When Ji Yun-Nam placed the Jabulani slightly over Julio Cesar's diving body, we jumped off of our bar stools and raucously applauded. We were the only ones. The rest of the half-full bar turned, registered their disdain, and pivoted back to the bank of televisions. It is apparently not socially acceptable to cheer for North Korea in a K Street bar. While it may be that the issue was cheering against Brazil as opposed to perceived support for Lil' Kim, it is more likely that rooting for them is interpreted as supporting all of the inhumane aspects of North Korea's governance.
I do not understand the need to infect enjoyment of the tournament with political considerations. But for this World Cup, Americans have managed to politicize the games to ridiculous levels. No surprise that commentators would publish the cliched "soccer will never be accepted in America" pieces (thank you Christine Brennan) and "soccer is boring" pieces (cheers Jon Chait), but the political attacks on the sport border on the hysterical. The Progress Report has gamely catalogued a number of the anti-soccer rants from conservative pundits.
The views of Glenn Beck are no more meaningful to me than the political allegiances of our dog or the political analysis of a LaRouche supporter. People might listen to him, but people listen to Hot Tub as well. Whether people think that soccer will catch on in the country or how they feel about the possibility that the sport's popularity will increase is irrelevant. It will either happen or it will not. But regardless of the bluster regarding the World Cup, folks who care about the question ought to cast their eyes elsewhere. Last Thursday, on the eve of the opening of the tournament, 36,146 people turned out to watch the Seattle Sounders host DC United. Those 36 thousand supporters sang and cheered throughout the match -- even when going three - zero down to a team at the bottom of the league table -- and were rewarded with an untiring and exceptional effort at a comeback late in the game.
Soccer games at Qwest Field defy conventional conceptions trotted about by critics of the sport: although it may seem to be mimicry of British football culture, Sounders supporters have created a fundamentally American approach to enjoying the game and do so in significant numbers. They set the standard for support in the country and if soccer "catching on" in the U.S. means that local clubs have the same impact on their towns as the Sounders do on Seattle, we are all better off.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Bonding
I have, unremarkably, spent the last three days watching virtually every minute of the eight World Cup matches played. Of more importance is the fact that the vast majority of that time, my two-year old has watched with me. Sure, in the eightieth minute of the Mexico - South Africa opener, she turned to me and said "Too long, daddy, too long, turn off, turn off." But after I promised to take her to the playground before Uruguay - France kicked off, she piped down and got into the matches enough that she spent a lot of today's drab Australia - Germany tie running over to her mother (who was making her way through some paperwork in the living room) and drawing her attention to replays of whatever scoring opportunity Germany had just bottled against the underwhelming Aussies ("Look, Mommy, look!").
The tipping point, in my daughter's move from toleration of the game to enjoyment, was DC United's friendly with AC Milan several weeks back. We took a number of friends to the match and the club provided us with tickets behind the players' tunnel entrance. The atmosphere, environment, and quality of the game seemed to grab her. DC's unexpected performance helped tremendously as well.
Since that time, she has asked regularly to go to soccer games. We began this season with season tickets to three clubs and I had marked out about a half dozen games that I wanted to take her to -- afternoon or early evening affairs or matches, like the AC Milan game, that were particularly special -- and planned on going to the remainder with others. But now she wants to go to every game. Real Salt Lake in a US Open Cup match? "I want to go to soccer game Daddy, I go to soccer game." I have a hard time getting up for those matches and, yet, she wants to be there.
I play less attention to the games, as I spend the bulk of my time fretting about whether I need to entertain her or worrying about her hurting herself when she's grown momentarily bored, but I enjoy them far more.
After Siphiwe Tshabalala's beautiful goal, she walked into another room, got on top of a step ladder, thrust her arms out, and chanted "D - C - United!" She continued throughout the rest of the games, finding multiple reasons to scream during South Korea's romp over the most disappointing team of the World Cup thus far, until the U.S. - Ingerland game yesterday. After that match, she has reverted to walking around the house yelling "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!," albeit with slightly less confidence than the "DC United" chant.
I don't know what I've done to deserve this, but I plan on enjoying her enjoyment of this for as long as I can.
