Let me just start off by saying this: my dad knows almost nothing about soccer. And by "almost nothing," I mean like the closest fraction to zero without being zero.
He probably could not tell you who won the MLS Cup last year. He's asked, on more than one occasion, if the Revs are in the playoffs - in July. Oh, Dad. And, almost without fail, the very first question at the beginning of every match is, "who's favored?"- as if, you know, the guys in Vegas actually cared enough about MLS to put the lines out on their matches.
However, my dad is sharp. He's picked up on a few things. He knows about David Beckham, of course. He knows that Mexico cannot beat the U.S. on American soil. Oh, and he also knows that Matt Reis - "the bald guy," as my dad would say - is a pretty darn good keeper.
Having said all that, my dad has been my primary choice to watch a televised soccer game with for the past four years.*
(*I'm embarrassed to say that for all the soccer my dad's watched with me, he's never seen a live game. You would think that, at some point, it would dawn upon me that, 'hey, why don't I take him with me to Foxborough or Pierce Field or, heck, Fox Point to catch a game?' Now that I think about it: what kind of son am I? Man, I gotta get on this.)
And I think the reason is because he treats each match - whether it's either of the national teams, MLS, or NCAA - with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. It's weird. But it's a good weird.
I have my theories behind this good weirdness, of course. One is that it's in large part due to fact that my parents don't subscribe to Fox Soccer Channel or GolTV. I know. 'How did I live without it?' I don't know: I just did. So televised soccer only sneaks through about once or twice a week. It's just not a regular occurrence. That's one theory. Yet, I may have better one.
My second theory is that it's a byproduct of life in general. I sometimes think it's because we're getting older. I'll be 30 next year. He'll be 60 in June. Although he will always be my dad and I will always be his son, and that bond will never be broken, thankfully, we both acknowledge that we are very different men. He is a devout Catholic. I am a devout sports fan. He listens to the Temptations. I listen to Twista. He eats at Chelo's. I prefer Chili's. The list of our differences could go on.
But back when I was nine, my dad and I were the same. We both loved baseball. So as a kid, that meant we were the exactly like each other. He liked everything I liked. We'd watch the Red Sox almost every night. There'd be ongoing discussions about the DH rule, Roger Clemens, and Morgan's Magic. Then, it would turn to school. Later on, the neighborhood kids. Then, it would be back baseball again.
As I approached adulthood, the number of those Father and Son Sox games predictably waned. I wasn't waiting for my dad to come home and cook anymore.* I went out with friends, instead. And I'm sure that probably stung my dad a little bit.
(*Yes, my dad cooked. At first, it was because my mom was going back to school at night. Later on, it was because she worked third shift at the hospital. Needless to say, he had pick up a few "mom" responsibilities along the way. My dad - he can do it all.)
That common bond - the Red Sox - wasn't as strong. If it was, it certainly wasn't as strong. We didn't camp ourselves on the couch for baseball anymore. And when we did, it was typically limited to a handful of innings.
But, for some crazy reason, soccer - a sport that continues to escape him to this day - brings us together. And you know what? It hardly matters who's playing. To my dad, it's an event worthy of ordering pizza and wings. Although my dad could probably think of a bajillion other things he'd rather do, he nevertheless takes his spot on the loveseat, leans back, sometimes with a cold beer, sometimes with a Coke, shoots a quick look at the tube, and asks, "So, who's favored?"
So yeah, my dad doesn't know much about the beautiful game. But that's OK. What's more important is that he KNOWS - with absolute certainty - that his son loves the game of soccer with a passion. And this is more than enough for me.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
There is no such thing as a collegiate forward prospect
For the past week or so, I've become absolutely enamored with a pair of books dealing with sports, conventional wisdom, hard data, and how data chooses scissors when wisdom chooses paper nearly every time.
The first book - Baseball Between the Numbers - is, unsurprisingly, about baseball.
The second book - Soccernomics - is, you guessed it, about soccer.
Two entirely different sports, sure. But the common thread is the contrarian approach the authors take toward each sport's conventional thinking. In fact, each use hard data to obliterate many of the "truths" that many of us have been conditioned to believe as gospel. The result: The sacrifice bunt is a wasted out. High profile transfers are almost always huge wastes of money. And owning a football/soccer club is a great way to lose lots of money.
This had me thinking: what other myths exists within soccer - specifically, MLS - that could be debunked?
Lucky for you, I've thought of one, completely free of charge.
