Ghana through the quarterfinals or the South American support for Uruguay in the semifinals are signs of continental pride (as many have pointed out, this wouldn’t happen in the U.S., nor Europe for that matter).

Favorite players from a particular club can draw eyes to the respective national team, though a ton of stars did flop this go around. And style has in the past made Brazil and the Netherlands perennial favorites, though Germany and sometimes Spain at their best have usurped the joga bonito throne.

In a few days it will end and seem like it was all so fast, but the World Cup offers a full month to fall in love, which romantics know is more than long enough. The every three or four days constancy makes it easy to follow stories, and as they develops, fans find a place to call home.

Many American fans were no doubt crushed over the close loss to Ghana; many of those and other Americans saw the charm in Ghana’s underdog story, or else preferred the grittiness of Uruguay’s garra charrua. India’s hearts were divided between Brazil and Argentina; no doubt some of those hearts lean towards Germany or Spain, only to be broken again.

It’s easy to question whether this means anything. Surely, one can’t be naïve enough to think that all this fluid support, all this lovey-dovey choosing of a football team will lead to some kind of better world? A place where we move beyond fighting over territory and resources, where the only fights are on the pitch, where they remain passionate yet civilized? Where the bad blood is left on the field and that’s the end of it? 99% of the transitory supporters for Uruguay, Paraguay, Ghana, South Africa, or anybody else will forget everything about their temporary allegiance and the country they pulled for, and the remaining 1% won’t do anything but cheer for those teams next time. No changed world, no better place.

In his book, How Soccer Explains the World, Franklin Foer wrote a chapter about the Futbol Club Barcelona and the delights of bourgeois nationalism. His point was that Barcelona fandom and Catalan nationalism are inclusive beliefs, open to all who are willing to convert. In this case, nationalism seems less a disease or an inevitable lesser evil and more a benign option, a choice offering a group of like-minded people without necessarily taking on crushing burdens or hatreds of the other.

The World Cup gives us these options, if just for a month. Maybe the allegiance won’t last past this Sunday. Maybe we’ll have forgotten all these little flings. But each romance lives on, one way or another.

The willingness to get behind another nation makes that nation just a little bit closer, a little bit more like us. These little connections add up, and all of a sudden this little globalized world feels a little smaller, a little closer. That may be a small thing, but it’s still pretty special, and unique to the World Cup. We’re all better off for it.

Well, maybe not the English. Sorry, lads.

“… Welcome back to Popular Opinion Court TV’s coverage of the Vuvuzela Trial. I’m , the prosecution has just wrapped up its’ case for the banning, stuffing in a closet and locking up forever of the controversial Vuvuzela horns. Let’s go over some excerpts from today’s testimony.”

RICK REILLY, ESPN.COM: It was the dreaded vuvuzelas, the yard-long plastic horns (voo-voo-zella) that South African fans blow all the time, without rhyme nor reason, when something is happening and when it’s not (it’s usually not), during timeouts and time ins, during halftime and at the breakfast table and while they’re on the bus and while doing their taxes, until you just want to stab two fondue forks deep into your ears and stir.

JOHN LEICESTER, ASSOCIATED PRESS: “Fifteen minutes into the opening game and I already took two aspirin,” lamented Boaz Gabbai, from West Hills, California.

“Those vuvuzelas are making me nuts!!!” wrote Myriam Seyfarth from Venezuela.

“And in a surprising last-minute move, the prosecution even called in figures from other sports to testify in what had been, up to now, an issue contained to the soccer pitch. Let’s take a look at some of that testimony now.”

JOE MADDON, MANAGER, TAMPA BAY RAYS: They’re annoying. I mean, there’s cool things and there’s very non-cool things. That’s a non-cool thing. … It just doesn’t make any sense.

“Non-cool, indeed. We’re joined now by noted legal analyst Snidely T. Whiplash for his analysis of what must surely be a steep challenge for the vuvuzela defense team going into its’ final statement.”

SNIDELY T. WHIPLASH, ESQ., LEGAL ANALYST: Indeed it is, Marla. I mean, seriously, even Hitler hates vuvuzelas these days. About the only people outside of South Africa who seem jazzed about the horns are Photoshop enthusiasts, and those people are almost as bad as bloggers. Would anybody really want to be associated with that lot?

