The case against David Beckham doesn't begin or end with the fact that that he now weighs less than his wife despite her handrail build thanks to the 85 silicone-laden pounds inserted inside her during chest-centric plastic surgery. His better half's tragic descent from lovely natural woman to cosmetic enhancement addict/cautionary tale, may be cause for objection, but is utterly irrelevant in Sweaty Pursuits' sporting court. The issue for those that like to watch (sport that is) is that the soccerer may again invade America's shores to toil as a wholly overrated star who thrusts a sport we as a nation loathe in our collective faces.

We'd much prefer to exchange Beckham for more palatable British exports, such as a third series of Spaced or a few container loads of Cadbury Flake bars, but it doesn't seem likely that Becks will play ball on this one. If his second coming actually happens, we'll officially be even for inflicting Friends and Pepsi-Cola on the United Kingdom. To further complicate shit, there's another party involved in the Beckham stakes: Italy. The country, who's only contemporary cultural contribution is making some of the most over-priced handbags and stilettos on the planet, wants to keep him. And, for some reason I can't quite fathom, some Americans are trying to stop them.

Vote for Italy. The announcement that Victoria's spouse could be returning to Major League Soccer is a seriously upsetting prospect for those in the States who prefer their sports to be sporty and not chess-y. The return of Golden Balls to LA's Galaxy means SportsCenter will subsequently devote an unacceptable percentage of time on the tie-heavy sport. Enduring Beckhamwatch yet again while waiting for NBA scores and news on the condition of pitchers' rotator cuffs is a deplorable prospect for real fans of real sports.

It's bad enough that Beckham is soccer's Trojan horse, allowing the "sport" to mince into the mainstream, carried by his admittedly cute legs, but the problem is also his play. Quite simply, someone that handsome should score more often. He's amassed a grand total of, wait for it, drum roll here, five goals in his 30 games with the Galaxy, a total as underwhelming as the team's name is insipidly silly. His 12 assists don't quite justify his five-year, $437 billion contract, either, and even he'd admit he's not worth his economic bailout-sized checks if you got two or three cosmopolitans in him.

Even by soccer's woefully meager standards, he doesn't frequently propel balls to nets. And that's always been a problem with him: Posh's bit of designer rough is a fine passer, and he's quite proficient at free kicks, and that's about it. He's like a receptionist who makes good coffee but doesn't know how to answer the phone.

The didn't-appear-in-Bend It Like Beckham Beckham found fortune and fame by obeying the Hasselhoff Principle, which states that riding on others' successes is success itself, sort of. For example, his first team, Manchester United, was consistently victorious during his tenure there -- the striking word in this sentence being "team." While he was often a contributor, the fact remains that the Red Devils are a self-perpetuating juggernaut, much like how you, me, or anybody's two-legged momma could have played for the New York Yankees and still have won a selection of World Series rings back in the 90s.

Beckham has made a fortune in tips as a decent waiter working at a restaurant in a terrific location, and yet that's only a misdemeanor compared to his felonies against the "man" part of mankind. Namely, he was the initial and quintessential metrosexual. Thankfully for males who display an innate repulsion for "product," the trend has gone the way of the Atkins Diet. But we still get occasional dirty looks when we drink beer out of cans, don't shave on a particular day, or wear a non-ironic rock band T-shirt. Thanks, Handsome!

That legacy is part of his infuriating magnetism, but I'm veering offside here and should get back on point. Mr. Spice may be the most famous person in the world, never mind athlete, and yet he hasn't even been the best player on many of his teams. Who knows why his roster mates haven't also appeared on the cover of Details when they're not incessantly shilling for Disney? In their collective defense, not everyone can be born with boy band good looks.

His puddle shallowness is why he won't be the person who reverses 230-plus years of American evolution that's rendered the foot-heavy sort of football reflexively unappealing to the nation. Those already allergic to soccer are never going to be convinced to change by the Great Brit Hope.

Good 'ol American sport fans, who prefer collision-conducive athletics, find a game where humans are forbidden from using hands, despite being equipped with the useful appendages, rather primitive. And they're not likely to be converted by an Armani underpants model who moonlights as a kicker when they discover that there's no full-body tackling or checking, and almost the same amount of scoring.

The good news is that Spice Boy may not be back anyway. He's been bitching about how he wants to stay with his loaner squad, A.C. Milan, and despite the expiration of a Galaxy-imposed deadline to negotiate a deal for him, the Milanese are still trying to bribe his California team for his questionable services.

Those accessory-loving Italians would be doing the U.S. a favor: American fans want their sports to remain fiercely combative affairs where maintenance crews have to squeegee blood off the playing surface during television breaks. Ultimately however it won't matter whether Becks returns to LA -- if fucking Pelé couldn't make Americans permanently embrace soccer, a man who has his name on a fragrance certainly won't, either.


Anthony Bialy is SG's no-jocks-required Sweaty Pursuits sports columnist. He follows sports religiously even though he’s quite bad at them. He ran cross country and played rugby in college, and was horrid at both. He schedules his life around his favorite NHL team’s games, and sadly lists his alma mater winning the NCAA basketball championship as his happiest moment. He likes other things besides sports, too, and requests a minute to think of them.

Photo by Nicole Powers, who was having far to much fun with her zoom lens at the Home Depot Center.