This is kinda new to me.
I've been a sports nut pretty much my entire life. For me, life didn't begin when I was born. It began when my dad bought me this oversized, cartoonish-looking blue wiffleball bat when I was 6 years old. We were vacationing on the Cape and I guess I wasn't allowed to bring the 30 odd Tonka Trucks I had at home along with me. We had a small Buick Skylark back then. It was a small station wagon. So my dad, in his infinite wisdom, must've decided that, hey, let me bring a big, blue wiffleball bat and ball and see if my son stays distracted enough to not cry and complain the entire time. My dad. The Genius.
Since then, my life has been undeniably enriched by that simple gesture. Baseball was my first love. Then came football, and hockey followed a few years later. I flirted with soccer during USA '94 - hey, the kids at the park were talking about it, so why not - and again during the US Women’s National Team's triumphant World Cup victory five years later. Eventually, the flirting got serious. A blog was born.
I can't tell you how many teams I've watched over the past 20 or so years, however, I’m pretty sure I’ve never witnessed a complete team. I mean, I was born much, much after the 1927 Yankees - the best baseball team ever, according to many. I missed the Celtics run at NBA domination in the 50s and 60s. Brazil's wizardry in the late-60s and early 70s was still a good ten years before I was born. So I had never witnessed a complete team before my eyes.
Until last year.
Fast forward: So, I was having a decent day yesterday. A good day, even. At least it was until I around 3pm, when I learned that the Los Angeles Sol had ceased operations for 2010.
Wait a minute? What?
The news came from a facebook post. The AP it is not, of course, so I naturally googled the news. Lo and behold, it was true: the league juggernaut was closing shop for the season, if not, permanently.
It felt eerie. Not the type of eeriness you experience when you stumble across a tragic coincidence. But rather, an outer-worldly eeriness. As if this was taking place in a dream. Or an alternate reality. Sliders stuff.I could understand if it were a different team. L.A. was supposed to be WPS’s crown jewel. Marta was there. She's the female Pele, for crying out loud. Kobe was there too, pimping the club at various media events. The Sol was the North Star. It was what other WPS clubs looked up at, and said to themselves, "we need to follow them.”
And it wasn't just the packaging or the glossy mix of soccer and stardom. The team was better than good. They were great. Like Brazil circa 1982 great. Yes, this was the team all clubs - not just WPS clubs - should look at when developing a professional soccer club.
When the Sol came to Boston last year back in May, I had read about them. At the time, they hadn't even given up a goal yet. Karina LaBlanc was a freaking wall. Marta was setting the pitches on fire. Boxxy and Aya Miyama set up shop and played keep away with other teams for much of the summer. People like to talk about being a complete team. To me, the Sol was about as complete as they come.
Not only were they great, but they also played stylishly. They adhered to Ruud Gullitt's gospel: sexy football. The way the ball slid from player to player, the crosses, the elegance of it all was just about the prettiest thing I've ever seen at soccer stadium – well, besides a dark-haired Rev Girl. And the ball became an accomplice. I wasn't around for Brazil squad of the 70s, but imagine that the way they played was very similar to the Sol last season.
Which, of course, is why I'm having such a hard time with it. It was a rare time in which some of the best football was regularly played on American soil. The world's best female players came here. They traveled across countries, continents, and oceans to play here. This country was the epicenter of women's football. And the Sol were, arguably, the best club in the world.
I know, I know. They lost the WPS title to Sky Blue. Many might disqualify their greatness on that alone. Although it was the most important match of the season, it was only one match. A hiccup. Granted, a HUGE hiccup. But they went 12-3-5 on the season. They wrapped up the first seed just after the Fourth of July – with an entire month of the season remaining. For them, it was a summer of domination.
And it was because they were a complete team, top to bottom. Their players were supremely talented, sure, but the collective was pure soccer, which was something rare, and very, very new to me.
It's a damn shame it only lasted a year.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Mockery of Mock Drafts: 2010 SuperDraft Edition
I'm not really one for mock drafts. I mean, all they prove is how utterly wrong I'll be, and you already know how misguided I am on so many other matters. So why invite more bruises to the ego?
So instead of the mock draft, I'll present a semi-coherent assessment of which areas the Revolution need to address at tomorrow's draft.
First, the CliffsNotes® version:
EVERYTHING.
