Now that the news is not only official but seems to have actually stuck, I have some words about the Brett Favre Soap Opera that has unfolded over the past month. In case you don’t care about sports, but are reading this article anyway, here’s a quick rundown of the important events that occurred: Brett Favre, much heralded quarterback of the Green Bay Packers, retired at the end of last season and the Packers then installed their back-up Aaron Rodgers (who they drafted four years ago with the express purpose of having him replace Favre one day) as their starter. Then Favre said he wanted to come back and the Packers offered him $20 million to stay retired.

After about forty little strategic moves and a full month of maneuvering, Favre ends up on the Jets in exchange for some draft picks, number and round determined by the success of the Jets’ season. Here’s a prediction: the Jets wont do that well and Favre will retire and stay retired at the end of this season. Kind of makes one wonder why he would even come back at all.

It’s been a week, but I still might not be able to talk coherently about it. Every once in a while, something comes along and you just can’t wrap your head around it in the way that you want to, you simply can’t come up with a pithy, overly-smart, no one’s written this yet sort of explanation. Instead, there’s only the absolute truth, which is pretty disturbing for a multitude of reasons. But, sometimes it can’t be ignored.

This past weekend I, along with some friends that included Steve’s Word own Ryan Kennedy and roughly 79,000 strangers, travelled out to Giants’ Stadium to witness the US Men’s Soccer team take on the #1 World Ranked Argentina Men’s Soccer team. Before you dismiss this article as either a drab piece of sports journalism, or even worse, a blog, allow me to quickly put the significance of the game itself into perspective before I deliver the cultural insight that you not only rely on from Steve’s Word, but crave like a lion craves a young water buffalo. It was a friendly (exhibition) so the game seemingly held little consequence. However, this would be the last game for both teams before World Cup Qualification begins so both teams would be testing their readiness. Moreover, these men are all professionals and were playing for national pride. The physical intensity of the game and the 79,000 screaming fans were a testament to that. If you truly want the hard facts of the game, read this. Other than offering the most exciting and thrilling 0-0 draw I’ve ever witnessed, this game provided me with unexpected challenges and eye-opening experiences that only an international soccer game can deliver. Sorry, dudes, seeing plenty of hot, over-primped Argentinean woman was something I did expect so I’ll have to omit it from this piece. If you’re an observant person, going to an international soccer game will quickly challenge your previously held beliefs of national identity. How? Let me put it this way, the ingredients of beer, sports, bigotry, confusing genetic make-up, and national pride combine for a recipe that offers a swift kick to your American nuts. National Identity is a social construct, but once solidified it is hard to see it as something other than fact. “I’m American and I’m proud even though the fact that I’m America is a total random event and if I were born in any other country I’d be proud of that place too.” Going to an international soccer game makes you think about this sort of existential crap.

As if the release of Sex and the City: the Movie wasn’t enough to get your juices flowing and or get your need for a lobotomy kicked into high gear, CBS ushered in a new frontier of American sport on Saturday night. That’s right, while I was giving my time to sit in a crowded room full of chatty ladies, CBS aired a collection of MMA fights, which pretty much can’t get more opposite from SATC. What a wild weekend it was.

Since you probably have more sense than to either sacrifice your hard-earned Saturday night or a large portion of your DVR’s memory with this dreck, I’ll sum it up for you. CBS screwed the pooch in every way in their attempt to make MMA, Mixed Martial Arts, the hot new thing on the American sports scene, although there’s clearly no way that could ever happen. But, as usual, I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’d like to take this opportunity to brag about the fact that I went to the World Cup in Germany. To rub it in somebody’s face that I was at the Brazil vs France game and witnessed one of the most dominating and captivating athletic displays ever in Zinedine Zidane’s performance that game. I want to shout it from a mountaintop that I got to observe an endless celebration when Germany defeated Argentina in their quarterfinal match and Germans felt comfortable celebrating being Germans for the first time in six decades. However, since I’m an American living in America, nobody gives a shit. Every four years, while the rest of the world fully celebrates the Beautiful Game, Americans and our sports writers ponder two important questions: why aren’t we good enough yet and why does still nobody care about soccer? I know the answer: soccer is not cool. When soccer becomes cool, more people will play it, more people will watch it, and we will be the best at it.

After a recent ecstasy and group sex binge in scandalous Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, I spent the following sunny and beautiful afternoon regaining my serotonin and my self worth watching a little league soccer match in Clearwater. Actually, I woke up behind some bushes to the sounds of whistles and ball-kicking, and having no idea why I was now on the opposite coast of Florida, but suspecting a hurricane had been involved, I decided it would be better if I just stayed put until the game was over, as to not frighten children with my sparkling eye makeup and fake blood oozing out of my bare chest’s nipples.

There comes a moment in every major league baseball game when some group of nerds tries to start The Wave. You’re sitting there enjoying the game, sipping on a cold $8 commemorative cup of Bud Lite, and scarfing down some peanuts when all of the sudden some buffoons want you to stand up and throw your arms in the air repeatedly for no god damn reason whatsoever. I declare a moratorium on the wave at all sporting events. Here I will provide indisputable evidence supporting said moratorium.