So Sorry, D.C. United Supporters…

…but there’ll be no new stadium for you. That is, if the powers-that-be listen to these twenty-six economists, there won’t.

After all, you’d probably only use it 20-30 times a year, according to one University of Alberta economist. He and the rest of them think that the funds would be better spent on schools, parks, and libraries. Since the whole world is driven by cost-benefit analysis, don’t get your hopes up about leaving RFK any time soon.

They don’t call those guys dismal scientists for nothing.

Freddy’s in the Pink

Take a look at Benfica’s away shirt for the 2007-2008 season, which has been described as “controversial.” What’s the problem? It’s quite tasteful, especially when you consider Palermo’s Pepto-Bismol pink home shirt. The new away colors were mentioned several times when I was digging around for a bit more info about Benfica, so I guess Freddy isn’t the only news item in Lisbon these days.

Until today, all I knew about Benfica was this: it’s a Portuguese club that consistently qualifies for the Champions League. That’s enough for most American soccer fans to think that Freddy Adu has hit the jackpot. The Portuguese Liga is not the most high-profile or glamorous of the European leagues–those are honors reserved for Spain’s La Liga, the EPL, and the Italian Serie A. But Freddy will be tested among first-rate competition. In international play, remember that Portugal made it to the semifinals of last year’s World Cup, losing to France with an eventual fourth place finish. Portugal hosted Euro 2004, losing in the final game to Greece. It has participated in the finals of the World Cup a total of five times. This is no easy task, as qualifying out of Europe is slightly more challenging that qualifying out of, say, Concacaf.

Portugal is small–both in area and population. It ranks 111th out of 235 in terms of area and its population is around 10.5 million people, according to the CIA World Factbook. To put that in perspective, that’s about one million more people than the number residing in the greater Chicagoland area. For Portugal to have achieved such stature in football is rather impressive, especially when compared to its big Iberian neighbor. And Spain’s best international results are far from recent. In the 1950 World Cup it finished in fourth place; it finished second in the 1984 European Championships.

Of course, Freddy won’t be playing for Portugal. Instead, he’ll be lighting up (we hope) the Estadio da Luz for Benfica. Benfica is one of the Big Three clubs in the sixteen-team Portuguese Liga, along with Sporting Lisbon and FC Porto. It finished in third place in the 2006/7 season, one point behind Sporting and two behind Porto. Freddy’s new club last won the league in the 2004/5 season, after a decade-long drought. This, however, is a club with a long and glorious tradition. In fact, Wikipedia tells us that it is known as “Glorioso” to its fans. Founded ninety-nine years ago, it has won two European Champions Cups (1961-2), and thirty-one league titles. There are more impressive facts: Benfica is the most popular team in Portugal, with the highest average attendance in the league. It has more club members than mighty Manchester United and many active supporters’ groups worldwide. Benfica is a powerful, significant club in a sophisticated football nation.

Freddy’s days as a big fish in a small pond are over. When he goes to work every day, he’ll pass by a statue of the legendary Eusebio, who scored 727 goals in 715 matches during his time with Benfica. There’s more: he scored nine goals for Portugal in the 1966 World Cup, was the 1965 Footballer of the Year and won the first Golden Boot award in 1968. I could trot out even more impressive stats from Wikipedia, but I’m sure you get the picture. Recent Benfica notables include Rui Costa, Nuno Gomes, and Simao Sabrosa, who was just sold to Atletico Madrid.

Could there be two more different clubs than Real Salt Lake and SL Benfica? I don’t think so. A comparison between DC United and Benfica is more appropriate, of course, since Washington was where Freddy spent the bulk of his MLS career. Yet even though United is a thriving, established MLS franchise, everyone knows that it’s light-years away from achieving Benfica’s status.

Freddy’s life—sporting and otherwise—has been far outside the norm of most athletes, except for female tennis players. It’s a cliché to talk about how he’s been overhyped and oversold. Some fans have responded by being overly critical of his MLS performance. I find that disturbing. He turned pro at an especially young age and, even now, he’s on the small side. So he only scored twelve goals in four MLS seasons? So what? He was learning the game, playing among older, bigger, more experienced players. The media scrutinized everything he did on the field, contributing to the sky-high expectations that have characterized his career so far. It would have been astonishing if he really did turn out to be the Tiger Woods of Major League Soccer.

