Doyel: World Cup mania, one missed goal at a time

This is soccer. Goals don't just happen in soccer, not easily and never this early, and Brian McGreer has been holding down a table for more than three hours at Chatham Tap on Mass Ave.

OK, he'd been drinking. Three hours of drinking — what else do you do in a soccer pub? — while waiting Sunday night for the Women's World Cup final between the United States and Japan to start. Not to get all personal here, but nature was calling McGreer. He walked to the restroom, opened the door and stopped. The game was less than 3 minutes old, but the restaurant was now buzzing. He turned and saw a U.S. attack building, building …

"I can't go now," McGreer was telling me, standing nearby at the bar. "They're coming!"

And then, they weren't. Japan cleared the ball. McGreer disappeared into the restroom. Thirty seconds later, the U.S. had a corner kick, Julie Johnston was sending a hard-rolling ball through the box, and Carli Lloyd was ramming it home for the fastest goal in a Women's World Cup final.

Bedlam in Canada, bedlam in Chatham Tap, and now the door to the restroom is opening and McGreer is sheepishly giving play-by-play of his own night.

"And Brian McGreer of Broad Ripple spent the rest of the game in the bathroom for good luck …"

I smile at McGreer, the poor guy. Who misses a goal in the World Cup? The unluckiest dude in the bar. Might be the only goal scored all game, and he was in the …

Bedlam in Canada. Bedlam in Chatham Tap. Lloyd has scored again, turning a loose ball in the box into another goal. The U.S. leads 2-0 after 5 minutes and Chatham Tap is chanting "U-S-A, U-S-A," and nobody is happier than McGreer, who actually saw this one.

"No jinx!" he says, and with that I'm gone. The Indy Eleven block party is just around the corner, and with a little luck —what are the odds, really? — I'll get there before anything else happens.

Sigh.

The jumbo screens are on North Street, the alley between College and Park avenues, and I'm on Mass Ave — passing Ralston's DraftHouse on my left — when this happy noise rises. It sounds like a wave crashing, it's so loud, but the closest body of water is Broad Ripple Canal. Unless Pat McAfee and half the Colts offensive line just cannon-balled into the canal, the U.S. has scored again. I look to my right, into the windows of the Pizzology pub, and my worst fears — sorry, I mean my hopes and dreams, U-S-A! — are confirmed.

Another goal. It's 3-0, this one a brilliant volley from former Ben Davis star Lauren Holiday, and now I'm Brian McGreer – missing a U.S. goal in the World Cup final.

Then I miss another.

It can't be 90 seconds later, and the giant TV screen on North Street is visible in the distance when the wave crashes again. I know this noise. It's the noise Indianapolis makes when the U.S. scores. Sure enough, Lloyd has just scored her third goal – a hat trick, 15 minutes into the World Cup final – from 50 yards out. America is beating Japan 4-0 now, and I'm beating Brian McGreer 2-1 in goals missed.

Could be worse. As in, Michael Bullock worse.

Who's Michael Bullock? Probably the most unhappily happy U.S. soccer fan in Westfield. He arrived Downtown on Sunday evening with four of his kids — Allison, Abbey, Andrew and Audrey — but had to take Audrey back home after she had an issue with her contacts. He left behind the other three kids, all of them wearing red-white-and-blue face paint, all of them smiling at this ridiculous 4-0 score. All of them feeling terrible that their dad missed it.

"He's probably so irritated!" Allison says.

Me, I'm noticing that all four of the Bullock kids' names start with the letter 'A.'

"There are six kids, and we're all A's," Allison says. "Even our dog is an A."

That would be Ace, the Bullock family's lab mix.

Hey, dogs matter in this story. Ace wasn't at the block party, which puts him in the doggie minority. By my count, there were 2,000 people and 1,400 dogs at this block party. Biggest dog was Victorio, the Indy Eleven mascot, a 150-pound English mastiff wearing an Indy Eleven jersey. Smallest dog? Lots of choices, but I'm going with Charo, the Chihuahua who barked most of the first half and nipped at me when I tried to pet him. That cute little knucklehead.

Prettiest dog was Charlie the beagle, best name belongs to Griffey (his owner is from Cincinnati) the basenji, but my personal favorite was Kaidan, an Irish goldendoodle. What's an Irish goldendoodle? A four-legged shag carpet. Petting Kaidan is like eating a Pringles chip — you can't stop at one. I'm petting Kaidan for so long, I miss another goal. Japan scores this one, and it's 4-1. The block party groans, but just barely. This game is over, and everyone knows it.

Time to head to the office and write. As I cross College Avenue toward my car, a 30-something couple is standing outside their SUV, fussing with a baby stroller.

"You coming or going?" I ask.

"Just got here," the man says. "What's the score?"

I tell him the United States is winning 4-1 at the half. I don't tell him: This game is over. I don't have to.

"Ah," he says. Poor guy, he knows. He'll see half the game, but he's missed the game. Worse than Brian McGreer missing a goal in the restroom, worse than me missing two on Mass Ave. Hey, I don't tell him, look at the bright side: Michael Bullock is still in his car, trying to get here from Westfield.

By the time he gets back, this 5-2 USA victory will be over and all the dogs will be gone. On the bright side?

U-S-A! U-S-A!

Find Star columnist Gregg Doyel on Twitter at@GreggDoyelStar or atwww.facebook.com/gregg.doyel