The tipping point, in my daughter's move from toleration of the game to enjoyment, was DC United's friendly with AC Milan several weeks back. We took a number of friends to the match and the club provided us with tickets behind the players' tunnel entrance. The atmosphere, environment, and quality of the game seemed to grab her. DC's unexpected performance helped tremendously as well.
Since that time, she has asked regularly to go to soccer games. We began this season with season tickets to three clubs and I had marked out about a half dozen games that I wanted to take her to -- afternoon or early evening affairs or matches, like the AC Milan game, that were particularly special -- and planned on going to the remainder with others. But now she wants to go to every game. Real Salt Lake in a US Open Cup match? "I want to go to soccer game Daddy, I go to soccer game." I have a hard time getting up for those matches and, yet, she wants to be there.
I play less attention to the games, as I spend the bulk of my time fretting about whether I need to entertain her or worrying about her hurting herself when she's grown momentarily bored, but I enjoy them far more.
After Siphiwe Tshabalala's beautiful goal, she walked into another room, got on top of a step ladder, thrust her arms out, and chanted "D - C - United!" She continued throughout the rest of the games, finding multiple reasons to scream during South Korea's romp over the most disappointing team of the World Cup thus far, until the U.S. - Ingerland game yesterday. After that match, she has reverted to walking around the house yelling "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!," albeit with slightly less confidence than the "DC United" chant.
I don't know what I've done to deserve this, but I plan on enjoying her enjoyment of this for as long as I can.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Gutted
I have no right to claim any measure of pain that is currently afflicting Charlton supporters. But damned if following the match didn't kill me. Up 2-0 and 3-2 on aggregate, I was certain that it was only a matter of time until Swindon notched a goal. But I fell into believing the impossible when Greer got his red, even though the warning signs were there for anyone to see (why are you playing so deep?). Danny Ward's goal may ultimately have a huge impact on the club, but for today it was simply a cruel capstone to a painful season.
There are not going to be many supporters of other League 1 sides that are going to be showing much sympathy for Nicky Bailey tonight, but it does not impact my respect for his commitment to the shirt and club in the slightest. I would like to believe that Charlton's players are hurting as much as their supporters and as pollyanish as it might be, I think that is probably right.
I was not able to get a lick of work done until five hours after the game concluded. I kept thinking about how devastating the loss was and how it was stinging thousands of people I don't know. I love this club.
There are not going to be many supporters of other League 1 sides that are going to be showing much sympathy for Nicky Bailey tonight, but it does not impact my respect for his commitment to the shirt and club in the slightest. I would like to believe that Charlton's players are hurting as much as their supporters and as pollyanish as it might be, I think that is probably right.
I was not able to get a lick of work done until five hours after the game concluded. I kept thinking about how devastating the loss was and how it was stinging thousands of people I don't know. I love this club.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Cookie
I was sitting in our idled parked car on Charles Street yesterday, next to a thoroughly content sleeping toddler after a great day at the Maryland Zoo and I took the opportunity to catch up on some essential reading. And that led me to NYA's great tale of taking his three-year old to an away match last month.
Our almost two-year old has been dragged to soccer games, college basketball games, NFL games, and baseball games, with various levels of enthusiasms at the different events. This last week, however, was huge for me -- I was going to take her to Wrigley for the first time and share a singular passion. Initially, the wife and kid were in Chicago for five days to celebrate mother's day with four generations. I was to join them on Wednesday for a matinee match up against the Marlins. Last minute developments at work allowed me to take a mini-vacation and spend five days in Chicago as well. I figured that I should push my luck and got tickets for the Tuesday evening game as well.
