Take Your Daughter to Sport Day

I am basking in the glow of a glorious sports weekend which involved a total of twenty minutes of the two divisional championship games in the NFL. It started Friday night with a virtuouso performance by Derrick Rose and the Bulls in Phoenix (I had no idea that Rose could get that high and come down that strong), and continued on Saturday morning with the rare opportunity to see mighty Accrington on television for their fourth-round FA Cup match against Fulham at the Crown Ground. We're sponsoring a Stanley player's home and away shirt and, because the team changed its kit manufacturer mid-season, we had just received the player's shirt and a note of thanks in advance of the game. Stanley was fantastic, as were Accrington's supporters, and but for Kempson's silly first half-fouls (and, even then, nothing compared to what Jimmy Conrad did at the Home Depot Center several hours later), Fulham would have struggled to advance against a committed side.

We left in the second half to take our daughter to see the Hoyas play Rutger's Scarlet Knights and were treated to a near pitch-perfect performance from Georgetown. I really, really like this team and very much enjoy cheering for them, but, nevertheless, do not regret giving up our season tickets. Our daughter has enjoyed the two games she has been to this season, I think, principally because it has not been routine. And when she climbed up on her seat to jump up and down applauding Henry Sims' great two-handed slam, I became even more confident that she'll be up for more regular trips when she gets older.

We watched the U.S. lay an egg in Los Angeles against Honduras and spent more time watching another great performance by the Bulls in Houston, woke up Sunday morning to watch Palermo destroy Fiorentina, and, a few hours later, watched a tremendous Inter squad embarrass Milan (Julio Cesar's stuff of Ronaldinho injury-time penalty try is a must see).

But the highlight of the weekend was Sunday night's father-daughter game at Comcast featuring the women of Maryland and Duke. My daughter was tucked into bed after a great half hour of playing with a new train set, but there were plenty of other fathers who were able to take their girls to an unforgettable game. This Terps' team may not be anywhere near the quality of those of the recent past and has been blown out a few times this season (against Miss. St. and the Lady Wolfpack), but they are a team that should not be taken lightly. Although not an aesthetically pleasing game (Duke shot less than 33% from the floor), the Terps showed great resolve and back-to-back three pointers by Lori Bjork were almost enough to ignite what would have been a huge upset over the seventh ranked Blue Devils.

Games like the one played tonight in College Park have made me an unapologetic fan of women's sports. I do not believe that any person could have walked out of Comcast tonight without being thoroughly entertained and impressed by the level of competition on display. And if they could, well, like Dexter's voice in those dumb Dodge ads, I feel sorry for them.

I can no longer tolerate the biting, ignorant criticism of women's athletics that constitutes jovial banter amongst boys... if you can't give basketball (or soccer) a chance when women are playing it, you don't like the sport. Tyrus Thomas was already my favorite player on this unfortunate Bulls' squad, but the bit that Melissa Isaacson revealed in an article earlier this season about Ty's attendance of WNBA games put me firmly in his camp (and even more firmly in the anti-Del Negro camp). Isaacson quotes Thomas as follows:

"It just so happens that two of the girls I went to college with got drafted by the Sky the same year I came here," he said, "but I would've went anyway. I just like basketball. I'll go watch high school, middle school, little kids; I just like to watch basketball. Sometimes you can [get something out of it], actually. I always go to high school games to see if there's something you like or could use."

Exactly.

Right Said Fred

This past week spelled disaster for my daughter's two favorite DC United players. Just as soon as we paid for our season tickets in full, Fred, United's first-round draft pick, and allocation money was shipped to Philly so that we could re-acquire Troy Perkins.

I have no problem with getting Perkins back, but I am saddened to see Josh Wicks lose his job and Fred forced to leave the DC area. This will be a very different United squad on the pitch, with Emilio gone, Cristian Gomez likely also elsewhere, and Onalfo at the helm.

But the team will also be quite different off the pitch. Reading internet chatter celebrating Fred's departure has pissed me off. Fred's one of the nicest people that will ever put a United shirt on. Despite a tough season because of personal tragedy last year, Fred never stopped trying to build the team. He became an integral part of the Brazilian community in the DC area (or so I am told by Brazilian friends) and he was fun to watch on the field. But, most importantly, for us, he always got a huge smile out of our daughter. She is about the same age as Fred's daughter. I cannot imagine enduring what he and Deborah have faced with their child. And, yet, he's always been at RFK with a smile on his face, a deeply-held faith in his heart, and a commitment to be the best soccer player he can be.