Now, the full version:
Let's start between the pipes. The last time we saw Matt Reis, he was at Jay Heaps retirement announcement sporting a sling back on that fateful December day.* If that doesn't inspire confidence, then I don't know what will, my friends. The timetable on his recovery (six months) puts him at mid-April return. So naturally, the club kept his apprentice just in case. Right? Nope. A week before Reis' sling-armed cameo, Philly selected Brad Knighton in the expansion draft, which, once again, spotlighted the organization's...well, lack of organization. Now, the Revs find themselves with the tail between their legs, begging for a player they could've simply marked as "protected" a few days prior to the draft.
(*There is something that shakes me to the core about Jaybird finishing his career without an MLS Cup. And it's not necessarily because he's a nice guy. I mean, the majority of the locker room is pleasant. What really bothers me is that he's always the guy hustling, always trying to will the team to victory. There's no time for lethargy or indifference. Whether he's on your team or another, it's impossible not to root for the Jay Heaps' of the world. You know who reminds me of Jay Heaps? Wes Welker, who once played soccer back in Texas. True Story.)
But that is neither here, nor there. Knighton's gone. Bobby Shuttleworth, he of zero MLS minutes, remains. Needless to say, a keeper must be acquired because, contrary to what appears to be popular belief inside the Revolution think tank, Matt Reis is not Benjamin Button. Reis is getting OLDER, not YOUNGER. It's likely the club will take a flyer on a collegiate keeper. In fact, based upon their draft record for keepers (Phil Marfuggi anyone?) they may want to take two, with the hopes that one of them doesn't decide on law school mid-season.*
(*See Simmons, Zack. 2009.)
My suggestions: Joseph Bendick (Clemson), Chris Pennock (URI).
In a rare display of draft day prowess, * the Revs selected a pair of gems in Kevin Alston and Darrius "T.I." Barnes. Much was expected of the former - he of Generation adidas stock - and little of the latter. But Barnes, save for a few miscues/own goals, not only shined, but played every minute of the '09 campaign. Not bad for a late-round back who can throw the ball a country mile.
(*And by "prowess," I mean, "two out of seven ain't bad." Hey, it beat the sheer ineptitude that was the 2008 draft.)
Yet, the question remains: does the Revolution continue with a four-man line, or revert back to the coach-tested, player-approved three-man crew? Alston can play either side, as he did at Indiana. While Barnes held his own alongside Emmanuel Osei, who's going to replace Jay Heaps in a four man set? Can Amaechi Igwe take the reins? Should it be three-deep, is Barnes ready to assume sole authority in the center? The depth at the back isn't as bad as it is at keeper, but the midfield? Well, I'm glad you asked.
Suggestions: Ofori Sarkodie (Indiana), Nick Cardenas (San Diego State).
Goodbye, Jeff Larentowicz. Hello, poor-soul-who'll-be-compared-to-Der Kaiser-for-all-of-2010. Who that soul is may be found on a college campus near you. That's not to say that another Larentowicz isn't in the wings. After all, Kaiser was taken in the supplemental draft five years ago as a defender. Who knew he'd blossom into a national team-caliber central midfielder?
Whoever it'll be, he'll have little time to mesh with Shalrie Joseph. Say what you will about last year's squad, but who was better than Chaz and Red? That's right: nobody. It'll be a bumpy few matches, weeks, or months before the newb and Joseph gel.
All this, and we haven't even discussed Steve Ralston, who may or may not be entering his final season in MLS. At 35, he's the unquestionable architect of the attack. But who will replace the (cliche alert) grizzled vet once he hangs up the boots for good? Three years ago, Wells Thompson appeared the answer. It was the wrong answer.
Suggestions: Toni Stahl (UConn), Corben Bone (Wake Forest).
Finally, have the Revs found less success up top than any other position? Excluding Taylor Twellman, the club has faceplanted when it comes to college forwards. Granted, a case could be made that Adam Cristman was a solid pick, but the injury-plagued former Cavalier was quickly traded away before the Revolution faithful could find out. Nevertheless, it's likely that the Revs will take a couple of flyers in the middle rounds, especially with elephant-sized question mark hovering over Twellman.
Suggestions: Anyone not named or related to Edgar Jankauskas.
THINGS TO COUNT ON:
The Revs will not trade up in the first round.
Leftover allocation money will trade hands.
A Demon Decon, or someone who once played against one, will be selected.
