Nothing compares with World Cup soccer madness.

I snuck out last Wednesday lunchtime (don't tell the boss--he thinks I'm busy) to watch the opening game in a bar in New York's fashionable Tribeca district.

There, while watching Scotland lose so unluckily to a rather disappointing Brazil, I endured honking, shouting, writhing and other possibly lewd acts, mostly performed by an excitable crowd of (nondrinking) Brazilians. You could tell the Scots by the pints of beer in front of them (this was,

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