Freddy Adu’s new life will be filled with numerous challenges—a new language, culture, and life in a very different sort of fish bowl. He was like a gifted middle school kid who got promoted a few years ahead of his classmates and thrown into a competitive private academy with older kids. He wasn’t named valedictorian. But he still had the goods to get an offer from…let’s see, not Harvard or Princeton, but maybe Dartmouth or Columbia. There will be intense competition, because he’s competing against all the other gifted kids. There’s no guarantee that he will thrive. But he’s in the right place to find out if he’s got the right stuff.

Why Can’t Every Game be Just Like This?

“I think there might be a few prawn-eaters here today.”

Such were The Guy’s thoughts before Sunday’s showdown between the LA Galaxy and the Chicago Fire.

Alas, Toyota Park does not serve prawn sandwiches, forever immortalized by Roy Keane’s contemptuous remark about Old Trafford fans whose priorities did not include actually watching the Red Devils play. And yet I did notice that the line for Dippin Dots was even longer than usual. Was this because of the 80 degree temperature or all those grade schoolers running around in Galaxy #23 shirts?

No matter. This was a perfect day for American soccer. Though I can’t say that the atmosphere in the stadium went all the way to eleven, everybody (well, everybody over age 16), knew they were watching a game whose outcome really mattered. Yeah, they were there to see the guy from East London go head to head with the guy from south of the border. But I sensed that the celebrity thing took a back seat to the showdown on the pitch. Geez, this must be what it feels like to support an English team locked in a relegation battle! We’re getting there, inch by inch….

I absolutely pitied the Galaxy, especially Beckham. Only victory would save their season and neither the Fire nor their supporters were having any of that. Donovan was booed with gusto whenever he took a corner (a bit harsh for a guy who scores for the USMNT), as was Becks when he came in near the 60th. Though LA had a few scary chances in front of goal–especially after Beckham served up some good crosses and corners–possession time and shots on goal favored the Fire. If we had better strikers, the game would have been a blowout in the first half. I do give Chad Barrett points for trying hard, but he missed a handful of good chances, including an open goal early in the game. And Paolo Wanchope? How could I improve on the guy behind me: He runs like a zombie! Zombies, don’t run, do they? I guess that’s the point.

The Beckham v. Blanco matchup has been overblown. Their playing styles are so different that comparisons are meaningless. Beckham’s value has always been his precision kicking: free kicks, corners, crosses. Blanco is a tireless playmaker. Cuahtemoc (I’m trying to spell that without looking–I should know it by now, but I sense that I’ve misplaced a vowel), had an outstanding game on Sunday. At age 34, he plays with such fire in the belly that I would love to see film of his salad days in Mexico. I wonder if Becks looks at him with envy? I mean, at some point all the hype and pressure and 24/7 scrutiny of his entire existence has to get to him, don’t you think? Blanco flew in under the radar of the Anglo media for the most part, and has nothing at all to prove to his legions of Mexican fans here and back home. Less media attention plus no injuries equals relaxed, happy, productive footballers.

I was going to spend this entire post enthusing about the Cinderella boy of Sunday’s game. Except John Thorrington is no Cinderella boy. He’s more like the Heartbreak Kid and the regular media (no fair, Luis A.), have already written all the cool stuff about him. Like how even though he signed with the occupants of Old Trafford as a teenager, his career has been so plagued with injuries that starting for League One side Huddersfield Town had been one of its highlights.

I think that changed on Sunday. Thorrington burst on to the field for the final half hour of Sunday’s game, looking for all the world like a man just told that he was playing in his final game. He made every second count, scoring the winning goal with a lovely chip over Galaxy keeper Joe Cannon. Seriously, I didn’t see Sky Sports News on FSC afterward, but I shall take umbrage if that goal and celebration didn’t make the highlights. Because of the Beckham connection, it could happen, right?

Finally, I suppose that the media and the soccersphere thrive on speculation, but enough is enough. Yes, a draw would have pitted us against Chivas in the first round of the playoffs instead of DC United. But what kind of athlete ever steps on the field of play without going for the win? (No gratuitous references to Manny Ramirez, please). Remember that Beckham was part of the glorious Man United squad that produced two stoppage time goals to win the 1999 Champions League. Should the Fire have played for the draw, just assuming that the Galaxy wouldn’t score in stoppage time? Nope. Besides, a goal like Thorrington’s must surely inspire his teammates. And what team can’t use a little inspiration going up against the strongest team in the league?

