OK, so somebody said, "You've been to eight World Cups? Man, you should write a book!"
And so he did. Problem is, he found a way to write a book with no great anecdotes, no behind-the-scenes insight, no nothing but a recitation of what he did during eight World Cups. I guess I gave it 2 stars instead of 1 because It is, after all, about eight World Cups.
I really wanted to like this book, and kept going because I was convinced it HAD to get better, but it is simply paragraph after paragraph like this:
“On July 2, I watched the tube as the Netherlands eliminated Brazil in a quarterfinal match. Then I covered the Uruguay-Ghana match, when Luis Suárez of Uruguay blatantly swatted away a goal during extra time. As punishment for the handball, Suárez would have to miss the next match, but that seemed like a fair exchange after Asamoah Gyan, who had scored the winning goal against the United States, banged the penalty kick off the crossbar. Uruguay won in penalty kicks, and the Ghana players cried as they left the field.”
And a memorable, off-field interaction:
“I hated to leave Durban, particularly upon checking out with the same chatty Indian clerks who had greeted us three nights before.
“I’m going to miss you,” I said.
“Well, why don’t you take us with you?” one of the clerks said.
I love the saucy Indian sense of humor.
“If only we could…,” I said.”
Finally, this book used the phrase "And then... And then... And then" like a kindergartener explaining a three-ring circus, or like he had a deadline approaching and didn't have the time, energy, or interest to explain or think of any transitions. As for my ultimate criticism, I cringe to say -- and I would feel badly if he ever reads this, but it was an expensive little bugger, so he's laughing all the way to the bank -- that I actually read some paragraphs aloud to my wife, who thought it was hilarious.