“We’re getting word that the defense team is about to begin making its final statement to the jury – and to ear-ached football fans (or soccer fans, if you prefer) around the world. Let’s go back to the courthouse, where Amadeus Joao, the self-proclaimed ‘Footballing Barrister,’ is making his last stand for his clients.”

AMADEUS JOAO, DEFENSE ATTORNEY: “Ladies and gentlemen, let us be clear – the arguments my esteemed colleague brings up against the vuvuzelas are not to be confused with any legitimate concerns. And I am perfectly willing to concede that there are some.

“At least one study has measured the noise generated by just one vuvuzela at more than 100 decibels – enough to cause permanent damage if listened to over sustained periods. But as with anything else, moderation is key. And as we all know, moderation – chemical or otherwise – is a word seldom associated with the enjoyment of a sporting event, regardless of sport or continent.

“No, most of the complaints the prosecution has laid out are simply the grumblings of people who already hate this most beautiful game based on principle – that principle being, it’s a sport in which the U.S isn’t, you know, exceptional at it. And in today’s echo-chamber-like mediaverse, the droning on about the horns has gotten louder than the horns themselves – and that’s 140-plus decibels, ladies and gentlemen.

[chuckles from the gallery]

“But for the sake of argument, let us consider two other factors:

“First, the vuvuzela, while commonly associated with South Africa, actually originated in Mexico over three decades ago. In fact, watch any Primera División match on the telly, and you’ll hear that familiar buzz — especially if the match is at Estadio Azteca. And there’s nary a peep to be heard about it. Why? Because the fans in attendance are there for the game, and have learned to adjust. Besides, the prosecution seems to have conveniently forgotten that vuvuzela demand has created a demand for earplugs. Would my opponent squash the hopes of micro-business owners?

“But I digress. What I mean to say is, it is possible to learn to enjoy a match in spite of the horns’ noise. Which brings me to my second point.

“I’ll be blunt: it’s not like football – or any game outside of tennis or golf, at matter – is contested in a library. Mr. Maddon’s own Rays organization gives away – gives away, ladies and gentlmen! — cowbells for fans to ring during contests. And baseball players are expected to hit miniscule balls traveling at more than 90 miles an hour with thousands of people yelling. And have you heard a cowbell? Sure, the joke was funny because Christopher Walken said it, but does anybody you know actually need a cowbell to enjoy a game? I thought not.

“And Mr. Reilly, let’s not forget, has made a healthy portion of his living covering American football. So noisy horns are to be abolished, but Oakland Raiders fans are okay?

“Speaking of fans, let’s get back to the pitch, where all of this started. If the vuvuzelas are where the line is to be drawn, where, exactly, do the antics of British fans fall? Like songs such as the ever-popular “Feed The Scousers,” directed at Liverpool F.C. Fans? How about this lovely ditty from Chelsea supporters? (Note for readers: With all due respect, when British fans are involved, do I really have to tell you those links are NSFW?)

“Are horns like hooligans? No, but in the grand scheme of things, there’s much bigger fish for FIFA to fry. It wasn’t the vuvuzelas who gave Kaka that bogus red card. It wasn’t noise that led to the U.S to be robbed of an incredible victory. And the Italians flop like Jonah Hex at the drop of a hat – not the toot of a horn.

“So please, America, on behalf of South Africa. Of Mexico. Of fans of noisy, silly, non-sensical fan traditions like the Rally Monkey and the Terrible Towels and continuing to buy L.A. Clippers season tickets. Let this go. It’ll all be over in less than a month now, and this division between us will be healed. Then we can all go back to hating the Yankees.”

1990. Football was as dead as Dillinger in England. Heysel, Hillsborough, Bradford – each appalling tragedy was another stake though the heart of the national game and a pin in the voodoo doll of the working class.

The Conservative party like New Labour today was in its death throes, wounded by the Poll tax riots, recession and bitter infighting that would lead the Iron Lady waving a tearful farewell to Downing Street whilst plucking the daggers out of her back. Thatcher and her poodle Colin Moynihan had a deadly axe to grind with football and by the time the Italia 90 came round they had the Italian government so rattled at the thought of dealing with the “English Disease” they even drafted in their special forces. Who were they expecting-Montgomery and the Eighth Army all over again?

Still, back home yours truly had just left school and was preparing for my first “adult” World Cup. When I say “adult”, I don’t mean some low rent porn version where a moustachioed German midfielder checks your “pipes” in nothing but their socks. No, I mean the first one I ever watched in a boozer.

