My 19-month-old grandson, Michael, has the reddest hair in Africa and the straightest kick I've ever seen. He's never watched a game of football (soccer)—not even on television—but he knows precisely what to do. Put a ball anywhere near him, and he'll stride back purposefully, angle himself, glance up for direction, and boom!

Nine times out of ten it's a goal—usually through a space between two sweaters heaped on the front lawn or on the living room carpet.

What pleases me, is that even if a stray shot finds a window or a china cabinet, his mother will still praise him for his ball-control, fire-power, and accuracy.

A lot of windows and china cabinets across the globe will be quaking during the month of June when football enthusiasts of all ages, sexes, and nations practice their hook shots while they watch 64 televised matches in the World Cup tournament in Korea and Japan.

Thirty-two teams will begin by competing against one another in eight groups of four. Each team will play all of the other teams in its group. The best two teams in each group go through to another round, played on a knock-out basis. Quarterfinals and semifinals will culminate in a final to be played in Yokohama, Japan, on June 30.

There is probably no televised sports event that reaches more people than the World Cup of football, and in the many years I spent as a TV sports producer, I never knew any occasion with greater potential to unify players, spectators, and officials.

Agreed, security has to be tight. Football "fans"—often inebriated—have the worst reputation in world sport. And even the players are not all angels. They dive, spit, swear, feign injury. Sometimes huge sports gatherings, including the Olympic Games, degenerate into an exercise in patriotism, in which spectators support only their athletes and take no delight in the achievements of others.

But football remains the world's game, and satellite TV has brought spectators across the globe together in the pursuit of excellence—wherever it was born or trained. Pelé, Maradona, Mathews, Cruyff, and, from the 1998 World Cup, Zidane, are household names. They have set the standards that make the game so great.

Although I'm a rugby man myself, I've found that success in football—as in many other team sports—lies in the expression of such spiritual qualities as unselfishness, balance, beauty of movement, freedom, foresight, kindness, stamina.

World Cup play demands a special kind of stamina. In a normal game, midfield players will be required to run as far as nine miles—with no time-outs and few interruptions—while simultaneously using feet and head to control the ball.

Survival in this tournament is all about pacing—finding your stride, maintaining momentum through as many as seven games, and staying free of injury.

I believe that the most consistently successful teams know the value of other ingredients, too. A match played in a spirit of friendliness—with respect for the rules and for other players—brings deep satisfaction and can be a mighty force in preserving peace. It leaps across political boundaries and heals enmity.

In World Cup competition, the players and officials need "wings like eagles," and the strength and endurance of "the everlasting God" (see Isa. 40:28—31).

It's natural to assume that some churches are already offering prayers for the safety and success of the tournament—praying that the five weeks of competition in Korea and Japan will be characterized by harmonious interaction between players and nations, principled organization and refereeing, and creative game plans that leave spectators gasping in admiration.

Regardless of our cultural and sporting background, international events like this provide an excellent opportunity to heighten an awareness of the spiritual nature of the world and its peoples, and to celebrate the vastness of God's perfection, goodness, and variety.