Tickets for two games in hand and an unenthusiastic agreement from my wife earned, my next mission was to get my daughter excited about the trip. On Sunday, we steal away from the family at our brunch spot to sit at the bar and watch the Cubs play in Cincinnati over coffee and apple juice ("That's Starlin Castro... can you say 'Yeah Castro!'? No? Ok, well that's Derrek Lee, he's awesome but is having a tough year so far.") The game lost out to the novelty of a spinning bar chair and we only saw two frames. On Monday at Navy Pier, I used the opportunity afforded by a call that the missus had to make to take our little girl to a store selling sports gear. Going straight to the Cubs section, she picked up a foam Cubbies finger and began walking around the store waving it in the air. That seemed positive. But three minutes later, she has wandered over to the Sox section of the store and was trying on a series of pink Sox hats. And that was it. No Cubs gear for her. She told me that she might settle for an orange Bears hat, but Cubbie blue was not going to grace her head. We left the store without a purchase, although we later picked up Cote D'Ivoire wristbands that she wanted from a Puma store -- a sign of things to come that I did not fully appreciate at the time.
I ended up picking up a $20 pink "Cubs Princess" hat from an overpriced shop on Michigan Avenue when she was asleep in her stroller on Tuesday and it was off to Wrigley. There is nothing rational about my love for Wrigley Field. Walking my little girl to the stadium on Tuesday, we started skipping. We said hello to everyone we passed by and the smile across my face would have made it difficult for anyone to recognize me. Our seats were off the first base line on the field and it was cold. Like 40 degrees of cold, cold enough that there were a lot of empty seats all around us, only to be filled in at the seventh inning by folks that finally decided to leave their respective Wrigleyville watering holes.
The cold did not bother my little girl. The game, on the other hand, bored the hell out of her. Sitting close to the field gave her full opportunity to watch Randy Wells and ex-Cub Ricky Nolasco face-off... and she was unimpressed. She made it through three innings trying to entertain herself, but by the fourth it was all over. Eventually, she walked over to me and told me that she wanted the players on the field to "go away." When I repeatedly failed to understand the meaning of her request, she clambered up the seat next to me, grabbed my face by putting a hand on each cheek, looked me in the eyes and said "soccer game, I want soccer game." We lasted through the seventh inning (in part because I bought her a giant chocolate chip cookie, drawing the ire of my wife), spent Wednesday at the Brookfield zoo, and, back home, I took her to soccer games on Thursday and Saturday night. She had a great time at both and asked to go to another one today. She has not asked for a baseball game.
Our almost two-year old has been dragged to soccer games, college basketball games, NFL games, and baseball games, with various levels of enthusiasms at the different events. This last week, however, was huge for me -- I was going to take her to Wrigley for the first time and share a singular passion. Initially, the wife and kid were in Chicago for five days to celebrate mother's day with four generations. I was to join them on Wednesday for a matinee match up against the Marlins. Last minute developments at work allowed me to take a mini-vacation and spend five days in Chicago as well. I figured that I should push my luck and got tickets for the Tuesday evening game as well.
Tickets for two games in hand and an unenthusiastic agreement from my wife earned, my next mission was to get my daughter excited about the trip. On Sunday, we steal away from the family at our brunch spot to sit at the bar and watch the Cubs play in Cincinnati over coffee and apple juice ("That's Starlin Castro... can you say 'Yeah Castro!'? No? Ok, well that's Derrek Lee, he's awesome but is having a tough year so far.") The game lost out to the novelty of a spinning bar chair and we only saw two frames. On Monday at Navy Pier, I used the opportunity afforded by a call that the missus had to make to take our little girl to a store selling sports gear. Going straight to the Cubs section, she picked up a foam Cubbies finger and began walking around the store waving it in the air. That seemed positive. But three minutes later, she has wandered over to the Sox section of the store and was trying on a series of pink Sox hats. And that was it. No Cubs gear for her. She told me that she might settle for an orange Bears hat, but Cubbie blue was not going to grace her head. We left the store without a purchase, although we later picked up Cote D'Ivoire wristbands that she wanted from a Puma store -- a sign of things to come that I did not fully appreciate at the time.
I ended up picking up a $20 pink "Cubs Princess" hat from an overpriced shop on Michigan Avenue when she was asleep in her stroller on Tuesday and it was off to Wrigley. There is nothing rational about my love for Wrigley Field. Walking my little girl to the stadium on Tuesday, we started skipping. We said hello to everyone we passed by and the smile across my face would have made it difficult for anyone to recognize me. Our seats were off the first base line on the field and it was cold. Like 40 degrees of cold, cold enough that there were a lot of empty seats all around us, only to be filled in at the seventh inning by folks that finally decided to leave their respective Wrigleyville watering holes.
