According to the Associated Press, French striker Thierry Henry called for a meeting with French President Nicolas Sarkozy upon the team's return to France to discuss their disastrous World Cup showing.

Sarkozy, who publically denounced the squad's actions, has also scheduled a meeting with ministers come up with a plan on how to reform French soccer.

The team's meltdown started when star striker Nicolas Anelka verbally attacked French coach Raymond Domenech, refusing to apologize and subsequently being sent home by the French Football Federation.

Then the team went on strike in protest of the Federation's hard-nosed approach and refused to train. However admired team solidarity may be on the soccer field, this may have led to their 2-1 loss against South Africa, and their elimination.

Adding insult to injury, the French team's elimination Tuesday night means they now have to return to a country full of disgruntled French soccer enthusiasts - in addition to one very disappointed president.

Established in 1911 by members of the Norwegian Seamen's Association of Bay Ridge Brooklyn, SC Gjøa takes its name from the intrepid sloop with which Roald Amundsen first navigated the Northwest Passage in 1903-1906. In 1911, world football was still in its infancy-FIFA came together in 1904-and the Norwegians' sport of choice was tug of war. Gjøa, led by its strongmen Ole K. Hansen and Nils Nilson, took the championship in 1914, 1916, 1917, 1918, and 1920. The next year, Gjøa fielded its first football team, and over the next decade the trophy cases that line the walls of the old clubhouse in Bay Ridge began to fill with the unmistakable memoranda of a sporting dynasty. So great was the distinction of Gjøa's footballing in those days-let the 1929 New York State Championship trophy serve as evidence-that a tour of Norway was arranged for the summer of 1931. The booters from Brooklyn played 29 games in 60 days against the mother country's most formidable teams; the record was 16 wins, 7 ties and 6 losses.

As a veteran New York soccer dad, I have seen clubs rise and fall. The Manhattan Kickers, the Brooklyn Patriots, Downtown United, Asphalt Green-each of these relative newcomers has had its moments of triumph, yet none can match the history of the old ethnic clubs. Gjøa, after a period of decline, has rebuilt its youth program, and under the leadership of youth athletic director Jimmy Svendsen and head coach Harry Triana, the club has more than one team contending for the state cup this year. If the turnout on Saturday is any indicator, the venerable Norwegian-American sporting association will celebrate its centennial in 2011 with the most robust soccer program in the borough of Brooklyn. Uniquely among the New York soccer clubs I have experienced, SC Gjøa also comes equipped with an excellent bar.

When I arrived at the clubhouse at noon, I was prepared for the sort of stuffy and overlong awards ceremony that dulls the spirits of parents everywhere. I was also afraid we'd miss the opening of the U.S.-England match. Happily, my natural pessimism was misplaced. Pleasant smells of charred cowflesh met me as I made my way through a chaos of bouncing balls and darting children; the barbecue was in full swing, and a soccer game was stirring up tremendous clouds of dust from the courtyard. I quickly made my way into the cool and musty shadows of the main hall, with its impressive display of 99 years' worth of trophies and plaques. My eye drifted along the endless glass cases, and though I could discern no obvious scheme of organization, it appeared that the 1930s, 1950s and 1960s had been especially prolific. At the other end of the hall, I was startled by the immensely smug televised countenance of ESPN's Alexi Lalas, projected on a screen, when through a doorway I glimpsed the object of my quest.

Upon passing through the swinging doors, I was greeted by a charming older gentleman behind the bar who kindly supplied me with a strong bloody mary. As the afternoon progressed and the awards ceremony slipped painlessly by-every child received a trophy, and there were special distinctions for good attitude, skills development and exceptional performance-I began to grasp the secret of Gjøa's longevity. The clamor from the hall-howls of disappointment at the 4-minute mark, when Steven Gerrard made his effortless goal, and triumphant chants of "U-S-A! U-S-A!" when Clint Dempsey scored off Robert Green's tragic fumble-faded to an agreeable background roar in the civilized calm of our liquid sanctuary, with its four wide-screen flat-panel displays.