I am puzzled by the bad feelings Fred engendered with a down year. I chalk it up, mostly, to the mentality of Redskins' fans creeping into United's supporters. For whatever reason, screaming about results has come to overshadow the fact that soccer is an entertainment and a distraction which we share as a community. And, so, because a significant minority of my fellow supporters are idiots, the fact that Josh Wicks got sent off for stepping on Montero eclipses the fact that he busted his ass for the team and, in one of the coolest things we saw last year, accompanied Rodney Wallace and Marc Burch to the University of Maryland. Wicks stood out in front of the gate separating fans from the players' benches, greeted fans, chatted with kids, and signed autographs. My daughter stood back in awe while Josh patiently took time with other kids. And when she finally decided to walk up to him, her grin was almost as electric as Wicks' smile. But none of that matters to some, as we are all supposed to be only about results... winning a second-tier league and a meaningless title. Color me unimpressed. I'd rather watch entertaining football played by men who give a sh*t about the people who take the time to go and see them.

Good luck Fred, we'll miss you.

Bearheart

Bob LeGere has a great homage up to Lance Briggs up on the Daily Herald's web-site. It is a welcome piece, particularly viewed in light of the constant stream of negative stories about a historically disappointing Bears team.

Two weeks ago, I dug out our car from two feet of snow on Sunday morning just to make possible a trip to M & T Bank Stadium for our daughter's first Chicago Bears game. Four hours of solid work, our 19-month old donning her Devin Hester jersey, me in my Adrian Peterson (OAP) jersey, my wife in a granny Bears sweater that would make our respective families in the western suburbs proud, and we were off to Charm City. But despite our efforts and those of a few hundred other Bears fans also in Baltimore, the Bears largely stayed on the plane. A listless, apathetic squad got torn apart by a team that is a far better reflection of working-class culture than the descendants of the Monsters of the Midway.

I would have more complaints about going to the game except for two things. First, M & T Bank Stadium is the nicest away stadium that we've been do, both in terms of the set-up of the urban stadium and the atmosphere. Ravens' fans are fantastic. While there were, as everywhere, drunken morons in attendance, they were far outnumbered by a committed and passionate fanbase that witnesses the event with rapt attention. The difference between Ravens games at M & T and Redskins games at FedEx could not be more pronounced. I cannot imagine that any group of Ravens fans could get away with what happened at the last Redskins game we went to -- where a group of "fans" screamed for ten minutes that Jason Campbell should be pulled from the game (because he "suuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkkssss") despite the fact that he had been injured at the very beginning of the game and had not played a down in the last two quarters -- not because there weren't inebriated fans, but because surrounding fans wouldn't have tolerated it. Although we were decked out in Bears gear, even before the game became a ridiculous blowout, the fans in our section were exceptionally friendly and accommodating. In fact, I fear that a few more seasons of Turner-neptitude and our daughter may grow up a Ravens fan.

But this possibility is countermanded by the other part of the experience we enjoyed: Lance Briggs is worth the price of admission alone. Whatever is going on with Lovie's ego and his inability to adjust or jettison failed strategies, Lance Briggs comes and plays every game as if his paycheck depends on it. Briggs recorded 13 tackles during the game -- all apparently solo -- his fourth game this season with double digit tackles. Briggs is a superstar. In seven seasons with the Bears he has done enough where he deserves to be part of the discussion as one of the best linebackers in the team's history. Certainly, in my lifetime, Briggs is the best outside linebacker that I have ever seen play for the team and I grew up with a near fanatical adulation of Wilber Marshall (although they are not really comparable; and I recognize that any discussion about the merits of football is immediately sobered by the thought of what the entertainment given by Wilber's play cost him). Outside of Scottie Pippen, I can't think of any other player from the teams I follow who has been as underrated despite constantly fully harnessing his immense talent. And this makes little sense, as Briggs is the consummate Bear; he works his tail-off, pays careful attention to the fundamentals of the game, hits like a Mack truck, and doesn't seek the limelight. At Baltimore, two Sundays ago, Lance Briggs showed the team's front office what pride in the shirt means. Although I doubt that it will make much of a difference to the people who matter, it made a huge difference to me.

Powder Puff

Georgetown's early non-conference schedule is not exactly daunting. After watching the Hoyas brutalize Lafayette on Saturday, we were back at the Verizon Center tonight to see them walk over Mt. St. Mary's. We'll probably be back on Saturday for the game against American, although American is having a horror-show of a season to date and 4 pm might just mark a massacre.