Clint Dempsey will be cited as an argument to the obligatory "Steve Nicol is a draft day genuis" claim.
Half of all picks will be gone by First Kick.
So instead of the mock draft, I'll present a semi-coherent assessment of which areas the Revolution need to address at tomorrow's draft.
First, the CliffsNotes® version:
EVERYTHING.
Now, the full version:
Let's start between the pipes. The last time we saw Matt Reis, he was at Jay Heaps retirement announcement sporting a sling back on that fateful December day.* If that doesn't inspire confidence, then I don't know what will, my friends. The timetable on his recovery (six months) puts him at mid-April return. So naturally, the club kept his apprentice just in case. Right? Nope. A week before Reis' sling-armed cameo, Philly selected Brad Knighton in the expansion draft, which, once again, spotlighted the organization's...well, lack of organization. Now, the Revs find themselves with the tail between their legs, begging for a player they could've simply marked as "protected" a few days prior to the draft.
(*There is something that shakes me to the core about Jaybird finishing his career without an MLS Cup. And it's not necessarily because he's a nice guy. I mean, the majority of the locker room is pleasant. What really bothers me is that he's always the guy hustling, always trying to will the team to victory. There's no time for lethargy or indifference. Whether he's on your team or another, it's impossible not to root for the Jay Heaps' of the world. You know who reminds me of Jay Heaps? Wes Welker, who once played soccer back in Texas. True Story.)
But that is neither here, nor there. Knighton's gone. Bobby Shuttleworth, he of zero MLS minutes, remains. Needless to say, a keeper must be acquired because, contrary to what appears to be popular belief inside the Revolution think tank, Matt Reis is not Benjamin Button. Reis is getting OLDER, not YOUNGER. It's likely the club will take a flyer on a collegiate keeper. In fact, based upon their draft record for keepers (Phil Marfuggi anyone?) they may want to take two, with the hopes that one of them doesn't decide on law school mid-season.*
(*See Simmons, Zack. 2009.)
My suggestions: Joseph Bendick (Clemson), Chris Pennock (URI).
In a rare display of draft day prowess, * the Revs selected a pair of gems in Kevin Alston and Darrius "T.I." Barnes. Much was expected of the former - he of Generation adidas stock - and little of the latter. But Barnes, save for a few miscues/own goals, not only shined, but played every minute of the '09 campaign. Not bad for a late-round back who can throw the ball a country mile.
(*And by "prowess," I mean, "two out of seven ain't bad." Hey, it beat the sheer ineptitude that was the 2008 draft.)
Yet, the question remains: does the Revolution continue with a four-man line, or revert back to the coach-tested, player-approved three-man crew? Alston can play either side, as he did at Indiana. While Barnes held his own alongside Emmanuel Osei, who's going to replace Jay Heaps in a four man set? Can Amaechi Igwe take the reins? Should it be three-deep, is Barnes ready to assume sole authority in the center? The depth at the back isn't as bad as it is at keeper, but the midfield? Well, I'm glad you asked.
Suggestions: Ofori Sarkodie (Indiana), Nick Cardenas (San Diego State).
Goodbye, Jeff Larentowicz. Hello, poor-soul-who'll-be-compared-to-Der Kaiser-for-all-of-2010. Who that soul is may be found on a college campus near you. That's not to say that another Larentowicz isn't in the wings. After all, Kaiser was taken in the supplemental draft five years ago as a defender. Who knew he'd blossom into a national team-caliber central midfielder?
Whoever it'll be, he'll have little time to mesh with Shalrie Joseph. Say what you will about last year's squad, but who was better than Chaz and Red? That's right: nobody. It'll be a bumpy few matches, weeks, or months before the newb and Joseph gel.
All this, and we haven't even discussed Steve Ralston, who may or may not be entering his final season in MLS. At 35, he's the unquestionable architect of the attack. But who will replace the (cliche alert) grizzled vet once he hangs up the boots for good? Three years ago, Wells Thompson appeared the answer. It was the wrong answer.
Suggestions: Toni Stahl (UConn), Corben Bone (Wake Forest).
Finally, have the Revs found less success up top than any other position? Excluding Taylor Twellman, the club has faceplanted when it comes to college forwards. Granted, a case could be made that Adam Cristman was a solid pick, but the injury-plagued former Cavalier was quickly traded away before the Revolution faithful could find out. Nevertheless, it's likely that the Revs will take a couple of flyers in the middle rounds, especially with elephant-sized question mark hovering over Twellman.
