The United States of Soccer.

Yesterday's win over Mexico during the World Cup qualifier was brilliant. The game itself was terrible, but somehow beating the Mexicans at there own game gives me a sense of great national pride. After all, for what feels like my entire life, our little friends from the South have been kicking the crap out of us. "They're just better than us." "It is their game." We would tell ourselves after losing 9-0. And while winning any international soccer match makes me feel like doing cartwheels in my front lawn, I have to say there is a certain part of me that feels like a real dick for celebrating when beating Mexico. Maybe it's the despondent look on the faces of the bar-backs who watch the game through a kitchen doorway, but it feels like watching an older brother knock his kid brother's ice cream cone to ground and then stepping on it. Which is why I felt Mr. Marquez's Judo style kick to the knee of our goalkeeper was emblematic of what all Mexicans want to do. Take us down.

That being said, I hope this summer we go down to El Azteca, a place where we have never won, and rise above cheap shots and remind them how to play this beautiful game.