Two members behind the bar ministered to our simple needs, and no one displayed concern about a few tendrils of cigarette smoke. I heard tales of ancient rivalries with Blau Weiss Gottschee of Queens (founded 1951) and the Brooklyn Italians (founded 1949) from lifelong members who had played for Gjøa from the age of 6 or 10. The old fields at Leif Ericson Park had been dustbowls, filled with gravel and other debris; on one occasion, players arrived to find a dump truck occupying the midfield. When artificial turf was installed at Dyker Beach Park, legend has it that disgruntled miscreants burned a car on the field, giving new meaning to the term "pitch." Some rival clubs used to gamble on the matches, I was told, and predatory teams used to poach players and stack their squads by paying bonuses for every victory. Over the years, I have seen enough mayhem on the sidelines of soccer fields in all five boroughs-red cards given to parents, screaming and abusive coaches, sobbing children, brawls and near-brawls between rival gangs of suddenly thuggish fans-to believe that anything can happen in youth sports. Despite all the parental nonsense, children love to play the game. Never once have I seen misbehavior from a Gjøa parent or coach, and in large part that measured serenity is what attracted my family to the club. On Saturday, basking in what amounted to a famous Yankee victory in South Africa, well into my third beer, I understood one possible explanation for the long good health of a storied south Brooklyn institution. Let the children play; let the grown-ups sit at the bar. Everybody wins.

Roger D. Hodge is the former editor of Harper's Magazine. His book, The Mendacity of Hope: Barack Obama and the Betrayal of American Liberalism, will be published in October.

Town eateries like Rowdy Hall, Citta Nuova and the Blue Parrot overflowed with fans, some with gelled hair to complement their U.S.A. soccer jerseys or T-shirts, others in python print stilettos and unseasonable tans.

These were not the Hamptonites The Observer dreams of at night, the glamorous aging baby boomers with homes on West End Road and beachfront properties off Lily Pond Lane. Unfortunately, that local noblesse don't seem to care much about soccer at all.

The evening before the U.S. vs U.K. game, Hamptons mascot Alec Baldwin told The Observer apologetically, "Oh, dear, I don't really care about soccer. I'm an NFL fan and basketball and everything else so-so, but not soccer." The actor, currently starring in Equus at East Hampton's Guild Hall, explained, "We're doing two shows tomorrow, so I definitely won't be watching."

That same night, Ellin Saltzman, former Glamour editor, Saks Fifth Avenue director and current Gilt Groupe Consultant, proudly told The Observer, "Isn't the U.S. playing tomorrow? I don't know about soccer, but my grandkids love it!"

Only in the past quarter-century has soccer made a permanent mark on the collective American psyche, with predominantly younger generations caring about the graceful sport, even as older sports fans remain loyal to the more traditional American sporting pastimes like baseball, football and ... polo.

David Walentas, the rough-and-tumble real estate developer who owns 115 acres of equestrian land where the revered Hampton Polo matches are played every summer, similarly had a hard time with the World Cup. "I tried to watch a little, but I don't really like soccer. I mean, I didn't grow up playing when I was kid; I never got into it."

To some, the game is more like a foreign language, not understood. Asked if he would be watching any of the World Cup, which goes through July, director Sydney Lumet simply stared blankly.

Kevin Brown, the oversize actor who plays Dotcom, the intellectual member of Tracy Morgan's entourage in 30 Rock, is certainly younger than a baby boomer; in fact, he's probably the baby of a baby boomer. But he doesn't care about soccer, either! At the premiere of Equus, he told The Observer, "No, I haven't gotten into that game yet. I saw one game with what's his name, Beckham, and he was injured like the whole time! I mean, what is that?"

That, my friends, is the World Cup in the Hamptons.

DO NOT

Call soccer "football" if you're American.

This is pretentious.

Root for the U.S.