***
Goalscorers don't grow on trees. Or college campuses for that matter. It's a fact of life. Hot models end up with ugly men, and Danny Ocean always gets the best of Terry Benedict.
What's that you say? You can't find a good forward from academia in the first round? Surely, I jest. Alas, I jest not.
Rather than bore you with how much free time I had on my hands to devise this theory, I'll take you straight to the data. First, let's look at the strikers taken in the past five first rounds (along with their overall selection number) of MLS SuperDraft (2010 draft not included) for reference.
2009
Steve Zakuani (1st overall)
O'Brien White (3rd)
Peri Marisevic (4th)
2008
Patrick Nyarko (7th)
2007
John Cunliffe (7th)
Jerson Monteiro (8th)
2006
Jason Garey (3rd)
Yura Movsisyan (4th)
Sacha Kljestan (5th)
Kei Kamara (9th)
Calen Carr (10th)
2005
Scott Sealy (11th)
It's ironic that first round striker taken the latest of the bunch - Sealy at the 11th position - is the only one to rack up a double-digit goal totals in a season (10 for KC in 2006) after netting nine during his rookie season. But injuries caught up with him quickly, and his goal totals dropped precipitously after the ten-goal season. In 2009, he took his services abroad and was forgotten faster than the Eric Bana Hulk movie.
Movsisyan was a tremendous player for a surprising Salt Lake squad last season before being transferred out to Randers in the Danish League. There was no question the man had talent. Yet, he never exceeded more than eight goals a season in his four-year MLS career.
The only other notable name is Kljestan, who went on to become the Best XI attacking midfielder we've all come to know and love. Nyarko is an interesting player who seems to have settled on the cusp of stardom going on three years. There's little doubt he possesses the tools required (speed, toughness and touch) to become a poor man's Jozy Altidore. Whether or not it was Hamlet's propensity to use Brian McBride and Cuahtemoc Blanco as his main men, Nyarko hasn’t managed to rake in either of his two seasons. Meanwhile, Garey is a withdrawn forward on a club that’s collected bushels of goals in the past two seasons.
The rest? The verdicts are still out on Zakuani, White, and Marisevic. Carr and Kamara are certified super subs, while Cunliffe and Monteiro are out of the league completely.
Now, let's look at the Top 10 goalscorers of the same seasons.
2009
Jeff Cunningham-17
Conor Casey-16
Fredy Montero-12
Landon Donovan -12
Robbie Findley -12
Guillermo Barros Schelotto -12
Juan Pablo Angel -12
Dwayne De Rosario -11
Ryan Johnson -11
Josh Wolff - 11
2008
Landon Donovan-20
Kenny Cooper-18
Edson Buddle-15
Juan Pablo Angel-14
Brian Ching-13
Conor Casey-11
Luciano Emilio-11
Jaime Moreno-10
Chad Barrett-9
Alejandro Moreno-9
Chris Rolfe-9
2007
Luciano Emilio-20
Juan Pablo Angel-19
Taylor Twellman -16
Eddie Johnson-15
Maykel Galindo-12
Ante Razov-11
Christian Gomez-10
Jozy Altidore-9
Landon Donovan-8
Robbie Findley-8
2006
Jeff Cunningham-16
Christian Gomez-14
Ante Razov-14
Carlos Ruiz-13
Landon Donovan-12
Brian Ching-11
Kenny Cooper-11
Dwayne De Rosario-11
Jaime Moreno-11
Taylor Twellman-11
2005
Taylor Twellman-17
Jaime Moreno-16
Jeff Cunningham-12
Landon Donovan-12
Christian Gomez-11
Herculez Gomez-11
Amado Guevara-11
Carlos Ruiz-11
Clint Dempsey-10
Youri Djorkaeff-10
Josh Wolff-10
Wow, look at all those first round strikers. Who knew that college soccer was such a hotbed of goalscoring talent? The only striker taken in the first round to win the Golden Boot Award was Taylor Twellman in 2005. And even that in itself is suspicious because Twellman wasn't drafted directly out of college. He was a bench player in the Bundesliga before his arrival in 2002.
From the pool of first round strikers noted above, the average return on such high selections is 3.1 goals per season. That is hardly the output deserving of a certified super-sub, nevermind a highly-touted striker. Clearly, the league's general managers haven't been doing their homework.
But I have. And I'm going to be blunt: there is no such thing as a collegiate forward prospect. I'll type it again, this time in CAPS, for emphasis: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A COLLEGIATE FORWARD PROSPECT.