And that is what “One Night in Turin” does well. The story of the English national team in the 1990 World Cup casts your mind back to those heady days and nights of wish fulfilment, harsh language and some harsher drinking. Would we win the World Cup with a team labelled a bunch of “Donkeys” by the press, or would it be another summer of disappointment?

I was in the no mans land between school and university that all working class lads face. Do I earn quick money now or do I better myself through academic rigour and defer my gratification? The World Cup was a welcome distraction.

You see, I’m still the only person to go to University in my family and not having anyone to discuss it with was a real bastard. Forget talking to your teachers. That sort of touchy feely thing never went on back then. And besides, I had a World Cup to watch. Life-changing situations could wait. Watching “One Night in Turin” brought all those memories flooding back.

Viewing documentaries in the cinema is an alien thing for most of us. They are so entwined with television that no one wastes their time on them when they are on the big screen. Yet when you have that personal involvement with a subject you should always go, because like a Paul Gascoigne pass they become magic as you sit in the dark, away from the ironing and the internet and a million other distractions. In the dark, all you can do is remember and smile.

The narrator is Gary Oldman, forever associated with his greatest ever role as the West Ham hooligan Bex in Alan Clarke’s “The Firm.” Oldman’s narration is dreamlike, spilling over those familiar images and keeping the tension of the tournament on a knife edge despite the well known outcome. Secretly, I wanted him to do it as Bex from beyond the grave, now that would have been something.

Unfortunately as great as this film is for nostalgia and as well made as it is, “One Night in Turin” doesn’t push the football documentary on to the green fields of Elysium for a heroic kick about. For the first few minutes, featuring Waddle stepping up to miss his penalty against Germany the screen was a purple and green haze, a projector fault, but for a fleeting moment I thought this is what the film would look like: “2001” meets “Escape to Victory.”

Sadly, it wasn’t to be, but I can’t help thinking the filmmakers had missed a trick. As “The Happy Mondays” kicked in, I thought we might get part of the little known story of how House music, ecstasy and the M25 rave scene helped to tame the football firms as rivals started cuddling each other in remote aircraft hangers listening to “Voodoo Ray” rather than slicing each other up on the terraces.

All the old images are there though: Gazza crying, Gary Lineker doing his “keep an eye on him” thing, the English hordes attacking the Italian Police with bottles and chairs and that missed penalty.

Poignantly, Nessun dorma soars at the end as Bobby Robson consoles Gascoigne, the star of the tournament, after that hardest of defeats from West Germany by penalties. “Don’t worry” the English manager says, “You’ve got your life ahead of you. This is your first.”

He could have been talking to anyone of us watching that night back home. Football was back from the dead. And I went to university.

The ad itself features the story of Pam Tebow, who was allegedly told by doctors during her pregnancy with Timothy Tebow that she should abort because she had a medical condition that threatened her life. Like all pro-life advertisements, this is framed as a “choice for life,” but the ad neglects to mention that Ms. Tebow made this so-called decision in the Philippines, where abortion has been illegal since 1870. Can a choice really have been made under these circumstances? And what to the meaning of the choice to become a parent in general? Could we be missing something important here?

Organizations like NOW and The Center for Reproductive Rights have been very active in challenging the position that this ad represents choice. In a letter to Matthew Margo [PDF link], the Senior Vice President of Program Practices for CBS, The Center for Reproductive services contend that considering the dire consequences for women who are found guilty of terminating a pregnancy, it is highly unlikely that Ms. Tebow was indeed advised to procure an abortion. Both NOW and the Center for Reproductive Rights assert that this is ad does not meet the standards that CBS has set regarding accuracy in advertising.

NOW and The Center for Reproductive Rights present a cogent argument to invalidate the claims made by both Ms. Tebow and her son, Timothy. Pro-life groups in the U.S. have a history of presenting the women who have chosen to keep their babies as emblematic of an anti-abortion stance without acknowledging that these women only had the ability to choose because abortion is a legal procedure in the United States. The absence of free will invalidates the argument that a conscious choice has been made.

Meanwhile, if Focus on the Family had chosen to highlight the story of a woman who had indeed chosen motherhood, would the current opposition to this advertisement still exist?