Suggestions: Anyone not named or related to Edgar Jankauskas.
THINGS TO COUNT ON:
The Revs will not trade up in the first round.
Leftover allocation money will trade hands.
A Demon Decon, or someone who once played against one, will be selected.
Clint Dempsey will be cited as an argument to the obligatory "Steve Nicol is a draft day genuis" claim.
Half of all picks will be gone by First Kick.
Thursday, January 07, 2010
SuperDaft (yeah, as in DAFT)
After covering MLS for a few years, I was hoping that maybe - just maybe - I’d wake up one glorious morning - with the sun shining, birds chirping, and the welcoming aroma of chocolate chip pancakes on the griddle - and everything would finally make sense to me.
Sigh. That day still hasn’t arrived because MLS’s annual rite of winter - SuperDraft – has once again sent me shaking into violent tremors.
I mean, seriously, is this how the league’s still selecting players in 2010? “With the fifth pick, the Los Angeles Galaxy select (inset random player whom no one but his parents, frat brothers and girlfriend have ever seen play and will likely fail because the league’s current infrastructure stunts real development in the absence of a reserve league and formal loan agreements with second and third division clubs).”
If this is a dream, please, throw some cold water on my face, then hurl some haymakers.
When SuperDraft’s initial incarnation – the College Draft - birthed itself during the league’s inaugural season back in 1996, it made sense. At the time, MLS was doing the “American sport/foreign sport” shuffle, and thus, a draft made sense. It did because, heck, every other professional sport had one. Why not soccer?
And it worked. Guys like Steve Ralston, Jeff Cunningham, Eddie Pope, were all plucked from college campuses and took to the league like coeds to a hot tub. Those were the days.
Even when the powers that be combined the College Draft and its redheaded sister, the Supplemental Draft, and transformed it into – wait for it – the SuperDraft, it still held a great deal of relevancy.
But as the league’s talent began to sharpen as the 2000s progressed, it became noticeably difficult for college kids to adjust to the level of competition. More campus stars disappeared amid the pressure of pro soccer. Rosters became thinner than the Olsen twins. Once the later rounds arrived, GMs knew they were simply selecting training bodies, and simply stated "pass" by selection 40. By now, you would think that this was some sort of joke. That this was all a part of some sort of global conspiracy orchestrated by the Illuminati of MLS owners.
Yet, here we are, in 2010, and this godforsaken forum for selecting players survives!
Haven’t we reached the point where we can take this thing behind the barn and shoot it already? Hasn’t it become clear the competition gulf between MLS and the NCAA continues to widen, rather than close, every year? Isn’t it obvious that more “can’t miss” collegiate prospects – if such a term rightfully exists in MLS – are finding themselves exiled to the bench for the bulk of their careers? What happened to progress? A house with white picket fences? The American dream?
I’m not especially smart, but to me, it’s more obvious than Mariah Carey’s mental health issues. SuperDraft is a super waste of time.
Sigh. That day still hasn’t arrived because MLS’s annual rite of winter - SuperDraft – has once again sent me shaking into violent tremors.
I mean, seriously, is this how the league’s still selecting players in 2010? “With the fifth pick, the Los Angeles Galaxy select (inset random player whom no one but his parents, frat brothers and girlfriend have ever seen play and will likely fail because the league’s current infrastructure stunts real development in the absence of a reserve league and formal loan agreements with second and third division clubs).”
If this is a dream, please, throw some cold water on my face, then hurl some haymakers.
When SuperDraft’s initial incarnation – the College Draft - birthed itself during the league’s inaugural season back in 1996, it made sense. At the time, MLS was doing the “American sport/foreign sport” shuffle, and thus, a draft made sense. It did because, heck, every other professional sport had one. Why not soccer?
And it worked. Guys like Steve Ralston, Jeff Cunningham, Eddie Pope, were all plucked from college campuses and took to the league like coeds to a hot tub. Those were the days.
Even when the powers that be combined the College Draft and its redheaded sister, the Supplemental Draft, and transformed it into – wait for it – the SuperDraft, it still held a great deal of relevancy.