I suspect that the thought process of drafting goalscorers high is relative to American thinking: an offensive player is the sexy pick. It's what the fans want. It looks good on paper. The fans love it. Everyone wins. But it's completely wrong.
Why? College players, in and of themselves, are inherently unpredictable. NCAA soccer, with its limited practice time, unlimited substitutions, and ambitious 2-3 matches/week schedule, falls flat on its face to replicate pro soccer. Compound that with the general difficulty that exists in developing strikers - not midfielders/forwards, not attacking midfielders, and definitely NOT defenders/forwards - and the selection of a collegiate striker in the first round is a loser's bet that every single MLS team has made.
Why are strikers, in general, so difficult to develop? Well, they are the only field players with quantifiable expectations. A defender isn't judged on clean tackles. A midfielder isn't judged on accurate passes. But strikers are always judged on their easy-to-find goal totals. As a result, they incur an exhorbitant amount of pressure to perform - perhaps moreso than any other player on the field, including the keeper.
And that is to say nothing of the physical abuse they receive every match. They are almost always double or triple-marked. As a result, they endure a great deal of physical punishment over a 30-game season. They often incur serious injuries along the way. The sum of their injuries often shave a substantial amount of time off their careers. In short, strikers simply do not stay healthy for very long.
Given these factors, it's nearly impossible to predict where most collegiate strikers will be in two years. Some, like Kljestan and the recently-retired Jay Heaps, will drift back and enjoy successful careers in the midfield or the defending third.
But for the most part, history has shown us that there is, indeed, no such thing as a collegiate forward prospect.
The first book - Baseball Between the Numbers - is, unsurprisingly, about baseball.
The second book - Soccernomics - is, you guessed it, about soccer.
Two entirely different sports, sure. But the common thread is the contrarian approach the authors take toward each sport's conventional thinking. In fact, each use hard data to obliterate many of the "truths" that many of us have been conditioned to believe as gospel. The result: The sacrifice bunt is a wasted out. High profile transfers are almost always huge wastes of money. And owning a football/soccer club is a great way to lose lots of money.
This had me thinking: what other myths exists within soccer - specifically, MLS - that could be debunked?
Lucky for you, I've thought of one, completely free of charge.
***
Goalscorers don't grow on trees. Or college campuses for that matter. It's a fact of life. Hot models end up with ugly men, and Danny Ocean always gets the best of Terry Benedict.
What's that you say? You can't find a good forward from academia in the first round? Surely, I jest. Alas, I jest not.
Rather than bore you with how much free time I had on my hands to devise this theory, I'll take you straight to the data. First, let's look at the strikers taken in the past five first rounds (along with their overall selection number) of MLS SuperDraft (2010 draft not included) for reference.
2009
Steve Zakuani (1st overall)
O'Brien White (3rd)
Peri Marisevic (4th)
2008
Patrick Nyarko (7th)
2007
John Cunliffe (7th)
Jerson Monteiro (8th)
2006
Jason Garey (3rd)
Yura Movsisyan (4th)
Sacha Kljestan (5th)
Kei Kamara (9th)
Calen Carr (10th)
2005
Scott Sealy (11th)
It's ironic that first round striker taken the latest of the bunch - Sealy at the 11th position - is the only one to rack up a double-digit goal totals in a season (10 for KC in 2006) after netting nine during his rookie season. But injuries caught up with him quickly, and his goal totals dropped precipitously after the ten-goal season. In 2009, he took his services abroad and was forgotten faster than the Eric Bana Hulk movie.
Movsisyan was a tremendous player for a surprising Salt Lake squad last season before being transferred out to Randers in the Danish League. There was no question the man had talent. Yet, he never exceeded more than eight goals a season in his four-year MLS career.
The only other notable name is Kljestan, who went on to become the Best XI attacking midfielder we've all come to know and love. Nyarko is an interesting player who seems to have settled on the cusp of stardom going on three years. There's little doubt he possesses the tools required (speed, toughness and touch) to become a poor man's Jozy Altidore. Whether or not it was Hamlet's propensity to use Brian McBride and Cuahtemoc Blanco as his main men, Nyarko hasn’t managed to rake in either of his two seasons. Meanwhile, Garey is a withdrawn forward on a club that’s collected bushels of goals in the past two seasons.
The rest? The verdicts are still out on Zakuani, White, and Marisevic. Carr and Kamara are certified super subs, while Cunliffe and Monteiro are out of the league completely.
Now, let's look at the Top 10 goalscorers of the same seasons.
