Seriously, who cares if U.S. soccer isn't as shiny as NFL/NBA Lockout Mania or the Home Run Derby or Mark Cuban's plutocrat grin? Has it diminished anyone's experience of watching this World Cup? Associated Press

One of the bizarre but unavoidable rituals that occurs whenever the United States does anything remarkable in soccer is the dreary line of contrarians who step forward, like meteorologists predicting rain on a sunny afternoon. They harrumph that no matter what happens, no matter how many World Cup games the country wins, no matter how exciting the matches are, no matter how many kids start sliding around the front lawn like the irresistible Abby Wambach, soccer will never be that big of a deal in America, that we'll all forget about it in a week.

It's a pooh-pooh argument thick with cobwebs and fiction—soccer thrives as a youth and school sport in this country, and there are Major League Soccer fandoms (like those singing South Ward maniacs at Red Bull Arena memorably rendered by the Journal's Kevin Clark not long ago) and rivalries (Portland v. Seattle) that would make executives in another sport shiver with envy. And no recent mainstream sporting event has come close to equaling the giddy rapture of the U.S. women's team's run to Sunday's World Cup Final, especially that breathtaking late victory over Brazil. Yes: not even Derek Jeter's 3,000, 5-for-5 spectacular.

Still, if we are to concede the croaky premise that professional soccer in this country is not as big here as the rest of the world, that it's not given the same level of worship as NFL football or the NBA or baseball, every soccer fan might consider offering the same, resistant response:

Who cares?

Seriously, who cares if U.S. soccer isn't as shiny as NFL/NBA Lockout Mania or the Home Run Derby or Mark Cuban's plutocrat grin? Has it diminished anyone's experience of watching this World Cup? A low Q rating doesn't appear to be troubling the U.S. players, now swarmed by bandwagoners who didn't know they existed six days ago. Those last two games in Germany have rocked like the starriest of Super Bowls, and it's not as if the sport's stateside popularity has any impact on play.

When Megan Rapinoe's brilliant centering pass swooped toward Wambach in the final moments against Brazil, do you think it's possible Wambach watched the ball approach her forehead and thought, "Wow, I hope this shot off my head goes in, but it's really a shame it won't be seen by as many people as Miami-Dallas in Game 6."

Yes, there are excellent reasons for professional soccer to want to grow its profile here. More fans means more ticket buyers and more viewers and sponsors and more job security for players here, especially in the struggling Women's Professional Soccer League. If a women's World Cup title brings more domestic investment in the women's game, fantastic.

But there's too much stubborn clinging in the U.S. to the idea that the worthiness of a sport is equal to the size of its audience, and in particular, its television ratings. If you're not drawing big numbers like the NFL, if you're not famous enough to sit in a director's chair the Greenwich Boys & Girls Club to announce your next job, you're supposedly outside the Zeitgeist. (Hockey is often diminished as unpopular in the United States, too, which must have been news to the million or so lunatics who lined up in Boston to watch the Stanley Cup parade.)

Why is mass appeal essential to some people's appreciation of a sport? In other cultural arenas, we're eager to prove ourselves as niche cool hunters: seeking out restaurants that others can't get into; raving about television shows like "Breaking Bad;" clicking around for the next alterna-genius. Many of us thrive upon being early adopters; the second everyone else likes it, we drop it altogether (Weezer; Ryan Gosling; Brooklyn).

Besides, the whole soccer-isn't-big-here argument can no longer blithely shout over the fact that the sport is massive almost everywhere else on the planet. These days you can't dismiss the rest of the earth as if it was Carl, the crazy guy talking about Lionel Messi in the office kitchen.

To draw geographic borders around a sport in the 21st century, in an era where you can watch cricket on streaming video and follow the Tour de France on your phone, is outmoded and narrow, like believing that Dirk Nowitzki didn't play basketball until he entered Texas. Today, every sport is everyone's, everywhere. (Where will Kobe Bryant possibly spend his an NBA lockout? Asia.)

Another U.S. World Cup victory won't provoke an instant soccer revolution and transform Wambach and Hope Solo into Tom Brady and Peyton Manning. But it's silly to consider that a letdown. This U.S. women's team has been everything a sports fan could ask: thrilling, resilient, unselfish, successful. What's more, they're still playing, which is more than two of our popular-but-broken pastimes can say.