Wardrobe

For most of my life, August has represented the month when the Cubs are definitively out of the playoff hunt and I start obsessively reading about minute details regarding the Bears' training camp. But not this year. And not because the Cubs are flirting with first place. And not because the Bears' prospects are poor or that they are uninteresting (Cutler is the best quarterback Chicago's ever had and he has yet to play a game).

What is different this year is that visions of La Liga fixtures featuring either Barcelona or Real Madrid are dancing in my head (Alonso too? Really?). I can't wait to see Jozy Altidore play in a match for Hull City. I want to see what Clint Dempsey can do at Craven Cottage and whether Kevin Doyle can keep Wolverhampton in the top tier.

And for the first year ever, I want to watch the Bundesliga; more specifically, I want to see how Borussia Monchengladbach in its second consecutive season back in the German top flight. Now, some would rightfully ask, why would anyone want to see Monchengladbach play, particularly when you have no hope of being able to pronounce it. And the answer is that Monchengladbach is awesome. In addition to featuring Michael Bradley, Monchengladbach won promotion back to the Bundesliga.1 just two seasons ago and narrowly avoided relegation back to Bundesliga.2 the following season. Their top scorer last season was Rob Friend, a Canadian international who played soccer for the University of Western Michigan and the UCSB. Another Canadian international, Paul Stalteri, anchors their defense. The Venezuelan international Juan Arango was recently purchased from Mallorca and is having a great preseason as the squad's principle center attacking mid. Two Israeli internationals -- Gal Alberman and Argentinian born Roberto Colautti -- are also on the team and play alongside the Algerian international Karim Matmour. I don't know anything about this team, but I love them.

My interest in Monchengladbach has already allowed me to reap the tangential benefit of this great piece/confessional on The Phoenix Pub. Because being interested in Monchengladbach means needing to own a Monchengladbach shirt. And needing to own a Monchengladbach shirt means having to find where one can find such a jersey. And that makes me incredibly jealous of the post's author (thefuseproject) as he has a Monchengladbach jersey and I do not and have no immediate prospects of possessing one.

But the bigger point is that this kindred spirit has helped to provide me with a spirited defense of the hundreds of soccer shirts (many of them, because I am an idiot, are "match worn") that clutter my closet. But while others might describe an obsession, I carry abject insanity in this regard. For example, I own three Barcelona shirts... not the current UEFA Cup champions, but Barcelona of Ecuador. I own 20 Grimsby Town shirts. I am writing this pointless drivel while watching the Barcelona-Sounders friendly in a fiftieth anniversary Gozo Football Club (currently of the Maltese Second Division) shirt. When friends visit from out of town, I will generally insist that they leave with a shirt from a football club in Myanmar. When a college friend visited last year from his current home in Dushanbe, I presented him with a shirt from the Tajik national team (this, to me, was so absurd that it simply had to be done). No sane person would waste as much time, money, and space on such a useless hobby.

Nevertheless, I am disturbingly proud of the wardrobe options presented -- who else at a Maryland Renaissance Festival would be wearing a Sheffield Wednesday top featuring Chupa Chups as the sponsor? (The better question, perhaps, is why anyone would go to a Renaissance Festival at all, let alone in a soccer jersey). Which takes me to another stunning realization: I might be excited about the upcoming season as much for the football and the drama as I am for the chance to show off my shirt collection at local bars watching games on television with friends. God help me.

Of Wasps and Stadium Pipe Dreams

Two weeks ago my "use my daughter as an excuse to get autographs from professional soccer players" tour flamed out at the University of Maryland Baltimore County. Crystal Palace's last home game of the season started out fortuitously enough -- we arrived to see an entire section closed down by a security guard with insecticide spray attempting to quell a wasp rebellion triggered by the human invasion of their new home. And despite being strongly encouraged to cluster together in the middle sections by other concerned security guards, I traipsed the family over to the far end, where no one was seated after a quick scouting tour revealed no immediate presence of angry yellow and black winged beasts. A fine plan in theory, but one that crumbled in practice after my wife, dressed in sandals, stepped on a spot momentarily possessed by five wasps and was stung repeatedly. But she's a trooper and we soldiered on through thirty minutes of remarkably droll football until an ill wind blew and we ran like hell to evacuate.

So, an interesting thing happens when you're hauling tail to get back home from a third-division soccer match in the U.S.: you start to ponder what the hell you are doing. When not getting attacked by insect swarms prior to a deluge, you're at a high school football stadium listening to -- because there is no choice but to hear it -- a player that you once respected repeatedly drop the f-bomb in front of a crowd composed mostly of families with children (while, perhaps, watching with more interest the folks running the track behind you than the skirmish on the pitch in front of you), or you're staring up at a cavernous, crumbling, and ghoulishly empty temple of American football whilst ignoring the passionless display that has been presented by your side at another embarrassing CONCACAF Champions League match.

