By MONTE DUTTON

I had a new experience on Friday.

I listened to soccer on the radio. Serious radio. I mean Sirius. XM may have been involved, too.

It was rather stirring, the USA’s 2-0 victory over Australia. I listened to it breathlessly, or maybe I was breathless because I was pulling a travel trailer through the mountains. The last time I pulled a trailer through the mountains, it had cattle on it.

I should never use the GPS on my truck. I should use the GPS on my phone. While the American lads were being glorious again, I thought something was amiss when I passed the Connestee fire department and the same golf course for the second time.

I thought I had everything in the trailer anchored. I did not, not for the Pikes Peak Hillclimb. I can walk to the bathroom now. Things keep turning up. I’m still missing one sneaker.

Speaking of sneakers, even though I was on curvy roads, getting 11 miles a gallon in a truck that normally gets 25, I could faintly hear the sound of dribbling. North Carolina is a basketball state. South Carolina is a football state. I plan to examine this further.

Now, after another exhausting day of travel-trailer adventure – everything related to my shoe-box existence takes at least two tries to complete successfully – I have Turkiye (I thought it was Turkey; I guess the Turks got tired of puns) and Paraguay on TV, and the obligatory Brit analyst is having a devil of a time with the Turkiye names.

I like Brits in the booth. They use a new set of words. Kirk Herbstreit never refers to “a watertight defense.” A Brit never proclaims a matriculation down the pitch. Or yells “Fumble!” Australia, however, is “very dogged.”

Imagine if other sports let the clock run constantly, then extended each half with “stoppage time.” A lot of soccer is needlessly ancient, but as stoppages go, this is my favorite. They used to hide how long the stoppage was. Now they hoist a sign that typically calls for about seven minutes.

Not 6 minutes, 57 seconds. Not 7:18. About seven minutes. It could be more than 10. Trust the officials. They know.

It’s too big a pitch to play a World Cup match on the White House lawn. It’s a shame, given the FIFA Peace Prize and all.

The Turks and the Paraguayans are growing exasperated with one another. I wish Keith Jackson was still around to say “these teams just do not like each other.”

In baseball, many players cover their faces when they talk. In soccer, talk with your hand over your mouth, and your team has loses a player for the rest of the match. I mean, them’s the rules, but damn.

It means a lot to me that you enjoy what I write. Or that you don’t. I just want you to read it.

As the commentator said, “You have an animated conversation with your opponent, and you cover your mouth, nowadays, you’re in hot water.”

Paraguay still won, 1-nil, in spite of playing 10 versus 11, for the majority of the match.

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