Soccer-mom hell: soccer is a sport for bureaucrats, socialists, and overbearing mothers. Stop the madness.

Soccer is a sport for bureaucrats, socialists, and overbearing mothers. Stop the madness.

Mr. Moore is a contributing editor to NR.

AFTER watching the first two soccer games of my six-year-old son, Justin, this spring, I finally understand why Europeans riot at soccer matches. For the same reason inmates riot in prisons: sheer boredom.

There is no surer sign of the decline of America's culture than the craze over this awful European sport. Drive past a park or a schoolyard on a clear spring afternoon and you're likely to witness a depressingly unpatriotic sight: the baseball diamond lies empty and crab grass grows in the infield, while herds of American children dressed in preposterous polyester uniforms run around kicking a white and black ball in no particular direction and to no apparent end.

Soccer at any level -- from six-and-under peewee leagues to the pros -- is about as scintillating as ninety minutes of Court TV. Soccer is reminiscent of ACC college basketball games in the pre -shot-clock era when halftime scores were in the single digits: North Carolina 9, Virginia 7. (What is it they used to say about Dean Smith? The only man who ever held Michael Jordan to less than 20 points a game.)

Soccer is the least offensive-minded game ever invented. Last year the goalie on Justin's team recorded five straight shutouts. This seemed to me to be an awesome athletic triumph, until it dawned on me that there had been no shots on goal that I could recall. By the end of the season our superstar goalie began to lie in the grass in front of the net and read comic books during the games.

During the second period of one game last year a Good Humor truck drove by the park. On hearing the tinkling of the bells half our players awoke from their slumber and scrambled from the playing field in joyous pursuit. Meanwhile, on the field, the game relentlessly continued. For more than five minutes our opponents commanded the equivalent of a five-man power-play advantage and they still couldn't score.

No other activity in life requires so much effort for so little reward. Ninety-nine per cent of the action has virtually no bearing on the outcome of the game. Herein may lie the explanation for why so many of my government-bureaucrat neighbors in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., have a love affair with soccer.

In soccer, every mother's child is above average. There's no shame in losing and a tie is the likely outcome. The game's egalitarian philosophy extends to the absurdity of giving every kid a trophy at the end of the season.

I am convinced that the ordeal of soccer teaches our kids all the wrong lessons in life. Soccer is the Marxist concept of the labor theory of value applied to sports -- which may explain why socialist nations dominate in the World Cup. The purpose of a capitalist economy is to produce the maximum output for the least amount of exertion. Soccer requires huge volumes of effort but produces no output.

What makes peewee soccer particularly insidious is that boys and girls play together. At this level, the sport has become a giant social experiment imposed upon us by the same geniuses who have put women in combat. No one seems to care much that co-ed soccer is doing irreparable harm to the psyche of America's little boys.

At this pre-puberty state of life girls tower over boys and typically have better coordination. Last year the Pele of my son's league was a kindergartner named Kate Lynn. During one game, Kate Lynn repeatedly stampeded over Justin. After the third knockdown, I quietly pulled him aside and advised: "Remember that rule about never hitting a girl? Let's suspend that for the next forty minutes." But he never did, because she was likely to hit back.

If the girls are bad, the moms are worse. They berate the referees. Taunt opposing players. Nag the coach unmercifully to put their no-talent kid back in. One woman paced the sidelines through an entire game in a wild-eyed frenzy, screaming: "Jeffrey, Jeffrey, Jeffrey . . ." My kingdom for a muzzle. Once the game had mercifully ended she smothered him with hugs while cooing: "Oh, Jeffrey, you are soooo good at soccer." Take my word for it, Newt, the Republican Party is much better off without these women. If she's in, I'm out.

During games, I usually stand mute on the sidelines reading the newspaper. My refusal to feign interest is a source of great irritation for the more fanatical soccer moms. They now whisper disapprovingly among themselves: "Oh, that's Justin's dad. He has an attitude problem." They regard my lack of enthusiasm as a form of child abuse. Next they'll be notifying the child-welfare league about me.

So the issue of the day is whether we Americans will muster the forces to take back our culture from the un-American soccer enthusiasts. We need to channel our kids' energies into more productive activities: baseball, football, tennis, MTV -- even smoking would be an improvement.

Soccer is draining America of the next generation's talent in the sports that really matter. Charles Barkley recently warned that within the next three Olympics the Europeans will be competitive with the U.S. Dream Team. When Sweden beats our top stars in basketball, Americans will assuredly awaken from their slumber. But by then it will be too late.