Other than Shawn Atupem's (#10) awesome hair style, there was not much in the way of entertainment to be had from tonight's game. Although at least two things are promising: first, at some point during the second half, Austin Freeman forewent an open three pointer to step up and shoot a mid-range jumpshot. That he missed is of little consequence. I had thought that the mid-range jumper was taboo in Hoyaland and was pleased to see it make a momentary comeback. Second, free throw shooting, at least amongst the guards, has improved considerably. Although Julian Vaughn's problems at the line will grab the most attention, Jason Clark, Freeman, Chris Wright, and freshman Vee Sanford look pretty comfortable at the line. Long may it continue.

Now a word about our sponsors...

Of the dumb things I have done in furtherance of my fascination with the kick-about, the stupidest, to date, has been the obsession that I have developed with sponsoring players on clubs throughout England, Wales, Scotland, Northern Ireland, and Ireland. It started with our visit to Dalymount in February and being blown away by the impact that a late substitution of Joseph Ndo had on a friendly of little lasting relevance. Several months later, we were sponsoring Ndo's away shirt for the Irish league champions -- a shirt that Ndo presumably wore while scoring an away goal in Champions League qualifications against FC Red Bull Salzburg in Austria.

Since then, we've sponsored players on fourteen other teams and, as a testament to how pointless the enterprise, I am struggling to keep up with their exploits. But, putting stuff up here seems like a good way to remedy that sloth. So a few quick notes about some of the sponsored players.

On top of the table, fourth division-Scottish side Livingston FC, we are sponsoring the young winger Andrew Halliday. Halliday, an 18-year old former Ranger product, has reportedly drawn interest from a number of English sides, including, bizarrely, an actual inquiry from Charlton Athletic. Against Clyde this week, in a match that was ultimately abandoned, Halliday scored yet another goal from the wing (it would have been his sixth so far this season).

Higher up on the Scottish league food chain, Mickael Antoine-Curier, a forward we are sponsoring on Hamilton Academical's squad, scored his fourth goal in the SPL this season and the Dundee-loanee gave the Accies a vital point away against St. Johnstone. Antoine-Curier is currently scheduled only to stay with the Accies until January 1st, but we could not resist sponsoring him after he featured for Guadeloupe in the CONCACAF Gold Cup earlier this year.

In the FA Cup this week, Danny Thomas, a forward we are sponsoring on Conference's Kettering Town, saw over thirty minutes on the pitch as the Poppies forced a replay against Leeds United and a trip to Elland Road.

Peter Murphy, a young fullback we are sponsoring at Accrington Stanley, was called upon as a late substitute to try and preserve a win over Barnet for ten-man Stanley. Accrington ultimately gave up a penalty during the six minutes of injury time added to the end of the second half and will now have to travel to the Underhill Tuesday for the right to take on Gillingham in the third round of the FA Cup.

What Is American Soccer?

No daughter in my arms today for Inter-Fiore or Arsenal-Chelsea as the wife and kid are off being pious while I revel in keeping my own counsel. I am waiting on Maryland to kick off its sweet 16 NCAA tourney match against Harvard at 1 pm and trying to figure out whether I'll be going to campus to watch the Maryland women take on Drexel at 2:00 pm.

In the interim, I slogged through a dismal Inter Milan - Fiorentina Serie A tie by catching up on some online reading about football. Now I am missing portions of an exciting London derby because of some misguided desire to pile more drivel onto a subject few care about. Devoid of context, I was fairly excited about the news last week that Crystal Palace FC USA had left USL2 and was planning on moving up to the second division by joining a group of breakaway owners from USL1. The symmetry of being able to follow teams playing in the first, second, and third division of professional football in the country along with being within walking distance of one of the sport's best college programs is extremely appealing. With Crystal Palace and Real Maryland playing in the same league, Real Maryland began to win out for us because of the closer proximity and, weirdly, the setting at a high school football stadium, as it provided a better venue than UMBC's soccer stadium.

The general reception to the formulation of the new North American Soccer League has been poor. My least favorite American writer on the sport, Kartik Krishnaiyer, has, to no one's surprise, used the development to further decry the state of the country's game. But, to be fair, Kartik (who works his rear off in covering the game) is not alone, and guys like Brian Quarstad of InsideMNSoccer and Rochester's Jeff DiVeronica have similarly raised tough questions about whether the new second division is even viable (although neither have extended their concerns to attacks on U.S. club soccer generally). But even accepting these reasonable doubts (although there are some that I cannot -- DiVeronica's assessment of the market for soccer in Baltimore is absolutely and unequivocally wrong and appears to be the product of a need for a consistent narrative rather than fidelity to substantive analysis), I have drawn precisely the opposite conclusion.