When asked whether the opposition was based in supporting a woman’s right to choose or the falsehoods asserted in the advertisement, Dionne Scott the Senior Press Officer for The Center for Reproductive Rights, stated:

“We’re concerned that the Focus on the Family ad may be presenting a misleading picture of the reality of abortion in the Philippines and that CBS should determine whether the ad meets accuracy standards… CBS recently announced that it had relaxed its policy regarding advocacy ads. If that’s the case, then accepting an ad that tells a story that’s out-of-context and promoted by an anti-choice organization is a problem. And CBS should pull the ad and keep football as the main attraction.”

Though Ms. Scott once again cited the falsehoods of the clams made by Focus on the Family, you will note that in the end she asserts that the ad should simply be pulled, which suggests that she believes that Focus on the Family should be denied an opportunity to present their argument. The Super Bowl may not be the most advantageous venue to have such a highly politicized debate, but it should be acceptable to promote the idea that women do indeed choose to give birth. Validating choice means not reducing women’s reproductive decision to abortions, and supporting all women’s decisions, whether or not they decide to carry a pregnancy to term.

Both sides are so blissfully wedded to their ideological positions that the women they claim to advocate for become little more than props. Pro-lifers are often referred to as “pro-birth,” and pro-choicers are often referred to as “abortion advocates” because neither side openly admits that “choice” means that women will indeed make the decision that best suits them. The existence of legal and safe abortions does not mean that women will forgo motherhood, and this legitimate choice needs to be actively supported.

The fight for reproductive freedom came out of radical feminist organizing in the seventies and as such, it still suffers from the idea that women must be freed of domesticity. Mothering may not be in the life plans of numerous women, but there are many mothers that enter into this role with full awareness of both the consequences and the pleasures that it will bring.

Why is this reproductive choice not actively part of the discourse for those that claim that their priority is reproductive freedom? How can we socially understand that women have agency and legitimacy if we fixate solely on deaths that occur when women are forced to choose a back-alley abortion? Pro-choicers are falsely understood as “pro-abortion,” simply because there is a real failure on their part to talk about the other side of that choice – motherhood.

Clearly, Focus on the Family is not a pro-woman organization and their advertisement is full of mendacious assertions that need to be challenged, but the idea that women do indeed choose to become mothers is something that should always have a place in any and all advocacy. Motherhood is one of the most demanding roles that a woman will take on her lifetime, and when women are still not supported in this critical role, then how can any organization claim to truly be pro-woman?

Damien Duff wept in the changing rooms while the Irish people wept in houses and bars across the land. Interviews were conducted on radio and television with every pundit and family member the media could lay their hands on. The country rang with the sound of outraged voices about robbery, rematch and revenge. Many Irish people have taken the handball as a personal slight and for the first time, some Irish people are sympathising with the British over their exit from the 1986 FIFA World Cup because of Maradona’s Hand of God.

Ireland was left feeling robbed and embittered. Henry has been cast as the ultimate cheater, responsible for Ireland’s economic collapse, and destroyer of the noble sport of football. No one like to mention the handballs by Irish players on the same field or that cheating is only an issue when noticed by the referee. The referee did not see Henry’s hand touch the ball and therefore it did not happen. If there was to be a rematch after every time a player cheated, international tournaments would never move beyond the first match.

Calls for a rematch have echoed throughout the land and politicians of every stripe have ignored the upcoming budget slaughter in favour of speaking out about a game of football. Indeed, the Taoiseach (prime minister), the Minister for Justice and the Minister for Arts, Sport and Tourism have made public statements about the injustice of the French goal and the desire for a rematch. The Taoiseach spoke to President Sarkozy on the matter, but the French president refused to use political pressure to influence the French football association. Irish political leaders were not as circumspect.

Upon hearing that they would be no rematch, the Football Association of Ireland issued the following statement:

“We regret that despite our best efforts for a replay, which would have restored the integrity of the game in front of a world-wide audience, our calls appear to have fallen on deaf ears at the French Football Federation. Without doubt, the credibility of fair-play has been damaged by this incident in front of a world-wide audience. Despite our deep disappointment, we thank our players, the wonderful Irish fans and the Irish public at large for their support as well as the solidarity of the French people. We will continue to call on FIFA to take action to ensure that such damaging examples of cheating are not allowed to recur.”

This shows a sore loser attitude and does nothing to enhance the image of Ireland abroad and has exposed, in the minds of some, the begrudgery that exists in modern Ireland.