Once upon a time, in Sheffield

What do toilet paper and club soccer have in common?

According to Forbes magazine, 2007 marks the 150th anniversary for both. Of course, variations of the game have been around for centuries (just like toilet paper substitutes, one hopes). But an important step on the long, fitful path toward organized competition was taken on October 24, 1857 with the founding of Sheffield Football Club. Unlike other inventions from 1857, such as elevators and transatlantic telegraph cable, competitive club soccer didn’t immediately become a big-time commercial enterprise. Sheffield FC didn’t even have any one to compete against, forcing the club to stage games between members–bachelors vs. married men, for example. And it would be nearly three decades later before open professionalism was given the stamp of approval by the FA. It’s hard to believe that just 150 years ago today’s glamour game was a chaotic mess of quasi-professionals whose play was governed by a motley patchwork of rules.

Forbes is a business publication, so the article duly notes how soccer’s worldwide sporting dominance has helped to enrich shareholders of Nike, Adidas, and Rupert Murdoch’s NewsCorp. Real Madrid and Manchester United are global brands and ownership of top English clubs is the province of the super-wealthy. Apparently this is news to some Forbes readers.

As I read about the beautiful game’s humble origins, I began to think about what life was like in 19th century England. What did people do for fun? Was soccer the only game in town? Just how did it become so popular?

With the help of Wikipedia and a library book called Sports and Games of the 18th and 19th Centuries by Robert Crego (Greenwood Press, 2003), I learned a bit more about Victorian sporting life. Cricket was already the most established team sport. It was far ahead of soccer in terms of standardized rules, organization, and popularity. Crego states that it was “flourishing” a full one hundred years before the founding of Sheffield FC.

And then there’s rugby football. It had begun to evolve separately from the kicking game by the early 1800’s. To my 21st century eyes, rugby seems like anything but an upper-class pastime, but that’s exactly what it was. The working class did take to the oval ball game as the century wore on. In fact, Crego describes how the 1876 Yorkshire Cup Challenge was won by a team of working blokes, much to the dismay of those who considered such men their inferiors. The Rugby Football Union was formed in 1870, just eight years after the London Football Association. The Rugby Football League was organized in 1895 to govern the different style of play that was prevalent among the clubs in the north of England.

Golf and tennis were always socially exclusive but boxing and horse racing thrived among all classes. Writing of boxing, Crego notes, “With Britain at the height of its industrial boom, even the factory hand and the common laborer had money to spend on entertainment.” Professional horse racing took root in the early 18th century. Races were often part of the entertainment at fairs and festivals, where spectators included both farmers and gentry. There were other sports whose appeal was mostly limited to public school students, or anyone else whose means allowed it: cycling, rowing, track and field, cross country running, and even field hockey.

Get the picture? Soccer didn’t develop in a vacuum. It was a survivor in a battle that was as rough and tumble as the economic competition that characterized the Industrial Revolution. Its beauty lay in its simplicity, lack of expense, and accessibility. Marketing, advertising, and public relations gimmicks were not part of the formula.

To get an idea of just how dominant football is in the English sporting landscape, consider the structure of the English Football League system. Fanciful names–to Yank ears, at least–like Wycombe Wanderers and Accrington Stanley populate the current League Two table, far below glittering “brands” like Manchester United and Chelsea. Yet League Two holds a lofty spot in the pyramid, compared to the likes of Moneyfields and Wimborne Town in the Wessex League (Premier Division).

And yet English football as a business couldn’t be described as a smashing success until the top teams split off into the Premier League in 1992. Revenues poured into the new league from the sale of television broadcasting rights, tapping into a huge global demand for its product. According to Wikipedia, the latest TV rights deal (2007) will bring the League 2.7 billion pounds over three years. Compare this to the Premier League’s first sale of TV rights to Sky back in 1991–191 million pounds over five years–and it’s easy to see how the average player’s salary rose from 75,000 to 676,000 pounds per year over nearly the same period (latest figures were for the 2003-04 season). And to think that we Americans have been rather pleased with the 2007 MLS season!