The cold did not bother my little girl. The game, on the other hand, bored the hell out of her. Sitting close to the field gave her full opportunity to watch Randy Wells and ex-Cub Ricky Nolasco face-off... and she was unimpressed. She made it through three innings trying to entertain herself, but by the fourth it was all over. Eventually, she walked over to me and told me that she wanted the players on the field to "go away." When I repeatedly failed to understand the meaning of her request, she clambered up the seat next to me, grabbed my face by putting a hand on each cheek, looked me in the eyes and said "soccer game, I want soccer game." We lasted through the seventh inning (in part because I bought her a giant chocolate chip cookie, drawing the ire of my wife), spent Wednesday at the Brookfield zoo, and, back home, I took her to soccer games on Thursday and Saturday night. She had a great time at both and asked to go to another one today. She has not asked for a baseball game.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Thursday Night at Richard Montgomery
There are a whole bunch of things I have wanted to write about over the last month and still might eventually get to them, but after taking my daughter to see Real Maryland play Harrisburg tonight, one thing jumps to the top of the queue.
I am a big fan of Josh Wicks. I do not know the man personally and had no idea of the personal struggles he has grappled with over the last year, as documented in a great story by Craig Stouffer, but my soon to be two-year old daughter recognized Wicks in the stands before I did... likely a response to his infectious smile. This is either the third or fourth time she has seen him. Twice she was forced to ask for and receive his autograph (once by my wife at a DC United "Meet the Team" event and once at Ludwig, when he accompanied Marc Burch and Rodney Wallace to a game and stood outside the sidelines greeting kids and signing autographs). Tonight, we left him alone, largely out of an overwhelming sense of embarrassment of how hard done Josh has been by United supporters. The hue & cry over Wicks' actions in last year's Open Cup Finals has always struck me as a product of frustration at a poorly coached team misdirected at a guy who played his heart out for the shirt. It seems ridiculous that anyone can be faulted for wanting to do harm to Fredy Montero, who is now surpassed in the MLS in terms of irritating caterwaul by Kansas City's Ryan Smith. But the tut-tutting from United's esteemed and deeply thoughtful fanbase emanates from a far more sophisticated understanding of how one ought to put one's team first and foremost.
But just as I have no problem with Jozy Altidore head-butting another player in a vital game for Hull City, I have no qualms with someone who acts rashly out of a burning passion for their team. This year's version of United is no better coached than Soehn's squad, but what makes them more irritating is the lack of pride many seem to take in being professional footballers. Setting to one side what Cristian Castillo brings to the franchise in terms of ticket sales, I do not think he is terribly bothered when United is, once more, on the losing side of a match against a mediocre team lined up against them.
Wicks always seemed to care. And when he is off the pitch -- perhaps excluding those portions of the time when he is "partying" -- he is an excellent ambassador of the game to kids with time and patience and enthusiasm in abundance. Whatever the future has in store for him, we're rooting for him.
I am a big fan of Josh Wicks. I do not know the man personally and had no idea of the personal struggles he has grappled with over the last year, as documented in a great story by Craig Stouffer, but my soon to be two-year old daughter recognized Wicks in the stands before I did... likely a response to his infectious smile. This is either the third or fourth time she has seen him. Twice she was forced to ask for and receive his autograph (once by my wife at a DC United "Meet the Team" event and once at Ludwig, when he accompanied Marc Burch and Rodney Wallace to a game and stood outside the sidelines greeting kids and signing autographs). Tonight, we left him alone, largely out of an overwhelming sense of embarrassment of how hard done Josh has been by United supporters. The hue & cry over Wicks' actions in last year's Open Cup Finals has always struck me as a product of frustration at a poorly coached team misdirected at a guy who played his heart out for the shirt. It seems ridiculous that anyone can be faulted for wanting to do harm to Fredy Montero, who is now surpassed in the MLS in terms of irritating caterwaul by Kansas City's Ryan Smith. But the tut-tutting from United's esteemed and deeply thoughtful fanbase emanates from a far more sophisticated understanding of how one ought to put one's team first and foremost.