2009
Jeff Cunningham-17
Conor Casey-16
Fredy Montero-12
Landon Donovan -12
Robbie Findley -12
Guillermo Barros Schelotto -12
Juan Pablo Angel -12
Dwayne De Rosario -11
Ryan Johnson -11
Josh Wolff - 11
2008
Landon Donovan-20
Kenny Cooper-18
Edson Buddle-15
Juan Pablo Angel-14
Brian Ching-13
Conor Casey-11
Luciano Emilio-11
Jaime Moreno-10
Chad Barrett-9
Alejandro Moreno-9
Chris Rolfe-9
2007
Luciano Emilio-20
Juan Pablo Angel-19
Taylor Twellman -16
Eddie Johnson-15
Maykel Galindo-12
Ante Razov-11
Christian Gomez-10
Jozy Altidore-9
Landon Donovan-8
Robbie Findley-8
2006
Jeff Cunningham-16
Christian Gomez-14
Ante Razov-14
Carlos Ruiz-13
Landon Donovan-12
Brian Ching-11
Kenny Cooper-11
Dwayne De Rosario-11
Jaime Moreno-11
Taylor Twellman-11
2005
Taylor Twellman-17
Jaime Moreno-16
Jeff Cunningham-12
Landon Donovan-12
Christian Gomez-11
Herculez Gomez-11
Amado Guevara-11
Carlos Ruiz-11
Clint Dempsey-10
Youri Djorkaeff-10
Josh Wolff-10
Wow, look at all those first round strikers. Who knew that college soccer was such a hotbed of goalscoring talent? The only striker taken in the first round to win the Golden Boot Award was Taylor Twellman in 2005. And even that in itself is suspicious because Twellman wasn't drafted directly out of college. He was a bench player in the Bundesliga before his arrival in 2002.
From the pool of first round strikers noted above, the average return on such high selections is 3.1 goals per season. That is hardly the output deserving of a certified super-sub, nevermind a highly-touted striker. Clearly, the league's general managers haven't been doing their homework.
But I have. And I'm going to be blunt: there is no such thing as a collegiate forward prospect. I'll type it again, this time in CAPS, for emphasis: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A COLLEGIATE FORWARD PROSPECT.
I suspect that the thought process of drafting goalscorers high is relative to American thinking: an offensive player is the sexy pick. It's what the fans want. It looks good on paper. The fans love it. Everyone wins. But it's completely wrong.
Why? College players, in and of themselves, are inherently unpredictable. NCAA soccer, with its limited practice time, unlimited substitutions, and ambitious 2-3 matches/week schedule, falls flat on its face to replicate pro soccer. Compound that with the general difficulty that exists in developing strikers - not midfielders/forwards, not attacking midfielders, and definitely NOT defenders/forwards - and the selection of a collegiate striker in the first round is a loser's bet that every single MLS team has made.
Why are strikers, in general, so difficult to develop? Well, they are the only field players with quantifiable expectations. A defender isn't judged on clean tackles. A midfielder isn't judged on accurate passes. But strikers are always judged on their easy-to-find goal totals. As a result, they incur an exhorbitant amount of pressure to perform - perhaps moreso than any other player on the field, including the keeper.
And that is to say nothing of the physical abuse they receive every match. They are almost always double or triple-marked. As a result, they endure a great deal of physical punishment over a 30-game season. They often incur serious injuries along the way. The sum of their injuries often shave a substantial amount of time off their careers. In short, strikers simply do not stay healthy for very long.
Given these factors, it's nearly impossible to predict where most collegiate strikers will be in two years. Some, like Kljestan and the recently-retired Jay Heaps, will drift back and enjoy successful careers in the midfield or the defending third.
But for the most part, history has shown us that there is, indeed, no such thing as a collegiate forward prospect.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
There will be soccer
Talk about being out of pocket on the wrong weekend.
While I took a brief hiatus from the laptop, the League and the players union reached terms on a new CBA that would run through 2014. And wouldn't you know? I actually thought that Bob Foose should've been canned. How embarrassing.
Obviously, this is fantastic news. We no longer need to worry about whether ESPN would broadcast replacement Sounders vs. replacement Union* or defer to a replay of the World Series of Poker Tournament or simply stream an endless loop of that waterskiing squirrel.
(*The tsunami of irony behind a club named "the Union" fielding replacement players is just too much for this blog to handle. It would be tantamount to casting "Biggest Loser" alumni for "America's Next Top Model.")