Former Captain of the International Team, Roy Keane, has been a sobering voice for those of us who feel that all the wailing and gnashing of teeth over a football game is a bit much. Keane left the Irish football team during the 2002 FIFA World Cup in Saipan because of the treatment of the Irish players by manager Mick McCarthy and the FAI. Keane has now pointed out that letting the ball bounce in the six yard box was unacceptable, and that the players had to face up to their responsibility. The France-Ireland game was a last effort to go to South Africa and it did not work. End of story. Naturally, Keane has been vilified for his position.

Since FIFA has refused to allow a rematch, perhaps the frenzy will now calm down somewhat. The gutter press is still stringing the story along and in the past few days, when half of Ireland is under water, there still are protests at the French embassy. All the hate for the bankers, property developers and politicians is focussed on Henry and France. It is a distraction from the recession, but with the public sector strike and the budget looming, the emotions of the football fans will probably refocus on the original target of their ire.

But as a progressive, I’ve had a complex relationship with the game for years. As much as I love it, I have an awfully hard time overcoming football’s terrible political ramifications. In fact, it stands for nearly everything that I oppose. As a labor historian, I am sensitive to how the game exploits its players. The NCAA refuses to pay players even a pittance while they make billions of dollars off the athletes. These young men technically get a free education, but many schools devalue that educational experience and make it quite clear why these students are on scholarship. Too often coaches give athletes the message, “work too hard in school and no playing time for you.”

The NFL certainly pays some of its players well, but the league’s defenders often overstate their case. While a few players become very wealthy, most disappear within a few years. The league’s collective bargaining agreement provides very little protection for players and teams can often get out of paying the full amount agreed to on contracts.

Many players come from poverty and attempt to support their extended family on their incomes. The NFL also ignores the significant physical damage their game causes men as they age. Increasingly, we are hearing about cases of severely decreased mental capacity, early onset Alzheimer’s, depression, and suicide because of concussions and other head injuries. In October, NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell testified in front on a Senate committee, but refused to acknowledge a direct connection between concussions and long-term brain problems.

This reprehensible denial shows the great fear the NFL has over the potential head injuries could have on their game; safety has taken a back seat to hard hitting for decades and this could bring the powerful league to its knees. Ideally, the NFL would take responsibility and provide proper medical care for its ex-players but so far, they have shown little inclination to do so.

At least the NFL has taken real steps to fight against racism. African-American head coaches are so common by now as to escape note. Pittsburgh Steelers owner Dan Rooney played a major role in this transformation, convincing the NFL to mandate interviewing minority candidates for coaching positions in what became known as the Rooney Rule.

On the other hand, in college football, racism in hiring abounds. Alumni and boosters exert substantial control over football programs. These networks of extremely conservative white men almost universally prefer other conservative white men as football head coaches. Because of this, few major universities have hired African-Americans as head coaches, and only one remains on the job. Smaller schools have done a better of job of minority hiring, but these are consistently in positions that make it difficult to succeed and advance in the profession.

The University of Mississippi goes so far as to embrace their Confederate past at football games. Not only was this school famous for fighting desegregation in early 1960s, but they have continued to create a Confederate identity in their football program. From their Rebels moniker to the use of the Confederate flag to the playing of “Dixie,” to their fans insistence upon chanting “The South will rise again,” the school that rioted rather than let James Meredith attend in 1962 continues to hold onto its racist past as a matter of pride and identity.

Homophobia also reigns supreme in football. Not only do fans frequently hear homophobic slurs coming from their fellow attendees, but athletes regularly engage in them as well. The Kansas City Chiefs recently released running back Larry Johnson for using anti-gay slurs toward his coach. Not a single football player has declared himself gay while playing. In 2002, former Green Bay Packer Esera Tuaolo came out after retirement and brought the issue of homophobia in football into the light, but many players were openly disgusted to know he was gay and publicly vowed never to share the locker room with a gay teammate.

Finally, there’s the behavior football allows its players to engage in. Michael Vick’s dogfighting conviction received a ton of media coverage, but I am more concerned with the all too common domestic violence cases. I found it quite interesting that society condemned Vick’s actions far more vociferously than the horrible things that happen to women involved with players. I’m not defending Vick, who at least deserved his prison term, but football and its fans downplay off-the-field violence that players routinely engage in. Football is used as an excuse for domestic violence committed by fans as well. Weekly domestic violence rates peak on Sunday afternoons, as men take out their frustrations with losing teams on the women around them.

