The Year is 1994. I'm only 10 years old. Its hot outside, about 90 degrees. I don't have Air Conditioning on in my house (save electricity), so the temperature is hot and I'm steaming b/c its the Final of all Finals. The one in the USA, the United States of America. The man of the tourney, Roby Baggio, lines up for the kick. I had followed him for three weeks, amazed at his skill, first time I was watching international soccer in my life. And he lines up, prepared to continue an everlasting saga. He runs up, ready to continue glory, and - the ball sails over the bar. And there goes my dreams, as I go outside and kick a soccer ball 100s of times into my fence, wondering how wrong a Penalty Kick could be. How wrong, as I cried all day and into that night. And such a moment might not ever come back to me, as this is what Italia means for me.