So all of this means…what, exactly? That the conditions that produced English football are so vastly different from those that gave birth to Major League Soccer that comparisons are a waste of time. The complaints of Euro-snobs (like me) about MLS quality are very much beside the point. The Brits, not to mention the rest of the world, should be better than us. They’ve been at it since the game was known as “mob ball” in the Middle Ages.

It will take many decades to cross the canyon that separates the English soccer experience from what we’ve got in North America. There are a handful of oases for those who are trudging across this expanse, namely Fox Soccer Channel, GolTV and Setanta. Most of the time–unless David Beckham’s in town–the local MLS team will welcome weary pilgrims with open arms. Major League Soccer may not completely quench everyone’s thirst. Yet with stars like Blanco, Dichio, Angel, and Altidore, new soccer-specific stadiums, and expanded live TV coverage–it’s no mirage, either.

I’m not cool enough to sit in Section 8

I’m trying to accept my status as a plain vanilla Chicago Fire fan. Sometimes at Toyota Park I avoid looking over to my right. Why? Because those guys make me feel guilty. That’s where the real supporters sit–er, stand. Behind the goal at the Harlem Avenue end of our lovely, almost-new ground is where you’ll find Section 8 Chicago. (See what I mean? They’re in Wikipedia)! During the entire game, they stand, sing, chant, and bang drums. They set off flares and smoke bombs. There are banners big enough to cover the whole section. And flags…huge gorgeous flags so big I don’t know how one person can wave them.

The group got its name from the section it once occupied in the pre-renovated Soldier Field. It seems to be an umbrella organization that includes several affiliates, such as Barn Burners 1871, the Arsonists, Fire Ultras ‘98, and Ultras Red-Side. There are smaller groups including one called The Shandy Sisters whose irreverence is especially intriguing.

I don’t want to copy the membership requirements for Section 8 and the Ultras Red-Side, both of which are easily found on their websites. Here’s the gist: you’ve gotta be committed, baby. You must attend at least half of the home games, have no other club affiliation, and be possessed of a sincere desire to put heart & soul into supporting the Fire. The people who sign up aren’t just ticking “accept” after scrolling through these terms and conditions. They mean every single word.

Other MLS teams have supporter groups, some of whom seem to be very dedicated. The Torontans who showed up in Chicago this summer certainly had an ultra look to them. I haven’t been to any MLS games outside Chicago, but I’d have to see it with my own eyes to believe that any other supporters can outdo Section 8. Toronto may be the exception to this claim. From what I’ve seen on TV, its entire stadium is filled with ultra-esque types.

So why do Section 8 supporters give me a raging inferiority complex? I’m good Fire fan, I am. I’ve been going to matches since 1998. I’ve listened to games in the car, in Spanish, and I don’t speak Spanish. (I do, however, understand “gooooooal”). I watch the games on TV whenever possible and most years I’m a half-season ticket holder. I’ve got Fire scarves and a t-shirt.* But, but, but…I don’t want to sit behind the goal. I’m afraid that I’ll get scolded if I forget myself and sit down for a few minutes. And honestly, have you heard me sing? It would be disrespectful to the Fire–indeed, to all of Major League Soccer–if I sang in Toyota Park.

So I guess that Section 8 isn’t the place for me. I applaud its style, and especially envy the pre-match tailgating. I’ll just have to admire its citizens from afar, and take pride in the way that they represent Chicago.

*Gripe alert! I would wear my Fire t-shirt much more often if only the market would respond to the needs of women and make feminine, fitted shirts instead of those boxy man-shirts! Haven’t they watched Trinny & Susannah on What Not to Wear?

Be Careful What You Wish For

At one time I was a regular lurker on a Manchester United forum called Redcafe. Ah, what an innocent I was! For the cost of a few hours of my time, I received a top-notch cultural education. I learned a new vocabulary term: glory-hunter. I learned that United’s wild popularity around the globe didn’t give every fan the warm fuzzies. And I learned that there was an unwritten rule that only the support of one’s local team was appropriate. Ouch! To this naive little dismal scientist, that last one smacked of sports protectionism.

The most recent era of glorious football at Old Trafford began in the 1990’s. Thanks to their Champions League success and the broadcasting largesse of ESPN, I had seen more Red Devils games than those of any other team–including our very own Chicago Fire, who came to town in 1998. Until this household tuned into Fox Sports World, Champions League telecasts were the only way to see soccer, aside from the World Cup. Man United was the team that I had happened to see most frequently. It was natural that it would be my favorite, right? Not exactly. According to the vocal denizens of Redcafe, I had committed some sort of faux pas. People like me, apparently, were ruining English football.

