--Shannon Sharpe
I have to confess that if there's one thing I miss about America, it's the sports. It's the only area of life in which the European version bears no resemblance to the stuff I was born and raised on. At no time has this been more obvious than Thanksgiving weekend. Instead of watching Romo score 5 TD's in Irving, I found myself in High Wycombe trying to understand the contest that was going on between the Leicester Tigers and the London Wasps. Rugby is great, but all I could think about the whole time is what it would be like to actually field an American team for the World Cup. I mean can you imagine?
If I were coach I would start the game with only three players on the field: Ray Lewis, Champ Bailey, and Vinatieri. After the first half, it would be a pretty even game with Vinatieri hammering drop goals one right after the other from midfield and the defense containing their 11 opponents apart from one or two scores. By the start of the second half, I would bring out the "B" squad: Terry Bradshaw, The Mailman, OJ Simpson (just for the controversy of it), Kathy Ireland, the fat kid from "Old School," Jake the Snake (the wrestler, not the former starting Denver QB) and John Kerry. Things would start to get a little rough for Team America, and the fans would be starting to get nervous and start heckling me. I'd think about calling up Mike Richardson from the bench but would hold off, knowing that the mastermind Parcells-approved plan was about to unfold. And then with 5 minutes left in the game, I'd unleash American athletecism at full strength. LT. TO. Randy Moss. Deion Sanders. Sha Sha. Romanowski. Chris Carter. Emmit Smith. And of course: John Elway. After running up the score by triple digits, the world would be reminded once again of the immortal words of Ricky Bobby: "If you ain't first, you're last."
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