Why I watch

I just experienced all I'll ever need from sports.

I work nights now so today's 10 a.m. USA-Algeria match finally fit my schedule. I decide against the new Brooklyn soccer bar that I've been wanting to get to. My roommate said the place was jammed for the game against Slovenia. She couldn't get in the door. So I head back to the same bar I watched the Champions League final in.

I walk in and everyone has scooped up all the seats in the bar, so I wander back to the projection screen where a bunch of tables are set up. I find the only open one and sit down. I look up at the screen, then I have a look around the room. I want to gauge who I'll be watching with. Two guys in some U.S. garb on my right. A family way up front.

And in his blue U.S. away jersey and some bright red Nikes, Spike Lee is sitting at the table in front of mine. He's here with a friend, waiting for the game to start.

You saw/read about the game. Missed calls. Missed chances. I'm wigging out the whole time. From what I can see, so is Spike Lee. Every near-miss sends him flying out of his chair. Sometimes he takes a second to survey the crowd. When he looks over his shoulder and glances back, I can't help but laugh to myself . His huge tortoise shell glasses are something else - and pretty much the last thing I expect to see while watching this game.

Flash forward 90 minutes. We're bombarding the net but we can't seem to time it right. Or we blast it over the top. A tie is death. We'll be out. It feels like a sin to call a "Please, God, just this once" prayer in now, but I keep my hands in that position anyway. The number comes up. Four minutes of extra time.

"Four minutes!" shouts Spike Lee. "That's all we need!" And he's clapping.

Now everyone is.

Some white shirts bang a few passes together. Then there's confusion in the box. Then it's in. Holy shit. It is in.

I jump out of my chair and knock down someone else's in the process. The whole place goes up. I'm jumping up and down and I leap on top of a chair. Next thing I know, Spike Lee's up on one, too. We're shouting and high-fiving and going ape shit.

The fun isn't done. An Algerian player takes down an American with about thirty seconds to go. Here's come a yellow, then a red. He's gone. Cherry on top.

My lasting image of this awesome victory will be of Spike Lee cheering and pretending to be an umpire.

"You're outta here!" he's yelling, whipping his finger in the air, showing Algeria the door.