WE -- THE UNITED STATES OF AMERIca and I -- managed to get the World Cup kicked off all right last Friday in Chicago. Bolivia, grateful just to be in competition on the tepid shores of Lake Michigan, kept the Cup-holding Germans to a single goal before a crowd of 63,117 gathered in a great, poured-concrete tureen called Soldier Field. At the half, the temperature broke upon your cheek, hot enough for the back of a wristwatch to singe, and I, the only blue eye among distinguished Asian bleacher mates, remarked that someone could stir us and call us shabu-shabu. A...
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