I am a soccer fan.
I always have been. And when the US team takes the pitch, I am at my proudest, my most uncritical, my most voice-losing, full throated unabashedly pro-American self. Many of us feel this way, many of them arch conservatives.
It does not matter.
Today, We are all proud.
But it has been a long, hard, heartbreaking road. And today, a team that has deserved success just did not get the breaks. To understand just why I cried today at the final whistle, sit and hear the story of a middle aged American soccer fan.
As you may know by now, probably the finest, most skillful, most gracious, confident team the US has ever fielded took the field against Ghana in the Round of 16 match, trying to make the quarterfinals for the second time in eight years. It was not to be. Today we lost.
But I am still proud and passionate. I am this guy's brother. I don't know what his politics are, and I don't care. We are Americans who leave nothing behind.
For those of you who haven't followed this saga, it's been a long, long tough road. I grew up with soccer. Never played anything else. I watched Pele play from the stands for the Cosmos. I ate orange slices at half time. When I was in college, Paul Caligiuri score against Trinidad & Tobago to open a slot for a goup of college kids to go to Italy to play in the world's biggest tournament of the world's biggest, most international sport. The whole world was there, and so were we. Only this time, we were a minnow. Not the 800 pound gorrilla, but a struggling bottom feeder trying to improve.
I loved that.
After a lot of effort, and a boost from Franz Beckenbauer, in 1994, the beautiful game came here to the US. We qualified as hosts, and were expected to get blown out. In those early days of the internet, we US fans took a lot of heat for our faith in our team. I drove from Boston to Detroit to watch the one soccer match I could get a ticket to, a group game between Sweden and Brazil, was standing in line for hotdogs when Romario scored, and then turned around and headed home. The US miraculously beat the dark horse Colombia to advance as a third place team. We faced Brazil in the round of 16. I watched that match in a Brazilian bar in Somerville, MA, the only US fan in a sea of yellow, but thhe crowd knew me from the other matches, so even though I ranted at the top of my lungs when Leonardo elbowed our one star Tab Ramos in an uncharacteristic fit and landed him in the hospital, they consoled me after Brazil won 1-0. Only 1-0! To Brazil!
See, they were new to this country, and they loved the US too, so they understood.
They knew how hard it is when your team goes out. They loved this country too. Yeah, and when Roberto Baggio skied that penalty over the bar, we partied!
Then in 1998, we were no longer the new kids. We had some experience. Some decent players. Still no one getting playing time in Europe much, but we had a fledgling league of our own, right here in the US. That awkward teenager, MLS. Yeah, I still love it. Is it La Liga or the premiership? No. but you know what? It's MY league. My American league! Of course, the US struggles in Europe, and we went out in the first round again, beaten even by Iran. I remember that the Iranian team brought our team roses to open the match (or was that in the LA friendly later?). We were not the great Satan, we were just people who all loved the game.
Four long years. Recrimination. Rebuilding. A new hot star named Landon Donovan, the first US superstar was up and coming. The world Cup, for the first time, would not be played in Europe or the Americas, but in Japan and Korea. two other newcomers to the sport, struggling to make their mark and learn the world's game. (and yes, BOTH of them advanced out of their groups this tournament! Go us newbies!).
We heard how the US would get crushed. Slaughtered. I mean, they had Figo, the Barcelona star (who was so drop dead gorgeous to boot that my wife's crush on him made me jealous!). They would walk all over us on their way to winning the group.
Then it happened. something like 3:34 am, Bloomington, IN, I saw John O'Brien, the American at Ajax, put the ball in the net. I, alone in my living room, the only soul awake, screamed silently so as not to wake the baby. By the 36' minute, we were up 3-0! Unbelievable! The miracle was happening! We might believe. I was going nuts. Portugal pulled two back, but we won the day against the mighty storied European side. After being rescued by the gracious hosts South Korea, we met Mexico. Ah, Mexico, our dreaded hated rival. The guys who through batteries and urine on our players during corner kicks. And there it was. A hard fought contest, and Brian McBride, the strong silent midwesterner had put us up one-zip, and then, some individual brilliance and some team play and Donovan was sprung and we were up 2-0. Still, you ask a a US soccer fan what "dos a cero" means, and they will know. No more being told how crap our team is by Mexican fans. "oh, yeah? dos a cero!" eom.
then Germany, one of the big boys. Sure, we can do this, yeah. (not really) but you know what? Our team turned up to play, and play they did. Sure, that indominatable Michael Ballack beat us in the box, he always does, but our team, the US, played them even, and late in the match, a ball headed into goal bounced off the hand of the defender Torsten Frings and came out. Ask a US fan who Torsten Frings is, and you'll be told "oh, he was the German goal keeper in 2002" <wink>
Still, three cups after those college guys in 1990, we were playing even and earning respect from Germany in the quarterfinal! Unfreaking believable. Ah, well, there's always 2006! Somewhere in there, MLS and US Soccer launched a thing called Project 2010 to produce a team that could win the World Cup. (yeah, right!).