Much of what I read on that forum made my jaw drop. Many posters would introduce themselves by reciting a sort of pedigree: “I’ve been going to games since 1970…my dad used to take me…I’m from ______, suburb of Manchester….” In other words, these people didn’t want to be mistaken for the glory hunters who had latched on to United as their favorite team during the trophy-laden, high-flying days of late. In their eyes, people like me weren’t true supporters. We would evaporate as soon as the team hit a rough patch. (Thanks to Sir Alex’ genius, I haven’t been tested yet, nine years on). And worse, our presence was the source of all kinds of nasty externalities (unintended side effects): bigger crowds, ticket scarcity, higher ticket prices, and…not enough singing at the games. These pseudo fans showed up at Old Trafford because, apparently, football had become fashionable. They didn’t know the songs and, besides, they were too busy stuffing themselves with prawn sandwiches to carry a tune. The nouveau fans drove up the demand for shirts and other United gear. Everything was more expensive for those pedigreed supporters who had been there for generations.

To summarize the Redcafe attitude: If you’re not from Manchester, why would you care about United?

To summarize my attitude: It’s easy-peasy for you guys to “support” United. They play in your own back yard! You were sitting on your grand-dad’s knee at every home match. No one looks at you and says “huh?” when you tell them your favorite sports team is Manchester United. I would love to sing at Old Trafford every other weekend, but it’s a bit pricey to get there from Chicago. In other words, I really have to work at supporting the team.

I was “gobsmacked” (love that word) at how different my American attitude was from theirs. While most of us do favor our local sports teams, we tend to move around a lot, so those ties are weaker. We think nothing of identifying with a team that may be several time zones away. We definitely aren’t insulted by out of towners who love our favorite teams, either–what could be more complimentary? No doubt there are guys in Texas who still have a soft spot for the Red Sox because Roger Clemens starred for them two decades ago. So what? The more the merrier!

Ah, but there’s the rub. You can’t just drop by Fenway Park to take in a Red Sox game any more. After two World Series victories in three years, you’ll pay a hefty price for tickets, assuming you can lay your hands on any. This got me to thinking about what would happen if soccer ever did become as popular in the US as it is nearly everywhere else…

The Fire would probably insist that I purchase the full season ticket package, instead of the half-season. The price would be a lot higher than the $30 or so per seat that I’ve been paying (for very nice seats, too). It is true that the atmosphere at the games would be more intense if every game sold out. But we’ve been drawing pretty well this year and most of the people sitting around me are very much into the games. It’s cool to go to Fire games because you know that you’re there with the other true believers, people who don’t mind standing up to the tiresome soccer-bashers in the media who try to tell us what we should and shouldn’t like. I began to sympathize with the long-time supporters in Manchester. When Beckham came to town our little stadium was overrun by tons of little kids. I don’t mind having kids at the matches–I want them to be there, believe me. But their parents kept getting up every five minutes to buy them snacks. Didn’t they know that they were missing large chunks of the match? Were they the Chicago equivalent of prawn-sandwich eaters?

Another benefit to soccer’s lower profile here is that we haven’t been overrun by ultra-type fans. Have we had any casualties among supporters? Didn’t think so.

Do I really suffer because soccer is the red-headed stepchild among American sports? Er, no. With Fox Soccer Channel and Champions League on ESPN I am treated to a banquet of world football coverage. (It would be even better if my neighborhood allowed satellite dishes and then I could get Setanta). And, dare I say this, soccer-mad Americans are better off than their Euro counterparts. We have MLS in the summer months, which gives us twelve full months of footy. No sneering about MLS quality either, Euro friends, as I know that many of you follow lower-division clubs. Moreover, I predict that MLS is on its way to bigger and better things. I am a very finicky consumer, and this is the first year that I’ve been really drawn into the league. It’s not because of that guy they brought to LA either. MLS is definitely not the same quality as the EPL, Serie A, or La Liga, but it does have some talented players and plenty of drama to tide me over from May to August.

I’m not arguing that life is perfectly sweet for Yank soccer fans. It’s a struggle for those who don’t live close to an MLS city, have no cable or the internet. But those of us who want to experience the beautiful game can do so quite beautifully, thanks very much.