I love the World Cup. Unlike most Americans, I am drawn to soccer's world championship where countries battle it out for national pride and four years' bragging rights. The patriotism, drama and personalities make for a spectacular theater of victory and heartache.

In 1998, I was in Paris and witnessed firsthand the artistry of the Brazilians; it took my breath away. In 2002, I'd set my alarm for 2 a.m., put on my U.S Soccer jersey and drive to an English pub to watch our national team progress to the quarterfinals. Then, I'd go back to sleep, rinse the pub's cigarette smoke from my hair and go to work.

With the American team out early this year in Germany, I needed another team to pull for. I chose France for one reason: Zinedine Zidane. Known for his sublime touch on the ball, “Zizou” was poised to make a stunning finish to an amazing career. Zidane had a rags to riches story to rival any Hollywood blockbuster. Read more