The players seem happy about it. Of course, the League is happy about it. It ceded alot less than what the players were asking for, at least publicly. But you know who's really happy about it?
Me.
For a split second - okay, maybe a few minutes - I feared that any work stoppage hit the kill switch on what promised to be a very big year for American soccer. I was definitely scurred. Twenty-ten had all the makings of such a year: the World Cup, a healthy sixteen-team league, a world-class women's league, and home-grown Americans left and right lighting up the EPL. And I thought any interruption would be disastrous.
Fortunately, my fears - along with the fears of many others - were eased once the news came down that an agreement had been reached. Cue Van Halen's "Jump."*
(*I have absolutely no idea why this particular song popped into my head while I finished the sentence previous. I'm not even much of a VH fan. Don't get me wrong - it's a decent "feel good" song and all, but there are tons of those around. Why "Jump?" I just don't know. All I know is that I'm 28-years-old and I'm STILL wondering how many licks it actually takes to get to the Tootsie center of a Tootsie Pop.)
It's fascinating. Some people talk about the 1950s as the golden age of baseball. And others cite the 1960s as the golden age of football. Well, right now, Americans are witnessing the golden age of soccer. No doubt about it. And I suspect that it's only dawn. The naysayers of American soccer are becoming harder to hear. Fourteen of MLS's 16 clubs either have soccer-specific stadia or have firm plans to build one. WPS, unafraid to render fresh ideas,* appears primed to succeed in ways that WUSA once dreamt of.
(*Its playoff format - the tablewinner gets an automatic bid to the championship match - as well as its recently-introduced "pick 'em" order for its All-Star game are just two such examples of the refreshing outside-the-box thinking that every sports league would be wise to imitate.)
In short, this weekend reminded all of us of one thing: it's a wonderful time to be an American soccer fan.
While I took a brief hiatus from the laptop, the League and the players union reached terms on a new CBA that would run through 2014. And wouldn't you know? I actually thought that Bob Foose should've been canned. How embarrassing.
Obviously, this is fantastic news. We no longer need to worry about whether ESPN would broadcast replacement Sounders vs. replacement Union* or defer to a replay of the World Series of Poker Tournament or simply stream an endless loop of that waterskiing squirrel.
(*The tsunami of irony behind a club named "the Union" fielding replacement players is just too much for this blog to handle. It would be tantamount to casting "Biggest Loser" alumni for "America's Next Top Model.")
The players seem happy about it. Of course, the League is happy about it. It ceded alot less than what the players were asking for, at least publicly. But you know who's really happy about it?
Me.
For a split second - okay, maybe a few minutes - I feared that any work stoppage hit the kill switch on what promised to be a very big year for American soccer. I was definitely scurred. Twenty-ten had all the makings of such a year: the World Cup, a healthy sixteen-team league, a world-class women's league, and home-grown Americans left and right lighting up the EPL. And I thought any interruption would be disastrous.
Fortunately, my fears - along with the fears of many others - were eased once the news came down that an agreement had been reached. Cue Van Halen's "Jump."*
(*I have absolutely no idea why this particular song popped into my head while I finished the sentence previous. I'm not even much of a VH fan. Don't get me wrong - it's a decent "feel good" song and all, but there are tons of those around. Why "Jump?" I just don't know. All I know is that I'm 28-years-old and I'm STILL wondering how many licks it actually takes to get to the Tootsie center of a Tootsie Pop.)
It's fascinating. Some people talk about the 1950s as the golden age of baseball. And others cite the 1960s as the golden age of football. Well, right now, Americans are witnessing the golden age of soccer. No doubt about it. And I suspect that it's only dawn. The naysayers of American soccer are becoming harder to hear. Fourteen of MLS's 16 clubs either have soccer-specific stadia or have firm plans to build one. WPS, unafraid to render fresh ideas,* appears primed to succeed in ways that WUSA once dreamt of.
(*Its playoff format - the tablewinner gets an automatic bid to the championship match - as well as its recently-introduced "pick 'em" order for its All-Star game are just two such examples of the refreshing outside-the-box thinking that every sports league would be wise to imitate.)
In short, this weekend reminded all of us of one thing: it's a wonderful time to be an American soccer fan.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Fire Bob Foose
Well, here we are. If an agreement on a new CBA can't be reached this weekend, the players will go on strike next week.
How did it get to this point? Wasn't it only a month or so ago that the League and players union were oh-so-close to sealing the deal on a brand spanking new agreement?