There can be little doubt that soccer in the U.S. faces massive challenges. The team that won the USL2 regular season title last year and was the only third-division team to advance to the quarterfinals of the U.S. Open Cup, the Wilmington Hammerheads, will not be returning to the ranks of any professional soccer league next year. This depressing announcement comes on the heels of one of the team's most successful seasons -- a year where their on-the-field product was so good, I took enough notice to go out and buy a couple of Hammerheads' shirts (I don't even own a Real Maryland shirt). But I am also a fan of the sport in a far broader context and the challenges faced in this country pale when compared to what club soccer leagues confront around the world. The top European leagues -- the EPL, Serie A, La Liga, and the Bundesliga -- have increased their hold on the attention of football fans across the globe and diminished local enthusiasm for club teams in Ireland, Wales, Ghana, Thailand, and countless other countries/regions where I don't have direct experience over the last year. Club teams in Scotland appear to be perennially mired in crisis (although some clubs are doing interesting things in response, like the supporters of Stirling Albion). Even in England, lower division teams seem to live on a constant precipice narrowly avoiding falling into oblivion (a point hammered home by Charlton's FA Cup embarrassment to Northwich Victoria -- a team that only exists because of the Herculean efforts of their supporters to overcome extreme adversity).

No one has the answers to the myriad issues threatening the current state of the game. And, similarly, no one has the answers to the challenges that soccer faces here. But that is what makes the NASL compelling: it is an effort by people committed to the game to try and improve the sport. I am not in a position to judge whether their approach is the right one, but I do know that the owners of the breakaway teams are putting their own money down on this audacious bet.

And it is difficult to formulate an argument for maintaining the USL as is. Charleston, which finished in the top four of the second division last year and, in 2008, advanced to the U.S. Open Cup final against DC United, is dropping to the third division. It is generally assumed that the Cleveland City Stars will also drop down to the third division as well (although I have not seen any formal confirmation of this widely reported story). Over the last two years, I have gone to more USL matches than MLS games. While I enjoy the USL, the marketing of the league is horrible and has detracted from the creative and interesting individual approaches of various clubs to build fan bases. So what, exactly, is the alternative? Plodding along for another decade in relative anonymity? I'll take the bold shakeup, even if it is a colossal failure.

There is a large and increasing market for the sport in this country and that market has not been fully (or even significantly) exploited. Whatever missteps might be taken, either by USL or NASL or, in the context of a new collective bargaining agreement, by MLS, that market will remain; even if only sustained by televised events drawn from the World Cup, the European superleagues, and domestic leagues in Mexico, Brazil, and Argentina. The thoughts of the folks at The Shin Guardian are fully echoed here in College Park. Although perhaps only a minority of the U.S. sports' fans, the growth of the sport these last five years has been remarkable. And the future looks bright, whatever speed bumps are hit along the way.

Giving Thanks

There are a great number of things that I had in mind when contemplating gratitude this Thursday. But first and foremost on my list of things to be thankful for this year is my daughter. Each and every day spent with her brings unexpected joy into my life and I cannot believe my good fortune in having the opportunity to see her grow up.

Because of her, much of what used to fill my days has been dropped or discarded in favor of this wondrous new priority, but I have not been able to fully tear myself away from watching sports. Luckily, for the most part, our daughter has been willing to accommodate me.

Case in point: Last Saturday, with her mother an ocean away in west Africa, my 17-month settled into my arms and slept through the entire Arsenal-Sunderland league tie and, after a trip to the local playground and braving a seven-foot slide all on her lonesome, clambered into those same arms a few hours later to sleep through the entire Fiorentina-Parma match. I can think of no better way to watch either of those matches then with her safe in my arms.

We dropped our Georgetown season tickets this year because going to basketball games at the Verizon Center proved all but impossible with her during the Mystics season. Still, I retain a rooting interest in JTIII's team and with the expectation of a sparse crowd, we trudged off to see Gtown take on the Lafayette Leopards of the Patriot League. And, to our surprise, she was entertained up through 17 minutes of the second half, before the non-competitive game ceased to entertain her and she made her way for the exits, only to be enticed back by a brief interlude with Jack the bulldog. It helped that we had tickets near the floor, as she seemed to be blown away by the size of the Hoyas front court, now featuring Hollis Thompson alongside Greg Monroe, Julian Vaughn, and Henry Sims.

She and I were treated to a very good game from Jason Clark. Clark found his shooting touch in the second half, which complemented the high level of energy he brought to Gtown's defense throughout the rest of the game.

We were also happy to see Henry Sims get extended minutes and earn the (small) crowd's adulation on a tremendous block of one of the Leopards' small, overmatched guards.