Goff's link to an article regarding a potential new home for Crystal Palace is, then, for me, of some interest. Because although we go see four different soccer teams on a regular basis, the only one that plays in anything even remotely approaching a real soccer field is our local university team at Ludwig Field. Each of the abodes of the other three squads -- DC United, Crystal Palace Baltimore, and Real Maryland -- feels decidedly temporary and do not instill great confidence in the future of professional football in the region.

The lack of permanence surrounding any of the three professional soccer clubs is difficult to understand and impossible to explain. The region has shown both an interest and willingness to support the game with sufficient numbers and full commitment. And, yet, none of the clubs have been able to convince local politicians that public financing and/or underwriting of a local club would be worthwhile. Nevertheless, of all the types of sports fields that franchises clamor to have built, soccer stadiums hold, without question, the greatest opportunities to build community. Before the unfortunate decision of Prince George's County's Board to shove a stake through the heart of a stadium within the county's borders, the plans for how the stadium would be used -- by DC United and the University of Maryland -- held great promise.

But, alas, it was not to be. Instead, we will head out to the gigantic disaster of a football stadium in Landover to catch the Real Madrid match on Sunday from the soulless club section, reminded again that whatever soccer we may be treated to today, may just as easily be gone tomorrow.

This Match Brought to You by Chlamydia

I was at the Underhill a week too early to see Charlton's youngsters ripped apart by the Bees, but just in time to watch Andrei Arshavin, Tomas Rosicky, Manuel Almunia, Mikael Silvestre, and new signing Thomas Vermaelen feature at a packed stadium in a match sponsored by Chlamydia screening. Perhaps not the best way to improve tourism in Barnet (or the local dating scene).

No matter. The football was great. And the quality of Arsenal's youngsters is insane. Nacer Barazite, the 19-year old man Dutchman, scored the goal of the match to start the second half (mobbed by teammates in the photo below).



Another 19-year old, Jay Emmanuel-Thomas, former captain of the U-18 squad and Adebayor clone, was another impressive reservist featured during the second half.



Arsenal's supporters were also treated, in the first half, to runouts by two extremely talented 17-year olds, Englishman Jack Wilshire and Ghanaian Emmanuel Frimpong (both pictured below).





But the real treat for me was getting to see Andrei Arshavin up close. Physically, Arshavin is unimpressive, just slightly taller than me, with the same build (but far more fit). But in the run of the play, his anticipation and movement is unparalleled. Arshavin sees angles and lanes before anyone else can and is able to get himself substantial space. Throughout the first half, Arshavin lined up Barnet's center halves and spliced them apart. And I don't think it made much of a difference that the opposition was Barnet; I'm looking forward to catching the occasional fixture this season to see what he can pull off with a bit more experience in the EPL under his belt.



And yet, despite the quality of Arsenal's squad, Barnet played valiantly and thoroughly deserved the 2-2 result. The packed stadium filled with Arsenal supporters, designed for supporters that weigh no more than 10 stones, rang out in appreciative applause for Barnet's efforts at the end of the friendly.



Loved the experience, loved the match, loved the stadium, loved the supporters, love football tourism.

GLO Premier League Fun

The couple of weeks out of country afforded yet more opportunities to continue my football tourism in Ghana. Unfortunately, it was not to be. Actually, check that, perhaps the appropriate term is "fortunately" as both fixtures I had hoped to intend were marred by ugly incidents that remain an integral part of a beautiful game in that country.

I flew into Accra too late to catch Hearts of Oak's third to last fixture of the season. Frustration with the squad's performance since the Eleven Wise tie boiled over at a match that led to another draw against an inferior side (Bechem Chelsea), and fans rushed the field after the game reportedly assaulting an assistant referee and sending him to the hospital.

I was in Agona-Swedru on Sunday, when the penultimate fixtures would be played, but could not sneak out to Swedru Sports Stadium to watch the Gamba All Blacks host Eleven Wise. Not that it mattered, as no one got to watch the match that day after it was postponed following "acts of violence" from Gamba's supporters which prevented Eleven Wise's players from entering the stadium half an hour before kickoff. The match was eventually played midweek, by which time I had no interest in going back to Swedru, even if the chance to watch a Ghanaian league team owned by a Japanese politician and run by a Korean front office was unlikely to present itself again.

In the end, after all matches were played, Hearts of Oak retained the season title because Kotoko floundered after going top before the final two games of the season. The All-Blacks were not, despite some promise given by an eventual victory over Sekondi a few days delayed, able to stave off relegation. However, since league titles in Ghana are won (and places in the top league lost) as much in court as they are on the pitch, this may yet still change despite the last game having been played.

