A state patrolman who used to play on the Army soccer team in Europe was our coach. He used to tell us of playing in the stadium in Cologne. We thought he was god.
Why did I play soccer?
As heretical as it sounds, I never liked baseball much, and even if I had, I suffered from a complete lack of hand-eye coordination as a boy.
My parents wouldn't let me American football. It was a wise decision that probably spared me with my slight build a permanently disfiguring injury as a result of some bone-crushing tackle.
But I took to soccer immediately, helped by my long legs, not hindered by them.
And I grew into a fan as I grew as a player.
I still remember my first World Cup: Spain 1982. I had been playing soccer for two years by that time, and the idea of watching world-class players seemed absolutely thrilling.
But my family lived in the country, far beyond the reach of cable television, and satellite television was an expensive novelty.
The only way to watch the matches was on a public television station that barely came in. I remember holding the small TV-top antennae and waving my arms to try to get better reception.
But I was thrilled even if sometimes I had difficulty making out which team was which because the picture was so grainy.
The search for respectability
As I grew up, interest in sport exploded, and by the time I was 18 and playing for a travelling club, we were starting to see international clubs at our tournaments.