So, 2006, and now we had expectations! We could prove we could win, go deep, play the world at the world's game. Stop getting dissed.
So it began in 2006. Four years of waiting, hoping, cheering. The opening game, vs the Czech Republic. Not easy, but possible. Not like facing, say, england in your opener. then disaster. That big bad Koller struck on a lovely header and set us back in the opening minutes. Not even five minutes in, and we were in a hole. Christ. At the end, we'd lost 3-0 and the promise of 2002 seemed like it had gone up in smoke. But then, a lucky draw with Italy, the eventual champion, and we thought we had a chance. Final game: Ghana. The unknown. They had some quality players, but we had take on better sides than us before. Still, Ghana struck first, and another hole opened. But this time, our boys were equal to the task, and the tough-as-nails young gun from Nacagdoches, our own Clint Dempsey, latched onto a fabulous ball from Run DMB, the kid from South Bend and it was even. However, a few minutes later, a dive from Ghana, a PK and we were out. The promise of 2002 was gone. Perhaps in 2010?
Four years. Four long years. The US walked through qualification, finishing first easily. In the warm ups, the confederations Cup, we hung by a thread, but advanced by a minor miracle to face Spain, the European Champ, the team no one had beat in three years. And in an astounding turn of play, the US won that match 2-0, convincingly, with power, grace, and abiliity. Not a fluke, a win. Then, the final. Facing the best team the planet has ever seen, a nation that is right now likely to win its sixth world cup, almost twice as many as anyone else, Brazil. Did we stand a chance? Hell no! don't tell that to Donovan and Dempsey! by half time, we were leading 2-0, and the dream of beating Brazil in the final of an international tournament was on the verge of coming true. Could project 2010 really be a reailty and not just a crazy dream like the fantasies of Kim Jong Il or someone? It looked like it could be. But keeping Brazil off the scoring table is hard, nearly impossible. Just after the half the miraculous Luis Fabiano sunk a goal taht defied belief in a way that only Brazilians ever seem to manage. Two more followed, and on that winner's podium, getting the silver medal, Clint Dempsey cried. I felt that. So close, and a chance like that doesn't come within 45 minutes but once in a lifetime. He played hard, like he always does, but he still lost.
so now, at last, South Africa 2010. Our team, the one we'd hung with since the 6 Goal differential, pasted 51 days of 1990, that team, had a real shot. England Slovenia Algeria. Not easy, but possible. doable. No three and out this year, right? English fans, or course, told us we were doomed. No way we could stand against Heskey, Lampard, Rooney, Gerrard, the big multi million dollar names. Still, this time, we'd beaten Spain, we'd nearly beaten Brazil. These guys could do this. 4 minutes in, a sleepy Gooch and a late Clark fail to pick up their man, and we are down 1-0 to one of the best teams in the world. What, did these guys get the playbook from Jan Koller of 2006? Damn. But wait, this team fought back. hard, they shot, the worked, the shut England down. And then, on a fluky decent shot from Dempsey, Green bobbles a routine ball, and we're tied. After a long, tough slog, and a cracker of a shot from Altidore (oh, where did your shooting boots go, Jozy?) taht bounced off the inside of the post on the rebound from the keeper, we drew. Now that point, it meant that two wins and we'd have seven points, and could win the group, ahead of England (oh, such a long way from 1990!). So, fine. beat Slovenia and Algeria. We could do this. We beat better teams than these regularly. We had hope. We knew our day was coming. We could feel it. It had been a long twenty years.