Our great nation does not dominate at soccer. This should be obvious based solely on the fact that the most memorable soccer movies produced by our country were vehicles for Sylvester Stallone (Victory, 1981) and Rodney Dangerfield (Ladybugs, 1992). We'll likely advance beyond the first round, but then teams from South America or Europe will promptly trounce us.

Try to drop Afrikaans slang.

(A) You're not in Cape Town, and (B) using "now-now" to mean "soon" will just make people think you're Rain Man.

Ask where David Beckham is.

He's injured an Achilles tendon and won't be playing, though he'll likely be mugging (or moping) for the cameras from the sidelines.

Make fun of Kaka.

His real name is Ricardo Izecson dos Santos Leite; he survived a terrible spine injury (feeling bad yet?); and he was named European Player of the Year in '07. A man should not be measured by his scatological nickname, although one wonders how his parents allowed this to happen.

Compare the World Cup to the World Series.

They are nothing alike. Putting aside the fact that they're completely different sports with completely different rules, 32 countries are represented at the 2010 World Cup; the misleadingly named World Series has two (and that's only if you count Canada-sorry, Blue Jays).

DO

Know your rivalries.

Rooting for Brazil in an Argentine steakhouse is like wearing a Yankees cap at Fenway Park, only more dangerous (knives trump drunken townies in "Green Monstah" T-shirts).

Study the cards.

A yellow card is a caution. A red card expels a player for the remainder of the game. Green Card is a delightful comic romp starring Gerard Depardieu and Andie MacDowell and is not generally used in play (though there's a first time for everything).

Brush up on your math.

The 32 teams are initially split, based on rankings, into 8 groups of 4 (basic multiplication, makes sense so far). Each group plays a round-robin tournament so that each team plays each other team in its group once (got it?). Winning a game is 3 points, a tie is 1 point, and a loss is 0 points. The top 2 teams from each group advance to the next round, and so on and so forth, until the competition shrinks from 16 teams to 8 to 4 to 2 to the square root of Pi minus .7725, also known as one, which is the winner.

Embrace South Africa's colorful mascot.

The World Cup mascot, an anthropomorphized leopard with green dreadlocks named Zakumi, makes Mr. Met look like ... well, like an asshole. But Zakumi has one weakness: narcolepsy. According to FIFA's official site, "occasionally ... he may suddenly fall asleep on the spot at the most random times!"

Admire the players' Samson-like manes.

Soccer players are like the Red Sox in 2004, or maybe like Guns N' Roses circa Appetite for Destruction: all hair, all the time. Even if Spain doesn't make it to the finals, they win at follicular excellence this year, with Carles Puyol as MVP.

Root for the Ivory Coast.

O.K., so they probably won't win (if you have money riding on the victor, go with Spain or Brazil), but they could win. Plus, no African team has ever made a World Cup final, and South Africa is hosting this year. And if that doesn't get you misty-eyed (especially after a few beers), your soul is likely the color of tar.

Mr. Foer, author of How Soccer Explains the World, will be joined again by Serbian novelist and National Book Award finalist Aleksandar Hemon, among others. 

From the release: Contributors to Goal Post also include Matt Weiland (The Thinking Fan's Guide to the World Cup), painter and writer Rabih Alameddine, sportswriter Stefan Fatsis, Talking Points Memo's Zachary Roth, Mexican blogger León Krauze, Spectator's Alex Massie, author Tom Vanderbilt, Colombian novelist Carolina Sanin, Luke Dempsey (A Supremely Bad Idea), The New Republic's Jesse Zwick and Peruvian writer Daniel Alarcón.  

"I think that nerdy kids have a classic response to their sporting disasters as kids," Mr. Foer told the Observer's Lizzy Ratner in 2006. "What they can’t master physically they try to master intellectually, and certainly that’s the case with my soccer experience.”

Mr. Ronaldo would like to bring legal action against the magazine, according to Page Six.

"Ronaldo is freaking out," the source said. "He says he wants to sue Vanity Fair for using his image to promote the issue everywhere.