Despite all of this, what can I do? When I was at the University of Tennessee in the late 1990′s, I recoiled from the culture of football that dominates in Knoxville; the university itself barely mattered to the town or even for the students. Still, when I left Knoxville in 2000 for New Mexico, I became a fan again.

It is a great game. It’s also a horrible game. I have no way of resolving this dilemma. It would be nice to see football lose its more regressive elements. But we all know this is never going to happen. Maybe, I am only writing this piece to assuage my guilt.

By tackling Clarke’s controversial and much admired 1988 film “The Firm,” director Nick Love has saddled himself with two immense problems; Al Ashton’s razor sharp script and Gary Oldman’s virtuoso turn (arguably his best) as estate agent and football hooligan Bex. Love, no slouch himself, smartly promotes Dom, a minor character from the original, to become the focal point of his film, partly eliminating the Oldman conundrum.

Love knows that fans of the original will be clambering to see his vision of Bex, so he begins his tale of casual football gangs in the 1980s with Paul Anderson’s incarnation strutting between his des-res and the squalid Lord Nelson pub. In between, we see the inner city degradation of London, a city then on the verge of a property boom but still far from prosperous. It’s an exhilarating start, Love’s camera perfectly capturing the working class swagger of Bex as he returns to his roots to the tune of “Tainted Love.”

And that’s what “The Firm” is about, tainted love: Bex and his firm of hooligans twisted devotion to football through violence, young wannabe Dom’s infatuation with Bex, and Dom’s parents over-indulgence of their son. Through Dom, played by a young Danny Dyer look-alike Calum McNab, Love retreads one of his favourite themes, the desire to belong and to escape the drudgery of everyday life.

This escape takes many forms for Dom, break dancing, weed, and getting leathered in the brilliantly named ‘Lips’ nightclub. ‘Lips’ is like dancing inside a neon Rubik’s Cube, the shiny face of Thatcher’s Friday night millionaires. After a badly misjudged altercation with Bex in the club, Dom and his young friend Terry have to pay homage at Bex’s feet in The Lord Nelson. Here, Love is particularly terrific at recreating the familiar fear of walking into an unknown boozer. Impressed with Dom, Bex casts his spell and the impressionable lad soon trades in his rolled up lilo for a pair of box fresh Adidas and a couple of bruises, ditching Terry along the way.

“The Firm’s” strengths come into particular focus when Love creates his own scenes rather than re-staging those of the original. The moments between Dom and his parents are genuinely funny and touching and, like Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz,” Dom will realise sooner or later that there’s no place like home. In another new scene, Love turns the screw on Dom when Trigger, an older leader of the firm, roundly humiliates him in front of the entire pub. Dom looks for backup, but is left hanging in the cigarette smoke.

When familiar scenes from the original surface they are functional enough, but still leave you wishing for Clarke’s movie. The hooligan summit between the three top firms has none of the rapid-fire wit or energy of Clarke’s film and Dom’s initiation falls flat because the rest of the firm’s characters are not sufficiently drawn to make us believe their camaraderie. Other than Trigger, no one trades any real banter with Anderson’s Bex. Gary Oldman, by comparison, seemed all the more powerful, because he dominated other powerful figures.

Relegation of Bex to a supporting makes the most shocking scene from the original redundant in Love’s film. Love’s film doesn’t need it, and you can’t help feeling that his “Firm” would be a better movie had it dared to be more original.

The film retains Clarke’s central message, that football violence has nothing to do with the sport, by deliberately not showing any match footage and the fight scenes portrayed as both ridiculous and terrifying. The firm’s fights against other football gangs are a pointless pursuit that end in minutes, to fuel the bullsh*t touted by grown men in tennis gear on the long train journeys back to London.

Love has a terrific eye for detail (you’ll wish you hadn’t thrown away that Sergio Tacchini tracksuit) and a gift for dialogue. He cleverly throws in the development of contemporary Cockney slang that is used to such wonderful vulgar effect in “The Football Factory” and “The Business.” As a result “The Firm” has a slower delivery, a different pace than those previous movies but seems to be missing that extra man in midfield. Perhaps if he’d stuck Danny Dyer on as sub Love would have won in extra time.

The Canadian version is played with twelve men and an oblong ball on a longer and wider field. The Aussies play their eighteen man version of what they call ‘footy’ on a field with an oblong ball as well with four goalposts on either end.