Obviously, something went wrong. And it had alot more than Snowmaggedon stalling the delivery of the League's proposal to the players.*
(*Two words: electronic mail. And I get that many lawyers are old school in the sense that documents are still sent snail mail today, but really? Overnighting a time-sensitive proposal? What's next? Snap bracelets?)
It wasn't the weather. It wasn't miscommunication. Nope. The prime suspect is MLSPU Executive Director Bob Foose.
Why? Well, for starters, it would be rational to presume that any such progress for a new CBA requires the following basic premise: the League giving something up, and the players asking for more. It kinda goes without saying.*
(*Which is why I said it.)
Based upon dozens of reports leading up to the initial deadline - January 31st - it appeared the sides appeared confident that a deal was imminent. It was just a matter of time.
An extension was granted. Then, the mid-Atlantic got buried by a pair of blizzards. Delivery of the League's offer to the union was allegedly delayed. Another extension was granted. But no worries, right?
Wrong. In hindsight, it appears that the players, happy with what the League was offering, became emboldened. They saw what they could get - whether it was guaranteed contracts, five-star travel accommodations, or even player options - and took another bite of the apple.
Who's to blame? It has to be Bob Foose. Because he ripped the players away from an imminent deal and launched into a verbal war with the League. A war that the players cannot win. And when they lose - which they will - they will look all the worse.
From reading Foose's public comments, it's evident that he believes that MLS is either close to or on the same level as MLB, the NBA, or the NFL. Memo to Foose: the Earth is round. The adoption of this mindset set the players back tremendously in their negotiations. MLS is not a billion-dollar league; its players are not raking in eight figures. Heck, the average salary for a single player in Major League Baseball is nearly double the amount of each club's entire roster in MLS.
These are all facts that Foose has failed to consider. Player unions in the country's other major leagues hold their power for myriad of reasons. But primary reason is that they comprise the best talent the world has to offer. There's little debate that MLB ballplayers are the best of the best. Same goes for NFL players and NBA players.
MLS players, as a collective, aren't the best in the world. The argument could be made that they aren't even the fifth best in the world. They don't have the same leverage as NFL players. Therefore, their situation is completely different than those of their Stateside sporting colleagues.
Foose is dead wrong to assume otherwise. This is MLS. This is single-entity structure, whether he likes it or not. This sport is still ranks at least four sports back on the stateside sports landscape.
Do I personally agree with what the union is asking for? Yes. It's fair to ask for some of the same basic freedoms enjoyed by their contemporaries. But they can't reasonably expect to receive everything on their list of demands. The day when player options, free agency, and club autonomy will all come to pass - if the players let it.
Foose has fooled his flock into thinking that their demands are tantamount to God-given rights. The League, whose owners have lost millions keeping it alive, has operated wisely, and kept its players relatively happy for the past decade and a half. No single club is on the verge of bankruptcy (thank you, single-entity structure), unlike Portsmouth across the pond. In fact, it should come as no shock that, as a whole, MLS is in far better financial shape than the EPL.
To the players, remember this: all of you were born before MLS began. It has experienced setbacks (contraction), but overall, has enjoyed steady growth, is in good health, and provides you with an opportunity that simply did not exist when you were born.
Take what the owners will give you at this point. A decent paycheck to play pro soccer in the states didn't exist a generation ago. You are fortunate for what you have earned, deservedly so. Playing first division soccer, especially in a country that would rather watch televised poker, is a privilege, not a birthright. Striking now will only diminish the possibility of that privilege sticking around for future generations.
Again, accept what you were close to taking last month. Live to fight another day. Do the right thing - the necessary thing: fire Bob Foose.
How did it get to this point? Wasn't it only a month or so ago that the League and players union were oh-so-close to sealing the deal on a brand spanking new agreement?
Obviously, something went wrong. And it had alot more than Snowmaggedon stalling the delivery of the League's proposal to the players.*
(*Two words: electronic mail. And I get that many lawyers are old school in the sense that documents are still sent snail mail today, but really? Overnighting a time-sensitive proposal? What's next? Snap bracelets?)
It wasn't the weather. It wasn't miscommunication. Nope. The prime suspect is MLSPU Executive Director Bob Foose.
Why? Well, for starters, it would be rational to presume that any such progress for a new CBA requires the following basic premise: the League giving something up, and the players asking for more. It kinda goes without saying.*
(*Which is why I said it.)
Based upon dozens of reports leading up to the initial deadline - January 31st - it appeared the sides appeared confident that a deal was imminent. It was just a matter of time.