Minute 4. The dreaded minute four. Again, a sleepy defense fails to close down the shot, and a rocket puts us down 1-0 to start. Again. Just like the Czech Republic in 2006. Just like Ghana to go out. Just like against England. O.k., 86 minutes to play. But then, just before half another goal against the run of play and it's 2-0. If you aren't a soccer fan, it's hard to describe that despair of waiting so long and have it come to nothing. I couldn't eat, I was so nauseous. Fortunately, the team is tougher than I am. Just after the half, donovan grabs a lose ball and slams one home largely by aiming to take the keeper's head off. I think self-preservation reflex kicked in, and he ducked. 2-1. A half to play and get at least a draw. And it came. Some lovely worked ball (lovely, did you hear that? not fluky, not gritty, not ugly, "lovely" from the US!) and we leveled it up. That is when we cried . I couldn't hold back, it had been too long and we were still alive. And then, even more miraculously a third goal! A beautiful looping free kick from Donovan to the foot of Edu and we were winning, four points, on track to win the group, when 42 minutes earlier we were on our way out! but wait, the mystery foul that no one has yet spotted meant the goal was called back. For once, the entire planet, even the Slovenian team, took our side. But the referee's word is law, so 2-2 it stayed. Fine. Algeria, we could beat Algeria, right?
The day dawned, and beacuse of English struggles, we could still win the group and avoid a meeting with Germany. Nothing to do but score. The US hadn't been kept off the score sheet for years by anyone. We might lose, but we always score. Algeria not so much. So, during the game, chance after change came, but no one could sink one. The US pressed harder and harder and harder. Then it came, the goal! but wait! This one two was called back, this time for offsides! Unbelievable. Unlike fouls, offsides are easier to document, and this one was onside, pure and simple. It was just a bad call. still, this team didn't give up. Sure, Algeria had a couple of chances, but after a while it was purely the pelting rain of US attacks. Time leaked away. The US needed the win, and at 0-0, the lifetime of the US in the world cup ,the chance to show that beating Spain was no fluke, was oozing away. Finally, three minutes left. Desperate attack after attack came. Nothing. I couldn't watch. So it had come to this. I remembered Dempsey's tears the previous summer and couldn't bear it.
And then it came. The goal. The celebration! Finally, years after sitting alone screaming about John O'Brien's goal in the middle of the night, a NATION, the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA cheered with me! There it was, the team could prove itself. USA could make it happen!
I cannot describe that moment. Twenty years of uphill scrape. Sure Red Sox fans had a longer wait, but this is the World's game and your country, not some mistakenly named national championship. This one really earns the name "world" in the title. We were through! We'd topped England to land the easier half of the bracket! Frankly, at the end, we had only to beat two beatable teams, Ghana and Uruguay to return to the semi finals, the final four out of 218 teams for the first time since the presidency of Herbert Hoover!.
Which brings us to today. Ghana, the Black Stars of Africa. The team which had knocked us out of the Cup in 2006. A graceful, tough, dangerous team. A team that can play real lovely football. The last African team in Africa's world Cup. Still, our boys from LA, Nacgodoches, Weschester County, South Bend, could pull this off.
The fourth minute. A sleepy defender failing to close down the shot, and we were down 1-0. Again. Again! Still, after England, Algeria, Slovenia, this team could do it. The first half was a mess, and the US was lucky to keep it close. But the second half! Our team sparkled! They played the World's Game and did it well. Creation! Finesse!, and finally, Dempsey made another cutting run through the box, flicked the ball past the defender who got Dempsey instead of the ball: This time, we got the PK. Donovan scores, and we have a tied game with all the movement on our side. This time the US would come alive late and make it happen. We screamed, we ranted, we fans sweated. The team played like demons and controlled the match. Chance after chance. Overtime. And then, on a rather routine hopeful long ball that really shouldn't have amounted to much, a good bounce, a good touch, and Ghana was up 2-1, with fifteen minutes. even though this team had proved itself strong enough to overcome anything, we could tell they were spent. Three games of heroic tenacity left little for a fourth. As time ran out, so did the World Cup for the players we have watched grow up, mature, play for us and come to be a real force. Dempsey, Donovan, Bocanegra, Cherundolo (so solid!), Howard, Gooch, Beasley. They are the older players who have given so much when wearing the country's colors, and this was possibly the last best chance. But not this year. This is Ghana's year, maybe, Africa's year. Lord knows Africa could use a good year.
So, today, it is over, and yeah, I cried again. I have come a long way with these guys, and they have done a phenomenal job of carrying our colors. I am proud of them, and I of our country. This team have given a lot and for a time, we were together, unapologetic, proud, without any hesitation in our passionate commitment. I don't care if you are a flaming teabagger, if you are wearing the white, or the 1950 blue with the white diagonal stripe, we are Americans together today, and I am buying the beer.
I am proud to be an American.
Until 2014. Until the US take the pitch again on the World's stage, we fans will still be there.