But just as I have no problem with Jozy Altidore head-butting another player in a vital game for Hull City, I have no qualms with someone who acts rashly out of a burning passion for their team. This year's version of United is no better coached than Soehn's squad, but what makes them more irritating is the lack of pride many seem to take in being professional footballers. Setting to one side what Cristian Castillo brings to the franchise in terms of ticket sales, I do not think he is terribly bothered when United is, once more, on the losing side of a match against a mediocre team lined up against them.
Wicks always seemed to care. And when he is off the pitch -- perhaps excluding those portions of the time when he is "partying" -- he is an excellent ambassador of the game to kids with time and patience and enthusiasm in abundance. Whatever the future has in store for him, we're rooting for him.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Packed Weekend
Friday night = Bulls visit the Wizards at the Verizon Center. Saturday night = D.C. United home opener versus the Revolution. Sunday afternoon = my first league soccer game.
As a general matter, I have not enjoyed watching the Bulls at Verizon. For the last decade, the Bulls have brought teams that are pale visages of the most dominant professional sports franchise in Chicago in my lifetime. The most recent Bulls-Wizards playoff series was a miserable experience as a fan, concluding with my wife's oath that she would never see the Bulls play in DC again. But I walked out of the arena Friday night almost deliriously happy with having gone to the game. Derrick Rose is worth the price of admission. For the duration of time that I have been in DC, no single Bulls player could claim to be that good. Rose, however, is superb. We sat behind the basket and seats near the floor are rewarded with a close and personal view with the speed and vision with which Rose plays the game.
Rose's quickness has been evident on television since his short time at Memphis. But a new appreciation for his smooth acceleration -- and the fear it creates in defenders -- is given by the view on the ground. And then there is the explosion encompassed by Rose's leaps... it is so violent and so fast, I cannot imagine that Derrick will have a long NBA career. The best play of the game for Chicago fans was a break created by a Wizards missed shot, where Joakim Noah brought the ball up court with Rose flashing on the wing to right. Noah found Rose on an alley-oop and everyone in our section was treated to Rose's high wire act.
But the truth is that despite Rose, the Bulls aren't very good. I am not a big fan of the Vinny Del Negro era and greatly missed Ty Thomas Friday night. Kirk Hinrich, Flip Murray, Hakim Warrick, and Brad Miller were not terribly impressive. Noah, Taj Gibson, and James Johnson played decently -- you can easily see why the coaching staff loves Gibson -- but Luol Deng does not seem like he is fully back from the injuries that have bothered him over the last few seasons. And so it looks like another era is going to be pissed away. This time not by the ego of Jerry Krause but, rather, the vague hope that some big time player will want to save the franchise. But, come what may, as long as Rose keeps suiting up healthy for the Bulls, I imagine that I'll want tickets.
On Saturday, I took a seat in RFK's Mezzanine for the first time during a United match. Our season tickets for the Nationals were in that part of the stadium but I had not quite made the connection that its a good place to take in a footie. The perspective from the Mezzanine is terrific and I had a great vantage point to take in what seems like a good partnership between Cristian Castillo and Rodney Wallace on United's left side.
Nevertheless, about forty minutes into the match I wrote friends that couldn't make the game that although United had dominated the game, they would lose the match because they pose no offensive threat. The 2-0 loss was, then, not unexpected and its difficult to imagine what Onalfo sees in an attacking partnership between Moreno and Pontius that merits continuation. Pontius's first touch is pretty poor and he seems to pose the most threat to score when given an opportunity to head in crosses. Moreno plays slower than he played last year, but the team tries to build a lot of plays through the middle and this is not to Pontius's strength. At times, it looks like Onalfo's offensive gameplan would be best served by having a striker like, say, Luciano Emilio -- a guy who can chase down booted balls, can get himself into space, and can get off quick shots. That doesn't exist on United and although Allsopp was supposed to be the man up front, he's played so little in the first two games of the season that its impossible to make any judgment about what he can do.
New England's two goals were disturbing, but more troubling was the fact that other than a Quaranta free kick, United did almost nothing to even raise the possibility of a goal.
