Ah, soccer (or, as I know it, real football), why can’t I quit you? Nearly every weekend of the year, hundreds of millions of people around the world stop whatever they’re doing to trudge to a nearby stadium, watering hole or couch to watch the game. No other sport comes close to commanding such universal love and devotion. More than religion, it is the true opiate of the 21st century’s masses. In return, though, what does soccer give its legions of fans? For most, just misery and frustration. Unless you’re riding on the bandwagon of one of a few select teams, a soccer season gets filled out by turgid performances, crushing disappointments and a few fleeting moments of glorious triumph to tease you along. All the while, the game remains in the hands of media tycoons, shadowy oligarchs and the ever scandalous technocrats and yes-men of FIFA, the sport’s global administrative body. They rake in the cash while we, the ever faithful, kneel at the sport’s altar, seeking salvation in its false but oh-so-beautiful idols.