"Even though this is pretty standard practice in the magazine world, he and his managers insist only they have control of his image and where it can be used.

"But no legal action has been launched, and there are whispers that what really upset Ronaldo was that, having stripped off to his underpants for the shoot in Madrid, he didn't envisage sharing the cover with another player photographed in Milan."

Mr. Drogba and Mr. Ronaldo will meet face-to-face and fully clothed when Portugal and Ivory Coast play each other on June 15 in the opening round of the World Cup.

When President Bill Clinton came onto the field at the Children's Aid Society on 118th Street in Harlem on Monday, May 17, Juan Pablo Angel, the star of the New York Red Bulls, rolled toward him one of the soccer balls that he had just been using in a clinic for 30 local schoolchildren. Instead of picking the ball up and carrying it to the podium to convey that Mr. Clinton had accepted an invitation to join the USA Bid Committee, as honorary chairman, to bring the FIFA World Cup to the United States in 2018 or 2012, the former president adjusted his stride and struck the ball back to the center of the field. Mr. Angel kicked it back again, and Mr. Clinton returned it, this time with more oomph.

"His first touch wasn't so good, so I gave him another chance," Mr. Angel joked.

Mr. Clinton huddled away from the media with the some of the other Red Bulls before going over to shake the hands of the kids. He could be seen lifting his knee repeatedly in the air, looking like an excited but debonair flamingo.

"He was saying that Pele years ago had shown him how to stand on one leg and kind of juggle the ball with his thigh," Chris Albright, a Red Bulls defender, explained later. He said Pele was shocked at how well he did, and the president responded, 'Hey, I'm not that old. I've still got some left in me.'"

Although Mr. Clinton did not play soccer growing up in Arkansas, his daughter, Chelsea, was on a team by the age of 5. At the podium, he expressed his many emotional connections to the beautiful game and made the case for why the World Cup should come back to the United States and what it could do for the culture and economy.

"In 1994, in Chicago, at Wrigley Field*, I became the first American president to ever watch a World Cup game on American soil, and I have really been grateful ever since that I had a chance to be president during an American World Cup. That World Cup realized a surplus of 50 million dollars. It allowed for the creation of Major League Soccer W.O.R.K.S. and the U.S. Soccer Foundation, organizations that spearheaded the development of playing fields like the one we are standing on now."

Last week, the committee that Mr. Clinton now honorarily heads, which includes Mayor Michael Bloomberg, Walt Disney CEO Robert Iger, Drew Carey (yes, that one), MLS commissioner Don Garber, Mia Hamm, Donna Shalala, Spike Lee and Henry Kissinger, submitted a bid detailing the country's readiness. They named 18 possible cities as match sites, New York City included, each one having a stadium that can hold more than 76,000 people and all of the transportation and commercial infrastructure necessary to accommodate the soccer fans of the world. The committee estimated that more than a billion dollars in tickets would be sold and that each city would benefit from a $400 million to $600 million stimulus.

When The Observer asked Comptroller John Liu, a Flushing native whose 9-year-old son has turned his attention from soccer to baseball, whether that number sounds right, he responded, "That number sounds wonderful."

Mr. Clinton emphasized the draw of American diversity. "Hosting another World Cup in the United States, where about 12 percent of the population is foreign-born, will ensure high attendance for every match played," he said, "because we'll have lots of fans for every team that shows up."

After the press conference, the former president posed with the children and the MLS stars and dignitaries. A girl a couple rows in front of Mr. Clinton turned around and told him that this afternoon's clinic was the very first time she had ever played soccer. Mr. Clinton, who had just spent the last half-hour telling the media how popular soccer had become in the years since the first American-held World Cup in '94, turned to the rest of the children and asked them, "For how many of you was this your first time playing soccer?" Almost all of them eagerly raised their hands high in the air.

"See, the growth potential is huge." Mr. Clinton said.

*The game actually took place at Soldier Field.

editorial@observer.com