Roots

One of the things I love about the sport of soccer here in the United States is that almost everyone has a unique story about how they got interested in it. The stories range from seeing the World Cup in 199_ or 200_ or a friend dragged them to a game or their kids played and so on and so forth. For me, it shared an oddly similar parallel with how I grew up as a fan of MLB's Chicago Cubs.

Back in the dark ages, when I was a school kid in South Carolina, after relocating from the Washington, D.C. area, around the age of 10 I was able to come home directly from school, turn on the television, pull out the baseball card collection and let the less than dulcet tones of Harry Caray and Steve Stone wash over the living room it seemed like every afternoon on WGN, cable's glorious gift to non-Chicagoans everywhere.

This was the 1987 season when the Cubs stunk, once again, yet good-to-great players like Ryne Sandberg and eventual league MVP, Andre Dawson, played for the team. I remember being excited whenever they'd take to the field. For some reason, despite their craptacular performance I came back to them in Spring of 1988 and at the same time rekindled my childhood liking for the Baltimore Orioles. Luckily, both teams were in opposite leagues so I didn't have to choose one or the other so I could maintain my admiration for O's legend, Cal Ripken, Jr. while enjoying my loyalty to the hapless Cubbies. Eventually, after a trip with the family to Fulton County Stadium that summer (a 5-2 loss to the Eric Davis(!) led Cincinnati Reds), I took Dale Murphy, Ron Gant and the seemingly equally hapless Braves into my baseball fandom. This was also the season Baltimore lost 21 straight games to start the year. The Braves never did catch up though they tried valiantly. That year, the Braves were the second worst team in baseball by only a half game with the Orioles taking the honor of dead last in all of baseball. The Cubs finished a fantastic 77-85 relative to the combined 108-213 mark by the other two.

So where does the long-winded baseball bit fit into my soccer fandom? Well, it is quite revealing that when it came to soccer, I'd eventually settle on a team in England that most fans would easily say parallel the efforts of the Cubs in baseball. A club that annually raised and dashed hopes with equal verve. A club that had a trio of players whose names live on in their country, practically in the folklore but have done sweet FA ever since. Moore to Peters to Hurst meet Tinker to Evers to Chance. West Ham United were introduced to me during the 1996-97 campaign, eerily 10 years since the affair with Chicago began. Ironically enough, the Hammers would finish in 14th that season just above the relegation zone. My fondness for the club was thanks in large part to the gents from a band called the Business whom I met during my stint in a punk band that had the privilege to open for them when they came through S.C. So it began, that a sport that had long since waned in my interests was completely and utterly subsumed with soccer.

By this time, domestically, I had thrown my lot in with D.C. United in MLS, the Men's National Team since 1994 (despite having watched the US matches in 1990, I had no idea what I was seeing then) and to some small extent the Women's National Team after staying up way too late and catching the beam back from China of the 1991 Women's World Cup. I believe I said at the time of that event, "Now there's a novel idea. It sure would be funny if it turns out that our women are world powers especially considering how pathetic our men must seem." Or something along those lines.

Oddly enough, though, my enjoyment of soccer actually started around the time things were really gearing up for the 1994 World Cup. It was probably the 1992-93 European season. This would have been back when ESPN lacked for afternoon programming and decided to air Dutch Eredivisie matches so much in the same manner as I had learned to enjoy the Cubs just 5 or so years earlier, I began to watch soccer after walking in the door home from school. At that time, I chose to follow Ajax simply because they managed to win almost every time I watched them and I enjoyed their style of play. However, I couldn't have named a single player in that side and really had no idea who they played. I remember AZ Alkmaar, PSV Eindhoven and Feyenoord sticking out to me but beyond that I hadn't a clue. I no longer follow Ajax (or the Eredivisie for that matter), though, I do feel indebted to them somehow.

At any rate, by this point I began to become more aware of the sport and actually worked up the guts to quit American football for the rest of the World's football during the ensuing summer. After joining the high school soccer team I remember watching taped matches from the Champions League, Serie A, England and the 1986/1990 World Cups. By the time 1994 rolled around my appetite for soccer was growing so much so that I distinctly remember joining with my friends in watching every single match of the World Cup that year and in between matches playing video game soccer. We simply couldn't get enough.

Then, 1995 hit and there was a gaping void. What had happened to soccer in America? Where did the futbol feast go? It wasn't until 1996 that MLS began and fans were slow to find it on ESPN2 despite some very real and very impressive attendances in Year One. The malaise towards the League that seemed to surround those of us who weren't in MLS cities made us feel alone out there in a way. There was no getting together for games on television, no parties or cookouts to watch the Wiz play the Burn and yet it seemed like it was just there, in the background, waiting for something bigger to happen... at least for me.

MLS Cup #1 in rain soaked Foxboro stadium, LA who had looked certain to be champions all season long were up on D.C. United, a club that had suffered a nearly disastrous start under nearly legendary University of Virginia coach, Bruce Arena, and it seemed a formality. Then a comeback was on that people would wax poetic about for years to come replete with a defender, Eddie Pope, who would rise above the crowd and win United their first of many honors. I was hooked on MLS after that but the lure towards the rest of the world hadn't sunk in just yet.

It took a few pints, a debate explaining MLS and why the U.S. wasn't just going to be making up the numbers in France in 1998 and a few good jokes in the direction of some guy named Glen Hoddle (the joke kind of writes itself, doesn't it?) with some very real, very passionate football, beer and punk rock loving English "blokes" before I began looking at things in a more global context. Then... well, 3-6-1, yeah? Now, here I am worrying about Tom Soehn's tactics, Bob Bradley's selections and whether or not Carlos Tevez will stay with the supporters who adore him or follow the money he so richly deserves elsewhere. All this after going deeply into debt to get to Germany last summer. It's a funny old game.

PS If anyone has the 1996 MLS Cup Final on dvd or knows where to get one, I'd love to have it.