My National Pastime...
(Way to ruin our romantic, patriotic moment, Alexi!)
A perfect Saturday for me does not involve watching eight
hours – just two games worth - of college football; a great Sunday doesn’t mean
plopping myself on the couch with a coffee for ESPN NFL pre-game, followed by
the noon game, the three game, the post-games highlight recap show, then steak
and wine for the Sunday night game. Waste of time.
Ever since I was a kid – dating back to the time when I
actually liked “American” football (I'm taking an active stance against this now) – I have always associated great weekends
with ones when the US National Soccer team plays. My memories of watching these games date back to sometime between 1990 and 1992, when relative unknown’s like Tab Ramos,
Marcelo Balboa, Cobi Jones, Eric Wynalda and Alexi Lalas, who is pictured above,
ruining, with his red ginger beard, the one picture of me where I’m not making
a stupid face. Whose the jackass now, Melody!
There’s something great about being a long-time fan of the
US Soccer Team. They’ve never been great, though they have pulled off a few
great victories, most recently against Italy and Mexico, on foreign soil. Those
nail-biters turn euphoria-jackers make up for the ridiculous number of silly
losses or 1 – 1 ties against the likes of Jamaica, Ecuador and The Virgin Islands (maybe not a real team). They are – and have always
been – a maddening bunch.
What makes their exploits fun is that they convene only every
couple of months, depending on the tournaments going on in a particular year,
play a few games, then hop on planes and disburse to their club teams. It’s
never the same group of guys, but if you watch them enough, you’ll pick up on
the names. The look and feel of the team is constantly changing, and with each
iteration, hope springs from within long-time enthusiasts like myself.
One of the greatest – certainly most memorable – moments of
my childhood was watching not the US team, but the German team play in the 1994
World Cup. Sweating through our clothes in the swampy upper deck of the Cotton
Bowl in Dallas, my family and I were tiny white specs of foam in a roaring sea
of blue-chested, face-painted South Korean fans. They didn’t care that their
team was playing a tournament favorite, nor that no matter how loud they
cheered, we’d never understand what the hell they were chanting.
They yelled and screamed until sweaty blue flecks of paint spattered
those around them. When my then-hero, Jurgen Klinsmann (I’ll let you guess
which team he played for) netted two early goals, I was resigned to celebrating
on the inside, so as to not unnecessarily offend my new, passionate friends
from the other side of the globe.
South Korea netted two second-half goals to bring the score
to 3-2 (all five goals were scored on the opposite side of the pitch,
unfortunately), making the last half-hour a tense affair in which the strong
German side was in danger of dropping a few points to the plucky Koreans, whose
fans, by the end of the game, had all but converted The Brantners (oh us of
very German heritage). But it was not to be; Germany held on for a 3-2 victory
in one of the better games of the tournament. No, the best game of the
tournament for us at least, because after seeing a World Cup game in
person, even having today’s digital television technology in the early 90's would have
still been inferior.
I wandered off topic from the US team, but with good
purpose. Jurgen Klinsmann, who scored twice in the only World Cup game I’ve
seen in person, my favorite soccer player as a kid (though I rooted for the US
team, but they never fielded a player of Jurgen’s quality or manliness), had now become the
head coach for the US team. After only about 8 years of courtship.
(Jurgen - literally my favorite German-born US coach)
The team hosted an open practice at LIVESTRONG Sporting
Park, home of Sporting KC. Not expecting too much entertainment – not wanting
it really, as I was nursing a hangover – Melody and I spent a few hours in the
stands, chilly, watching Jurgen run the dudes through some drills. It was neat
to see them interact with each other, goofing off as I once did with my club
and high school teams, and as I assume all teams from rec leagues to the pro's do.
With a serious game in a few days, this was more of a
shake-out-the-nerves practice - the players didn’t even wear shin guards. Jurgen
addressed the crowd, as did SKC coach, and former US team member, Peter Vermes.
Though not full-speed, what did amaze us was the technical skill of some of the
players, primarily when messing around and juggling between drills. Simply
mind-boggling, the control they have.
After the brief session, the players practiced their victory
lap and we took off. After seeing them practice, I realized that if I had
seriously pursued soccer after high school, there’s a great chance I could have
kept up. With the guys shagging errant shots and taping calves.
To the game at hand, the US had to beat or tie Guatemala to
ensure passage into the next qualifying round for the World Cup. Because of a
silly first-round tie to Guatemala on the road, and a first-ever loss to Jamaica in
Kingston, they had again, maddeningly, not coasted through the easiest of
groups. Unless you count pasting the thoroughbreds from Antigua and Barbuda.