An extension was granted. Then, the mid-Atlantic got buried by a pair of blizzards. Delivery of the League's offer to the union was allegedly delayed. Another extension was granted. But no worries, right?
Wrong. In hindsight, it appears that the players, happy with what the League was offering, became emboldened. They saw what they could get - whether it was guaranteed contracts, five-star travel accommodations, or even player options - and took another bite of the apple.
Who's to blame? It has to be Bob Foose. Because he ripped the players away from an imminent deal and launched into a verbal war with the League. A war that the players cannot win. And when they lose - which they will - they will look all the worse.
From reading Foose's public comments, it's evident that he believes that MLS is either close to or on the same level as MLB, the NBA, or the NFL. Memo to Foose: the Earth is round. The adoption of this mindset set the players back tremendously in their negotiations. MLS is not a billion-dollar league; its players are not raking in eight figures. Heck, the average salary for a single player in Major League Baseball is nearly double the amount of each club's entire roster in MLS.
These are all facts that Foose has failed to consider. Player unions in the country's other major leagues hold their power for myriad of reasons. But primary reason is that they comprise the best talent the world has to offer. There's little debate that MLB ballplayers are the best of the best. Same goes for NFL players and NBA players.
MLS players, as a collective, aren't the best in the world. The argument could be made that they aren't even the fifth best in the world. They don't have the same leverage as NFL players. Therefore, their situation is completely different than those of their Stateside sporting colleagues.
Foose is dead wrong to assume otherwise. This is MLS. This is single-entity structure, whether he likes it or not. This sport is still ranks at least four sports back on the stateside sports landscape.
Do I personally agree with what the union is asking for? Yes. It's fair to ask for some of the same basic freedoms enjoyed by their contemporaries. But they can't reasonably expect to receive everything on their list of demands. The day when player options, free agency, and club autonomy will all come to pass - if the players let it.
Foose has fooled his flock into thinking that their demands are tantamount to God-given rights. The League, whose owners have lost millions keeping it alive, has operated wisely, and kept its players relatively happy for the past decade and a half. No single club is on the verge of bankruptcy (thank you, single-entity structure), unlike Portsmouth across the pond. In fact, it should come as no shock that, as a whole, MLS is in far better financial shape than the EPL.
To the players, remember this: all of you were born before MLS began. It has experienced setbacks (contraction), but overall, has enjoyed steady growth, is in good health, and provides you with an opportunity that simply did not exist when you were born.
Take what the owners will give you at this point. A decent paycheck to play pro soccer in the states didn't exist a generation ago. You are fortunate for what you have earned, deservedly so. Playing first division soccer, especially in a country that would rather watch televised poker, is a privilege, not a birthright. Striking now will only diminish the possibility of that privilege sticking around for future generations.
Again, accept what you were close to taking last month. Live to fight another day. Do the right thing - the necessary thing: fire Bob Foose.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
She's out of your League
Originally, I was going to post some more on strikes, failed mediations, and shattered dreams. Well, at least the first two. The broken dreams part was the remnant of listening to Eighties radio this morning. Oh, Eighties music: it's all fun and games 'til Johnny Hates Jazz camps himself in your brain for the morning.
ANYWAY, after diving into the first three lines (of the post, not the song), a wave of depression came over me. It felt eerily similiar to what those disembodied smilie faces experienced in that Zoloft commercial before they started chasing those butterflies. At least, that's what I guess.
But before I hit up the medicine cabinet, I had a moment of clarity. Something clicked inside of me. 'Hey', I heard myself say. 'There's more to life than MLS.' I initially scoffed at the idea. However, the mind works in mysterious ways. I felt a spirit inside me. I suddenly decided to turn my attention in a different direction. What's that I hear? Birds chirping? And wait - is that sun coming out?
Oh, my dearest Women's Professional Soccer. It's so good to write about you again!
Now, my last post about WPS - the one about the LA Sol closing its doors - was not a happy piece. There were no butterflies roaming fluttering around the laptop on that one. So here's the first, cheery WPS piece of 2010.
***
The trees are still bare here in Boston, but the air is shedding its frosty bite. And while MLS players and the League are battling over guaranteed contracts, player options, and free agency - all worthwhile causes, mind you - the women of the WPS are quietly gearing up for the upcoming season which will, for sure, commence April 10th.
And by "quietly," I do not mean "passively." By no means. They're doing the same preseason drills as their MLS counterparts. The same crazy games of soccer golf and "Butts Up." And they're definitely getting in some good, healthy scrimmages as the calendar nears the official start of spring.