But as the league’s talent began to sharpen as the 2000s progressed, it became noticeably difficult for college kids to adjust to the level of competition. More campus stars disappeared amid the pressure of pro soccer. Rosters became thinner than the Olsen twins. Once the later rounds arrived, GMs knew they were simply selecting training bodies, and simply stated "pass" by selection 40. By now, you would think that this was some sort of joke. That this was all a part of some sort of global conspiracy orchestrated by the Illuminati of MLS owners.
Yet, here we are, in 2010, and this godforsaken forum for selecting players survives!
Haven’t we reached the point where we can take this thing behind the barn and shoot it already? Hasn’t it become clear the competition gulf between MLS and the NCAA continues to widen, rather than close, every year? Isn’t it obvious that more “can’t miss” collegiate prospects – if such a term rightfully exists in MLS – are finding themselves exiled to the bench for the bulk of their careers? What happened to progress? A house with white picket fences? The American dream?
I’m not especially smart, but to me, it’s more obvious than Mariah Carey’s mental health issues. SuperDraft is a super waste of time.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Back to Business for real
So you’re probably wondering what the heck happened to this blog. Maybe even me. You know, I set up this blog, I rambled on cue every couple of days for a few years, and then, just like that, I got nothing. Nothing but old, moldy posts. Posts with expiration dates older than ones tattooed on approximately 90% of the dairy products in my fridge.
Here’s short of it: First, something remarkable happened. Like, made-for-TV-movie remarkable. At least that’s what my buddy Mario tells me.
In April, I reconnected with a childhood friend that I, literally, hadn’t said a word to since elementary school. The last time we chatted, Bubba was in the rookie year of his presidency, Letterman was funnier than Leno, and MLS was still nothing more than a promise to FIFA. Skip ahead sixteen years and – wouldn’t you know it - right before me was the most beautiful, intelligent and witty girl I’d ever met. Again.
As luck – and trust me, it was ALL luck - would have it, she not only took a liking to me, but went five steps further and lovingly accepted my obsession with soccer.* Bless her heart. Girls like her don’t grow on trees. She even watched all three Goal movies because of me.** Yeah, I’m pretty sure I hit the girlfriend jackpot.
(* Not that you need to know, but seven days seems to be my personal make-or-break mark for potential dating partners. That magical first week is often me doing nothing more than blabbing about favorite players, favorite clubs, the transfer window, Total Football, and, of course, Fredy Montero’s fauxhawk to anyone semi-interest. Well, at least she sounded interested. Hey, I never said I was smooth. Anywho, it should be noted that any chick that endures a week’s worth soccer talk is, for all intents and purposes, a keeper. No pun intended.)
(** She liked Goal 1. She thought Goal 2 was OK. I wasn’t even allowed to watch Goal 3, which she said was “really bad.” Based upon the final 45 minutes of Goal 2 – where Santi suddenly discovers his ego then proceeds to piss off everyone but gov’nor Harris – I’ll take her word for it.)
Next, I went to China to visit aforementioned girlfriend. That in itself is a story I could probably spend about 6,891,074 words on. I’ll more than likely sprinkle some those words in here and there on the blog. It was crazy – but in a really, really good way.
Shortly thereafter, I came back home and applied to grad school for my M.A. in English, and was promptly advised by the program director that, in so many words, my writing sucked. Of course, that’s not what she said verbatim, but I could see it in her eyes. “You’re not good.” “Your application is a joke.” “Your vocabulary is comparable to that of a baby sea otter.” The eyes…they never lie.
Finally, I moved out. Yes, I took my first true step – albeit a few years delayed- into adulthood by getting my own pad. And I done did it at the ripe age of 28! It’s still weird to not wake up and have the family cat, the newspaper, and a four-course breakfast waiting for me downstairs. OK, so I may have lied about the breakfast. But, the new digs does have one pretty cool perk – the incredibly-understanding girlfriend waiting there to cook for me!*
(*Certain exclusions apply.)
So there you have it – eight months’ time ‘splained in seven paragraphs!
But in all seriousness, things seem to be finally settling down a bit. It was a whirlwind 2009. Twenty Ten (yes, that’s what I’m calling it) owes me the chance to catch my breath.
So, my resolution is to get back to this whole blogging business. I’ve always had a lot to say. After all, you don’t just stop being Portuguese. And God knows I had reservoirs of opinions after the U.S. shocked Spain (and nearly followed up with an encore against Brazil) in the Confederations Cup then laid an egg vs. Mexico in the Gold Cup. But time wasn’t my ally. I know what it sounds like – the old “so much to say, so little time to say it” excuse. But it’s the truth. And for sticking around here long enough to welcome me back, it’s the least I could offer.
