I partook in an amazing roadtrip this past weekend, but to fully understand why and what it meant you need to know a little something first:

If you have been living under a rock or if you are one of the pathetic American unenlightened who either don't watch soccer or think it's boring (Please, let's not start on this topic. Especially if you are a baseball fan), then you may not know that the world's largest and most important sport's spectacle is set to begin in a little under two weeks.

In a country that is only beginning to taste the sweetness that is the sport of soccer, I feel priviledged to have been raised in a soccer loving--nay--soccer obsessive household. For those of you who don't know, soccer has been more than a hobby or simply a sport in the "R" household. From the very beginning it was a way of life. My dad, the former player (he was a keeper) and current coach, taught his childern and his players alike, not to play soccer--but to THINK soccer. If you don't know the difference, then you don't know how to think soccer. And you probably don't know how to play it either.

You may be thinking, how did a family that settled in the cornfields of Iowa get so involved in soccer? If we were from the East Coast or California, you wouldn't even question it. But Iowa? It's not exactly the soccer Mecca of America. To answer that question you must remember that I grew up at an international boarding school. A school with a strong population from South America and Ethiopia. A population that brought the game of soccer to the cornfields of Iowa over 45 years ago. The school was the first high school in Iowa to have a soccer program, and as late as the late 80s and early 90s had few opponents in the Midwest. It was during this time that my dad was the head soccer coach for the school, and the team was forced to travel great distances to find competition, and on regular basis played first division colleges because high school and club teams were few and far between.

This late 80s team was the "Dream Team" for the school. A team never before seen there and most certainly never to be seen again. A team made up of lads who had grown up with the game, Americans and International players alike. Some had simply been schooled in the game, some had it born in them, some were the sons of great coaches on international shores, and some were the sons of men who knew nothing of the game at all. Together they bowled over every opponent placed in their paths, and together they almost won a national title. And if the keeper hadn't broken his hand in the qualifying match, they just might've. So this is the tradition I was born into, had bred in me, and have lived with most days of my life.

You have to know all this to understand just what the World Cup means to us every 4 years. For a month our lives stop. Convience, sleep, and work be damned, we have soccer to watch. American soccer is still growing. We're still learning, and trust me, I know there's a lot to be learned, but for the first time in, well, the history of the sport in our country, the game is terribly exciting to watch.

This all began in South Korea in 2002 with the most exciting run to the quarterfinals that any American soccer fan had ever seen. I know it was almost four years ago, but stop for a moment. Think back. Remember? Remember how exciting that was? Remember the opening game against Poland and that first goal from Johnny O? It was as if in that moment O'Brien swung the whole door wide open, and he spent the rest of the tournament playing a unparalleled midfield game to keep that door as open as possible. Remember how poorly we played against Mexico and it seemed that all hope was lost, and then out of nowhere came the gorgeous Lewis to Donovan cross that made Collyn and I stand up in bed and scream until every single one of our neighbors woke-up startled at 4:30 in the morning?

Remember when we just dominated Germany, but Kahn denied and denied and denied us? Remember when for just that one damn moment he was out of position and Claudio Reyna lofted that shot from practically our back line and it floated for an eternity before landing just outside the goal? I swear that one little shot took years off my life. Remember the sound and tone of Donovan's voice every time he answered a question from the press? It was as if he was wholly convinced that that World Cup was going to be our World Cup; that we were going to win it all. And at times I found myself sharing that belief because it was just too sweet a thought not to revel in.

Of course we didn't win, but that whole month was beyond exciting. I'm quite sure I didn't sleep more than four hours a night because I was always up watching the games, but I was in college then, so I was pretty familiar with sleep deprivation. And I was all buzzed up on the energy pouring over from South Korea to sleep anyway.

It's quite possible that nothing like that will happen this time around. America drew a devasting group, and our team doesn't quite seem as well put together as the last one. I know from what I've seen on-line, on television, and in person that we have some tremendous talent on our team, talent that cannot be denied, talent that when it's running on full cylinders is practically unstoppable. I'm going to carry some of that excitement from the last World Cup into this new one and pray that our team does as well. We may not win the whole damn thing. We may not even get out of our group. But for the first time we're capable of it, and that gives me hope. So for now I'm going to keep hoping because as every good American soccer fan knows, that's all we can really do.