No matter what, it was a beautiful night to be out watching a game and even if United gets slammed all season, my expectations are sufficiently low that I'll still be content.
Club soccer today. It shouldn't have happened. I made a mistake. No way should have I tried to test myself against serious players (the location of the match, the Maryland Soccerplex, added to the lustre of what I was hoping was the equivalent of a pick up soccer match). But it happened and I played the full 90 without running. But boy oh boy is it tough to play this game.
As a general matter, I have not enjoyed watching the Bulls at Verizon. For the last decade, the Bulls have brought teams that are pale visages of the most dominant professional sports franchise in Chicago in my lifetime. The most recent Bulls-Wizards playoff series was a miserable experience as a fan, concluding with my wife's oath that she would never see the Bulls play in DC again. But I walked out of the arena Friday night almost deliriously happy with having gone to the game. Derrick Rose is worth the price of admission. For the duration of time that I have been in DC, no single Bulls player could claim to be that good. Rose, however, is superb. We sat behind the basket and seats near the floor are rewarded with a close and personal view with the speed and vision with which Rose plays the game.
Rose's quickness has been evident on television since his short time at Memphis. But a new appreciation for his smooth acceleration -- and the fear it creates in defenders -- is given by the view on the ground. And then there is the explosion encompassed by Rose's leaps... it is so violent and so fast, I cannot imagine that Derrick will have a long NBA career. The best play of the game for Chicago fans was a break created by a Wizards missed shot, where Joakim Noah brought the ball up court with Rose flashing on the wing to right. Noah found Rose on an alley-oop and everyone in our section was treated to Rose's high wire act.
But the truth is that despite Rose, the Bulls aren't very good. I am not a big fan of the Vinny Del Negro era and greatly missed Ty Thomas Friday night. Kirk Hinrich, Flip Murray, Hakim Warrick, and Brad Miller were not terribly impressive. Noah, Taj Gibson, and James Johnson played decently -- you can easily see why the coaching staff loves Gibson -- but Luol Deng does not seem like he is fully back from the injuries that have bothered him over the last few seasons. And so it looks like another era is going to be pissed away. This time not by the ego of Jerry Krause but, rather, the vague hope that some big time player will want to save the franchise. But, come what may, as long as Rose keeps suiting up healthy for the Bulls, I imagine that I'll want tickets.
On Saturday, I took a seat in RFK's Mezzanine for the first time during a United match. Our season tickets for the Nationals were in that part of the stadium but I had not quite made the connection that its a good place to take in a footie. The perspective from the Mezzanine is terrific and I had a great vantage point to take in what seems like a good partnership between Cristian Castillo and Rodney Wallace on United's left side.
Nevertheless, about forty minutes into the match I wrote friends that couldn't make the game that although United had dominated the game, they would lose the match because they pose no offensive threat. The 2-0 loss was, then, not unexpected and its difficult to imagine what Onalfo sees in an attacking partnership between Moreno and Pontius that merits continuation. Pontius's first touch is pretty poor and he seems to pose the most threat to score when given an opportunity to head in crosses. Moreno plays slower than he played last year, but the team tries to build a lot of plays through the middle and this is not to Pontius's strength. At times, it looks like Onalfo's offensive gameplan would be best served by having a striker like, say, Luciano Emilio -- a guy who can chase down booted balls, can get himself into space, and can get off quick shots. That doesn't exist on United and although Allsopp was supposed to be the man up front, he's played so little in the first two games of the season that its impossible to make any judgment about what he can do.
New England's two goals were disturbing, but more troubling was the fact that other than a Quaranta free kick, United did almost nothing to even raise the possibility of a goal.
No matter what, it was a beautiful night to be out watching a game and even if United gets slammed all season, my expectations are sufficiently low that I'll still be content.
Club soccer today. It shouldn't have happened. I made a mistake. No way should have I tried to test myself against serious players (the location of the match, the Maryland Soccerplex, added to the lustre of what I was hoping was the equivalent of a pick up soccer match). But it happened and I played the full 90 without running. But boy oh boy is it tough to play this game.
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