Instead of seeing anything live, my total experience with football in the country on this trip involved watching a terribly boring friendly between Liverpool and St. Gallen at a bar, a replay of the far more entertaining Nigerian FA Cup match between the Port Harcourt Sharks and Eyimba, a bunch of shows on Kenyan and Zambian professional league soccer, and short glances of an academy match played on a dirt field that did not want for talent:

The Carrolls

I returned home from abroad recently having missed the Cubs' annual visit to the Nation's capital. Chicago swept the four game series, I did other things, and this may be the first year in a decade that I'll have not seen a Cubs game live during the season.

I am not troubled by the deprivation -- I doubt my daughter would like the sport in the first instance and I am none too eager to chase her around any baseball stadium. So, instead, I'll focus on soccer.

Last night, when most soccer fanatics in the region headed to M&T to watch Onyewu's AC Milan take on Shevchenko's (?) Chelsea, we went to an early evening game at Richard Montgomery High School between Real Maryland and Charlotte Eagles. Because of the start time (6 pm), the fact that Real Maryland has a more interesting exhibition match with Guatemala's C.S.D. Municipal tonight, and the alternative entertainment available on a Friday night in July, there were probably less than two hundred in the stands. In any event, the few number of fans in attendance was probably better for the team overall as only those few were treated to a horrible performance which featured Ryan Cordeiro being questioned for his sportsmanship repeatedly by overly-sensitive Charlotte Eagles players and the referee continually picking fights with Fabien Lewis.

On paper, Charlotte won the match 3-0. Watched live, the match was a mess, with a disturbing level of internal disagreement between and amongst the players and a referee who put in a performance that may have been biased but was clearly incompetent. Although I have seen this particular arbitro before and have been untroubled by his past performances, last night was a travesty. Certainly the amount of yapping from unhappy Real Maryland players did not help, but for most of the game, Charlotte's defensive strategy against corner kicks was simply to go down in the box and wait for the whistle, while, for all other parts of the match, the Eagles' players buried hard shoulders into the chests of their Real Maryland opponents without repercussion. On two separate incidents during the match, I watched, incredulously, as the referee whistled Real Maryland players for fouls without having actually seen what took place because he was not in position. All of this, of course, is expressed to excuse the fact that I finally began screaming at the ref late in the second half with a thirteen-month old in my arms. I, you see, had no other choice (who screams at referees in third-division US soccer matches?).

Setting aside the pathetic performance on the field, we had gone to the match partially because I had the bright idea of attempting to acquire autographs on a soccer ball of the Real Maryland players for the season, so that we would have a memento of my daughter's first season following the team. This was an even worse idea than going to the game. The players were not happy with the result and probably were less than thrilled with the turnout, so despite formal announcements that the players would make themselves available for autographs, they simply stalked off the field. To add to my general embarrassment of standing at the fence with a ball, a sharpie, and a toddler, I tried to call out to Gary Brooks for an autograph -- he was the last player on the pitch and our daughter had seen him play numerous times with Crystal Palace last season -- and was pointedly ignored.

But the soccer ball does have one autograph: Jeff Carroll's. One of the first matches that our daughter went to featured Jeff's brother Pat when DC United beat the Chicago Fire in the US Open Cup at the Soccerplex in Boyd's. I've met Jeff and Pat at past DC United events. And, yet, this time, when he was kind enough to take the moment to come over and sign the ball, he responded to my apology for the imposition by thanking us (quite genuinely) for coming out to see the game and apologizing for the performance. All I could muster was a weak, "Well, you played well...," in reply, but the truth was that I remain embarrassed for both Jeff and Pat. They seem to be nice people, they've always seemed to be nice people. They also seem to be talented at the sport, and elder brother Brian has carved out a place in Columbus. I can't imagine that they are thrilled about playing at Richard Montgomery High School in Rockville and, still, they still put out great efforts every time their number is called. I hope that I'll get a chance to see them both play at a more fitting level next season.

Derby

I spent the weekend in Chicago and, yet, for the first time in over a decade, I had no interest in trying to catch a Cubs game -- even when it would have allowed for my first trip to the Cell. Most of the rationale for the lack of enthusiasm is that the Cubs are just not interesting to watch. And it doesn't help that, with notable exceptions, the typical contemporary Chicago sportswriter is a douchebag. Phil Rogers' latest inflammatory piece on waiving Zambrano is typical of the condition of the city's press: an otherwise uninteresting writer takes a cheap shot at a player who has been a central part of the team's return to respectability and this is news. Yawn.

