I am a Cubs fan. I am a Bears fan. I love Chicago and love Chicago sports. But for my true sporting passion, I look to soccer. Having lived across the pond for most of my life and isolated from the U.S. sporting world, soccer was what I cared about. I have played soccer since I was five. I have played it on grass, asphalt, dirt and sand. I played barefoot, with sandals and in $185 Adidas aluminum-tipped cleats. I played in mini-foot tournaments, neighborhood pickup games in Casablanca and on the high school team. Whenever I had a chance to play the beautiful game, I obliged with gusto. Soccer has followed me everywhere I have been.

Soccer has provided me with unforgettable moments, but not all of them were good. I played in a league in Egypt for four years and no matter how well my team did, we were always eliminated in the first game of the tournament. I remember the agony of missing a penalty kick that would have made us tournament champions. Not to mention the countless kicks to the groin, whacks to the face and elbows to the jaw (one of which knocked me out for a good 10 seconds).

But there were moments of glory. I remember scoring a winning goal in a game in which underdog status would have been too generous a description. I kicked a ball off of a volley from the top-right corner of the penalty box. On it went past the hands of the keeper and into the net. All I wanted to do was run and run I did. People were screaming and cheering, but I couldn’t hear any of it. It was an absolutely incredible feeling.

Then there are the memories from watching it on TV. Who can forget Roberto Baggio’s missed penalty kick in 1994? Or Oliver Bierhoff’s leap on the international stage with two headers that gave the Germans the European Cup in 1996? Or Zidane’s infamous headbutt to Materazzi’s chest?

You can all guess then that I have been watching the Euro 2008 tournament. This has been the most dramatic and thrilling two weeks of televised soccer in my life. These games have been amazing to watch. There was the heartbreaking defeat of the Croats against the never-say-die Turkish squad. There was Gianluigi Buffon’s miraculous penalty block, keeping the Italians in the tournament. Then the … What’s that?! The Russians are coming?! Put your pen down, Tolstoy! Step aside, Trotsky! Put your shoe back on, Nikita! Make way for the new heroes of the motherland: Andrei Arshavin, Roman Pavlyuchenko and Denis Kolodin’s right foot. If you missed it, the Russian squad defeated the Dutch colossus 3-1 in a stunning game. Many of the favored teams have been sent home and a new set of teams are making themselves heard. If you have not been watching this tournament, don’t miss another second. The revolution is being televised.