It would be easy for me to sit here at my little keyboard, mocking someone who had the courage to chase their dream.
It would also be easy for me to eat, sleep and breathe. Just because something's easy doesn't mean you shouldn't do it. I plan to tell people that even if Giuseppe Rossi did declare for the US, he'd have been dropped for Herculez.
Simon Elliott's going to the World Cup. Giuseppe Rossi isn't. I'm glad I lived to see that happen. There is no way this day can go bad. And I've just been shot in the stomach and left by the side of the road to die. AND, I'm going to finish this post before calling for help. I might even spell-check, too, for a change. Because when it comes to laughing at Giuseppe Rossi? I want everything to be perfect.
Then again, just writing "NICE CHOICE, [rhymes with castle]!" over and over like Jack Nicholson's manuscript in "The Shining" would be perfect, in its own way.
Now, to be fair, he might make it to future World Cups. But right now, I get to dream of the day when my grandchildren ask me if I've ever done anything in the sport, I'll say "No, I sat on my ass and watched...just like Giuseppe Rossi in 2010."
Yeah, in four years he could score a hat trick to give Italy the World Cup. Or in four years he and Sacha Kljestan could be selling meth to undercover cops.
I realize that if someone has a wild, implausible dream and suffers a setback while trying to achieve it, that invalidates neither dream nor dreamer. By mocking Rossi, in many ways I am telling people to not to risk, not to strive, to think and dream small.
But there is another message here, a more uplifting one. The US National Team, we are telling the world, is worth hating a perfect stranger over. We're not just hating Rossi, we are showing our love for American soccer. Through hate. That's what being a fan is all about.