While I eschewed a trip to the southside, I hustled through work to catch a ride up to UMBC to watch Crystal Palace Baltimore host Real Maryland. The game was disappointing -- nine yellow cards were issued, capped by a petulant Ryan Cordeiro nearly killing his team by getting tossed two steps before crossing the touch line after being subbed out. After starting the year thinking that Crystal Palace had a chance at dominating the USL2 and Real Maryland would once again be stuck at the bottom, the tables have turned. Although they were tied on the league table (with RM having two games in hand over CP) Real Maryland looks to be a decent side and Crystal Palace is searching for an identity -- its frightening to imagine where they might be if not for Shin Harada.

Nevertheless, the game was fun, if only for Val Teixeira's colorful berating of a linesman ("You're a f**king wanker") and the good humor with which the official shrugged off the insult. Even if the game wasn't pretty, the talent level at the lower divisions is certainly improving (if only glacially). And for proof, look no further then tonight's results in the third round of the U.S. Open Cup. Major League Soccer teams won two of six games, with Columbus, Chicago, Chivas, and New England all being booted out by lower division teams. USL1 squads won two (Charleston and Rochester) and lost one. Minnesota was the unlucky USL1 team -- currently 1-7-4 in second division league play -- falling to Kansas City on penalty kicks after battling to a 3-3 tie. USL2 teams (Wilmington and Harrisburg City) were undefeated and Harrisburg City will move on to play DC United at the Soccerplex next Tuesday night. The last time these two teams met in the Cup, in 2007, the Islanders knocked United out of the tournament in the third round.

Two more third round games have yet to be played and the final two MLS teams left in the third round face difficult odds. Houston travels to Austin and Seattle to Portland in what should be highly entertaining games.

Last year, when DC United won the Open Cup, only three lower level teams made the quarterfinals (Charleston, Seattle, and Crystal Palace Baltimore), in 2005 only two teams went through to this stage (Rochester and Minnesota), and in 2006, no lower level teams made the quarterfinals. In 2007, only three MLS teams made the quarterfinals, so this isn't totally unprecedented, but it is still pretty amazing. Since MLS teams began playing in the Open Cup in 1996, a lower division team has won the tournament only once (Rochester in 1999), but there would appear to be a decent chance that this year's final will, like last year, feature at least one second or third division side (if not two).

Parenthood

"Soccer is a ticket to the world." -- Dr. Tommy Clark, as quoted in W.D. Wetherell's Soccer Dad: a father, a son and a magic season

My plans to celebrate our daughter's first birthday at Real Maryland's Open Cup qualifying match with the local amateur club Aegean Hawks was foiled by brilliant thunderstorms rolling through Maryland's suburbs. It would have been, admittedly, a strange way to mark the occasion, but then she's been to more professional soccer matches in one year then I went to my entire childhood (a total of two Chicago Sting games -- one indoor and one at Soldier Field). And she loves the reaction she gets from children and adults alike when she waddles about in the Ecuador kit that her aunt picked up for her when she was living down there. At Real Maryland matches, she fits in perfectly with the other kids that are decked out in the national jerseys of Honduras, El Salvador, and seemingly random countries (France, Germany, Argentina). Having missed the Real Maryland game, we'll see how she does at the DC United -- Chicago Fire match at RFK on Saturday night.

In lieu of getting a chance to watch any World Cup Qualifiers this week (including Ecuador's remarkable upset of Argentina in Quito), I devoured W.D. Wetherell's phenomenal Soccer Dad; a book tracking his son's final season as a high school soccer player at perennial New Hampshire powerhouse Hanover High. It is a quick read but an interesting contemplation of fatherhood in a sports-obsessed culture. Hanover High School also happens to be the alma mater of Dr. Tommy Clark, the founder of Grassroots Soccer -- an organization dedicated to increasing awareness of the HIV epidemic that continues to plague Southern Africa (which is being ably promoted by Ethan Zohn). As such, Dr. Clark's history is presented as an interlude to Wetherell's already compelling narrative. Dr. Clark is the son of a former Aberdeen keeper, an alum of both Dartmouth undergrad and medical school, and someone who lived in Scotland, Zimbabwe, and the United States before reaching 21 years of age. When Dr. Clark talks about a ticket to the world, it is not superficial Thomas Friedman flat-world crap, it is the substance from which we draw hope about the future of the planet.

For every thing else there is that I love about the sport, the quality that stands above all others is that the game makes the world more accessible. It is what I hope to engender in my daughter by introducing her to the pastime. That desire is somewhat ironic given that I am, in general, a fortress America protectionist with an unwavering faith in this country's supremacy. That view, however, is not all-encompassing and soccer is a useful reminder of how much the the rest of the world has to offer (there are plenty of other such reminders, but something as minor as soccer is sufficient for me).