As I pulled into Hard Rock Stadium last week to pick up a media credential for my seventh World Cup, my mind flashed back 32 years to the summer of 1994. I was 29 years old, working at the Detroit Free Press, wearing a World Cup credential around my neck for the first time and about to discover how obsessed the rest of the world was with this quadrennial soccer tournament. Swiss fans were piled five in a room, paying $12 per bed at the Park Avenue Hotel in downtown Detroit.