To the rest of the planet, football (or soccer as we call it here in the States, Canada and Australia) is played with two eleven player teams of either men and women battling to kick a round ball into a netted goal on a variable 100–110m by 64-75m pitch.

Oh yeah, national pride and sporting prestige is on the line as well.

No pressure!

Every four years the pressure and fan frenzy gets ratcheted up another level when international football supremacy is up for grabs in the FIFA World Cup. The Olympics, World Cup qualifiers, or major FIFA international tournaments such as the Confederation and Gold Cups also grab the attention of die hard football fans, yet most sports fans in the USA are rather ho-hum about it.

But as a US sports fan, I have to give kudos to the first men’s USA football team to ever qualify for a FIFA tournament final.

That’s the extent of the good news for American football fans. The bad news is they were playing the mighty Brazilians, who knocked off the host South Africans 1-0 in the other semifinal match.

Team USA took a surprising 2-0 lead into halftime before the Brazilians woke up and scored three second half goals to capture the 2009 Confederations Cup tournament title in South Africa.

The Confederations Cup is held every four years and includes the winners of various continental tournaments plus the host nation of the upcoming World Cup. Team USA qualified because they won the CONCACAF region championship in 2007.

Many world football fans are still shocked that Team USA knocked off FIFA number one ranked Spain 2-0 June 24 to reach the finals of this tournament in South Africa.

But if world football fans had been paying attention, it really shouldn’t have been. Team USA is currently in second place in the CONCACAF region and in a great position to qualify for next year’s World Cup competition in South Africa.

However, they have a critical August 12 qualifying match with the Tricolores in Mexico City, where they are 0-11-1 all time.

As evidenced by their performance in this tournament, Team USA over the last few years has been making groundbreaking strides in recent international competitions.

But the Team USA men aren’t playing just for the respect of the football world or moral victories any more, they want to win. Player Landon Donovan stated as much in an ESPN interview conducted moments after their disappointing 3-2 loss to Brazil.

The interesting thing to me is that the usual sporting script is flipped. It’s the FIFA world number one ranked Team USA’s women footballers who get the media attention and love at home, not the men. The U.S. women rock.

They are the two time Women’s World Cup champions (1991, 1996) and were runners up in the 2000 final. They are three time Olympic gold medalists in 1996, 2004 and 2008. They are one of the teams favored to take home the championship in the Women’s World Cup tournament being hosted by Germany in 2011.

The USA men are trying to step up to that level. Their FIFA world ranking has climbed to number 14 from their FIFA 28th world rankings a year ago. After failing to do so in 1998, Team USA qualified for the 2002 and 2006 World Cup competitions. They made a remarkable run in the 2002 tournament but fell to Germany 1-0 in the 2002 quarterfinals. They qualified for the 2008 Beijing Games after failing to do so in 2004 and finishing fourth in 2000.

What many football fans don’t realize is that the United States has a football history. We’ve been a member nation of FIFA since 1914. It may also surprise you to know that Team USA made it to the semifinals of the first FIFA World Cup tournament contested in Uruguay in 1930. Ask our British cousins about the 1950 World Cup ‘Miracle On Grass’ in which we knocked off heavily favored England 1-0 in group play with basically an amateur squad.

FIFA and the United States Football Association would love for the USA men to become consistent contenders in world football competition as well. Getting reasonable ratings and a share of the USA’s massive and lucrative sports television market for football has been a challenge, but the USFA is forging ahead and bidding to host the World Cup for the first time since 1994.

We’re shooting to land either the 2018 or 2022 FIFA World Cup tournaments, and there are many American cities interested in hosting games should our bids be successful. Civic leaders know that the World Cup is the most watched sporting event on the planet.

Interest in football in the States on the men’s side would have taken a massive leap forward if the underdog Team USA could have pulled off a historic victory against the Brazilians. But their Confederation Cup silver medal run has already created major football buzz amongst US sports media. It has garnered coverage on ESPN and increased chatter on US sports talk radio stations about football with casual sports fans.

The rest of the football loving world may believe the USA men doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hades to one day take a World Cup championship back to the United States. But as any sports fan can tell you, once the whistle blows and you begin playing the games, anything can happen.

A few seconds ago, I was trying to eat two chicken drumsticks at the same time, so you can imagine how dignified I must look. And yet I am the calm center of an emotional hurricane. It is mind boggling that this has come to pass.

