As a fan of the beautiful game, I can't be unexcited by the prospect of David Beckham coming to play for the LA Galaxy. Here in Boston, in order to see him play without pulling strings, I'd have to buy tickets for four games. Luckily I have strings that can be pulled.
I had a chance to meet Becks once, in 1999 after Man U won the treble. I was invited to a lunch with the Queen the same time the team was. Unfortunately, I had a bit too much of the Bulgarian Cocktail the night before, and slept right through my alarm. I was disappointed.
I asked my Boston friend what he thought of Beckham's arrival.
"Dude, the Sox're in first place, and barring another '78, they got a chance to win the whole thing. Fuck soccer. Tell me when Mike Greenwell's coming back to town, and then I'll care."
He had a point: no matter how cool Beckham is, he's no Mike Greenwell, the Gator, who patrolled left field for the Sox in the late 80s and early 90s. Welcome to America, Becks.
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