Were we nervous? No. Were we kinda nervous? Yeah, a bit. As
a US fan you have to be optimistic, but fear the worst. But with a full A-team
squad, minus only Landon Donovan, we had a decided advantage.
I was able to get a large group to enjoy the game with me –
ten of us in the end. My brother Eric made the 5 hour drive from Oklahoma City
for the game, which, if you ask me, is a decent thing to do. Being on a school
night, we didn’t want to account for planning a tailgate, so instead we hit up
The Yardhouse, our sometimes post-SKC game bar. Enjoying beautiful weather on
their outdoor patio, we drowned our pre-game nerves into thick, dark, foamy
stouts and lettuce wraps.
(Eric and I pre-game - this is taken from an odd angle, he's not really that much taller than me)
As we headed to the stadium, we were escorted by thousands
of flag-waving, face and chest painted US soccer fans of all ages. The stadium
filled up quickly, and once player introductions began, the sell-out crowd
seemed to move as one, a unified sea of red, white and blue, pulsating and
shifting with the very strong winds that night.
(Sneaking a patriotic shot with an unknowing fan's flag)
(Nice Pants)
Our seats were within an penalty kick of the ESPN telecast
table, at which sat ESPN anchor Bob Ley, former US team standout goalie Casey
Keller, and, you guessed it, ginger himself, Alexi Lalas. A polarizing player
due to his long red mane and scraggly goatee – not to mention his reckless and
sometimes flawed style of play – more than a few heavily-imbibed fans strode
past us yelling something that rhymed with “Alexi Lallas, you suck!” Maybe
it was specifically that.
The highlight of the game for me took place not on the
field, but rather on the stairs near the booth, when on my way to purchase a
Guinness I made direct and non-creepy eye contact with Casey Keller. I gave him
a pointer and mouthed out “You the man”. He simply responded by returning my
pointer, and arching his eyebrows in a manner that suggested that not he, but
rather I, was the man. That’s right, Casey Keller and I had a broment.
The on-the-field action was amazing. Other than the stunning
4th minute Guatemalan goal, that is. Defense broke down and Tim
Howard uncharacteristically let a guy make him look like a fool. Way too many
blue-and-white-clad fans of the Central American not-quite-powerhouse sprang up
from their seats, filling the stadium with a raucous cheer that the majority of
the attendees had never expected to hear. At least not this soon.
(SKC was ROCKING!)
The fiesta would end soon however, as minutes later SKC
star, and recent US team call-up, Graham Zusi sent a corner kick into the box,
which was volleyed about until good-ole Captain Dreamy (Melody’s terms, not
mine – though no dispute here) Carlos Bocanegra poked it into the net. In my
elation, and still recovering from a right-side collarbone injury, I
experienced a temporary moment of insanity and put Melody into what can only be
described as a serious headlock. But now that she’s a fan of the team – in part
because of the “dreamy” players thing – she understood that all was good. Even if her words said the opposite.
(This guy is hot)
Next, Melody’s favorite piece of eye-candy, Clint Dempsey,
netted a brace (that’s soccer for two goals) to put the game out of reach. The
Guatemalans were overmatched and outplayed in all aspects of the game, even
hustle, which is where the US sometimes falters. After a few stoppage-time
minutes, the whistle blew and the US was securely into the next round.
(Victory Lap)
The players took another victory lap – this time a
legitimate one, and the crowd stayed for a while to cheer them on. In what quite possibly was the funniest moment of the night, Clint Dempsey
even took the time to pose with a super-creative fan’s oversized head poster of
him giving the stank eye.
Scrolling through recaps of the game the following day, I read
that this was just the third time the US National Team had played in Kansas
City. I attended last year’s win over Guadalupe – a 1-0 victory that should
have been 7-0 – as well as the 2001 game against Costa Rica, though I missed
half of that game because I didn’t own a GPS device at the time.
I’ve attended every single US game played in Kansas City,
all three of them victories. Chad as well, and my brothers have made it out to
two of them apiece, even though they don’t live here. Rumor has it that this
game was a tryout to see if the stadium would be a good venue for a larger,
even more important, matchup, say, against the likes of Mexico. If so, I’ll
pony up the cash once again, ceremoniously put on my US jersey, invite the crew
and let the party begin. Because if El Tri thinks they’ll walk out of Sporting
Park with a victory, they’re muy incorrecto!