Last week, people were ecstatic, people were depressed. People were vindictive and gloating, people were defensive and drinking to forget. I can’t say that this was a unique situation. Much the same scene was taking place all across the country, as people celebrated and mourned the particular ending of a particular game. A game which, for my taste, involved way too many “good game” pats to way too many plump buttocks encased in metallic tights.

As a mental exercise, I have hypothetically divided the world into two groups:

Group A consists of people who do not care about the Superbowl. This group encompasses the majority of the planet’s population. So obviously, Group B is comprised of people that do care about the Superbowl. Group B doesn’t understand Group A terribly well (statistical analysis would probably show that this has something to do with the divorce rate, but that’s a different issue altogether).

I can’t fit myself into either group. I’ll watch some games, but I can’t claim to care too much on the whole.

I think professional baseball is the recourse of twinkie-guzzling porkers with the predictable jock mentality, but none of the talent or athleticism required to play any of the good sports. Football has too much down-time… plus, I’m not-so-secretly afraid of anybody with both the mass and mentality of a deranged killer whale.

I envy basketball players for their smug, casual tallness, and nobody ever listens to my theories on why Steve Nash is the ultimate expression of communism and/or the human spirit. I watch hockey for the exact same reasons I was good at Mortal Kombat as a kid: a childish, whimsical fascination with the utterly gross.

Simply put, I don’t have the proper emotional or intellectual equipment to be a proper sports fan. So, my primary interests in the Superbowl were a) eating until I herniated, and b) watching emotions run high. Mission accomplished.

But why did I see the things I saw? Decades-old friends began to snipe at each other like drunken divorcees in front of a baby sitter. Everyone examined each play for scientific evidence as to why supporting the other team meant that you’re a bitch. People discussed each others’ mothers at length.

It was all entirely unprecedented. And while I’m the kind of person that enjoys this sort of social chaos, I’m also the sort that wants to understand it.

I’ll put this premise forward, and you can take it or leave it: American football is a stupid sport. It’s not any more or less stupid than any other sport, but it is undeniably stupid. It is a sport of hyper-manly proto-men capable of lifting or eating entire SUV’s. It is a sport of men that spend the majority of their day sprinting, squat thrusting, hopping through tires, and then gulping down bovine growth hormone milkshakes. And it is a sport where some of the earth’s most physically powerful men use a complex system of rules to play professional grab-ass.

These men are not from the city you claim to love, and they are much to busy emptying buffets or eating puppies for protein to care where you spent the first six years of your life. If football once represented the spirit of true competition, it is now an arms race of energy bars and signing bonuses. If it once celebrated manliness, it now pays out dividends for being feral – but still celebrating a touchdown with emotional leg-humping.

Heartbreaking as it may be, if we accept the points I’ve outlined above, then it makes little sense to care about the Superbowl, and even less to make it the most watched event on television. So, the question I’m asking is the same one that has been asked by theorists and many lucid women for decades: why get so bothered by the whole affair?

And the answer, I feel, is that sense has nothing to do with it. We don’t view sports rationally in practice, and we shouldn’t. The entirety of sports-fandom only exists in the absence of logic, in a world where feelings are allowed to roam free and occasionally butt heads, like bison.

People just want something to care about. We love to anticipate, and we can’t help but hope, even when that hope is entirely baseless, utterly arbitrary. The original BoSox fans were rooting for David when he bonked Goliath with a rock and pretty much cemented his signing bonus with the Almighty. People want to want, and then they want their wants gratified. Football builds a want for an entire season, brings it to a climax, and then pretty much finishes this sexual metaphor in one of two entirely predictable ways.

Sports are a sustainable, self-renewing source of emotional investiture.

Do you know what this says about us as a species? We are bored. We might have come a long way, baby, but somewhere between inventing the wheel and developing Viagra, we just gave up.

It’s tough to care when you don’t really have to. Back when starving hunters were dragging half-cooked haunches of mastodon back to the cave dwelling, there just wasn’t time for a pre-season draft. In the pre-penicillin days, the best medicine was prayer and leeches. For all you knew, not caring about something in the right way would get you a dose of the plague, or at least a good stoning. But now? Now we’ve won. Now we have to manufacture concern.

I’m OK with that. It is what it is.

I’m much happier watching football than I ever would have been during the Spanish Inquisition or the Ice Age. And at least sports will never be affected by writers’ strikes.