That, and more semi-intelligible rants. Rants about, but in no way limited to, the World Cup, the U.S. 2018/2022 bid, the new NASL, the Revs, the Breakers, the Anchormen & Anchorwomen, and, of course, Rhode Island’s favorite fourth-division side: the Stingrays.
OK, so maybe this wasn’t as short as I originally intended. Here’s hoping additional explanations won’t be necessary this year.
Here’s short of it: First, something remarkable happened. Like, made-for-TV-movie remarkable. At least that’s what my buddy Mario tells me.
In April, I reconnected with a childhood friend that I, literally, hadn’t said a word to since elementary school. The last time we chatted, Bubba was in the rookie year of his presidency, Letterman was funnier than Leno, and MLS was still nothing more than a promise to FIFA. Skip ahead sixteen years and – wouldn’t you know it - right before me was the most beautiful, intelligent and witty girl I’d ever met. Again.
As luck – and trust me, it was ALL luck - would have it, she not only took a liking to me, but went five steps further and lovingly accepted my obsession with soccer.* Bless her heart. Girls like her don’t grow on trees. She even watched all three Goal movies because of me.** Yeah, I’m pretty sure I hit the girlfriend jackpot.
(* Not that you need to know, but seven days seems to be my personal make-or-break mark for potential dating partners. That magical first week is often me doing nothing more than blabbing about favorite players, favorite clubs, the transfer window, Total Football, and, of course, Fredy Montero’s fauxhawk to anyone semi-interest. Well, at least she sounded interested. Hey, I never said I was smooth. Anywho, it should be noted that any chick that endures a week’s worth soccer talk is, for all intents and purposes, a keeper. No pun intended.)
(** She liked Goal 1. She thought Goal 2 was OK. I wasn’t even allowed to watch Goal 3, which she said was “really bad.” Based upon the final 45 minutes of Goal 2 – where Santi suddenly discovers his ego then proceeds to piss off everyone but gov’nor Harris – I’ll take her word for it.)
Next, I went to China to visit aforementioned girlfriend. That in itself is a story I could probably spend about 6,891,074 words on. I’ll more than likely sprinkle some those words in here and there on the blog. It was crazy – but in a really, really good way.
Shortly thereafter, I came back home and applied to grad school for my M.A. in English, and was promptly advised by the program director that, in so many words, my writing sucked. Of course, that’s not what she said verbatim, but I could see it in her eyes. “You’re not good.” “Your application is a joke.” “Your vocabulary is comparable to that of a baby sea otter.” The eyes…they never lie.
Finally, I moved out. Yes, I took my first true step – albeit a few years delayed- into adulthood by getting my own pad. And I done did it at the ripe age of 28! It’s still weird to not wake up and have the family cat, the newspaper, and a four-course breakfast waiting for me downstairs. OK, so I may have lied about the breakfast. But, the new digs does have one pretty cool perk – the incredibly-understanding girlfriend waiting there to cook for me!*
(*Certain exclusions apply.)
So there you have it – eight months’ time ‘splained in seven paragraphs!
But in all seriousness, things seem to be finally settling down a bit. It was a whirlwind 2009. Twenty Ten (yes, that’s what I’m calling it) owes me the chance to catch my breath.
So, my resolution is to get back to this whole blogging business. I’ve always had a lot to say. After all, you don’t just stop being Portuguese. And God knows I had reservoirs of opinions after the U.S. shocked Spain (and nearly followed up with an encore against Brazil) in the Confederations Cup then laid an egg vs. Mexico in the Gold Cup. But time wasn’t my ally. I know what it sounds like – the old “so much to say, so little time to say it” excuse. But it’s the truth. And for sticking around here long enough to welcome me back, it’s the least I could offer.
That, and more semi-intelligible rants. Rants about, but in no way limited to, the World Cup, the U.S. 2018/2022 bid, the new NASL, the Revs, the Breakers, the Anchormen & Anchorwomen, and, of course, Rhode Island’s favorite fourth-division side: the Stingrays.
OK, so maybe this wasn’t as short as I originally intended. Here’s hoping additional explanations won’t be necessary this year.
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