By "quiet," I mean they are simply going about their business. There is no labor strife in WPS. In fact, Commissioner Tonya Antonucci recently announced that the average player salary has increased this season. This, of course, is excellent news given the dire predictions unleashed when WPS was born three years ago.
Anyway, aside from all the off the pitch patter, WPS looks like it's finding more solid ground, despite the loss of its regular season champion Sol. They added Atlanta and Philly as expansion teams in a true-to-life, one step back, two steps forward move. The US Women's National Team just collected another Algarve Cup championship last week. And nearly all of the league's flagship players - Marta, Abby Wambach, Kelly Smith and Eniola Aluko (who, by the way, is probably one of the most technically gifted players I've ever seen) - will return.
Some of this year's storylines: Can Sky Blue FC defend the title it pretty much stole from the Sol last summer? Will the supremely-talented Breakers finally play up to expectation? How will MVP Marta adjust to her new teammates in the Bay Area? And how many times will Tony DiCicco get fined for post-match criticisms of the officiating?*
(*After one interview with Tony DiCicco, you wish every head coach or manager was as honest and blunt as him. He has little use for diplomatic language, and his pressers often have reporters trading "he didn't just say that" glances with each other. That guy. No filter at all. And it is awesome.)
All in all, it's not such a bad time to be a soccer fan here in the States, despite the sour soundbites spewing from the MLSPU.
So while a strike looms in MLS, the show will go on in another first division pro soccer league. And there's nothing depressing about that.
ANYWAY, after diving into the first three lines (of the post, not the song), a wave of depression came over me. It felt eerily similiar to what those disembodied smilie faces experienced in that Zoloft commercial before they started chasing those butterflies. At least, that's what I guess.
But before I hit up the medicine cabinet, I had a moment of clarity. Something clicked inside of me. 'Hey', I heard myself say. 'There's more to life than MLS.' I initially scoffed at the idea. However, the mind works in mysterious ways. I felt a spirit inside me. I suddenly decided to turn my attention in a different direction. What's that I hear? Birds chirping? And wait - is that sun coming out?
Oh, my dearest Women's Professional Soccer. It's so good to write about you again!
Now, my last post about WPS - the one about the LA Sol closing its doors - was not a happy piece. There were no butterflies roaming fluttering around the laptop on that one. So here's the first, cheery WPS piece of 2010.
***
The trees are still bare here in Boston, but the air is shedding its frosty bite. And while MLS players and the League are battling over guaranteed contracts, player options, and free agency - all worthwhile causes, mind you - the women of the WPS are quietly gearing up for the upcoming season which will, for sure, commence April 10th.
And by "quietly," I do not mean "passively." By no means. They're doing the same preseason drills as their MLS counterparts. The same crazy games of soccer golf and "Butts Up." And they're definitely getting in some good, healthy scrimmages as the calendar nears the official start of spring.
By "quiet," I mean they are simply going about their business. There is no labor strife in WPS. In fact, Commissioner Tonya Antonucci recently announced that the average player salary has increased this season. This, of course, is excellent news given the dire predictions unleashed when WPS was born three years ago.
Anyway, aside from all the off the pitch patter, WPS looks like it's finding more solid ground, despite the loss of its regular season champion Sol. They added Atlanta and Philly as expansion teams in a true-to-life, one step back, two steps forward move. The US Women's National Team just collected another Algarve Cup championship last week. And nearly all of the league's flagship players - Marta, Abby Wambach, Kelly Smith and Eniola Aluko (who, by the way, is probably one of the most technically gifted players I've ever seen) - will return.
Some of this year's storylines: Can Sky Blue FC defend the title it pretty much stole from the Sol last summer? Will the supremely-talented Breakers finally play up to expectation? How will MVP Marta adjust to her new teammates in the Bay Area? And how many times will Tony DiCicco get fined for post-match criticisms of the officiating?*
(*After one interview with Tony DiCicco, you wish every head coach or manager was as honest and blunt as him. He has little use for diplomatic language, and his pressers often have reporters trading "he didn't just say that" glances with each other. That guy. No filter at all. And it is awesome.)
All in all, it's not such a bad time to be a soccer fan here in the States, despite the sour soundbites spewing from the MLSPU.
So while a strike looms in MLS, the show will go on in another first division pro soccer league. And there's nothing depressing about that.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Labor pains
I'm not afraid to admit it. I love talking about the NASL. The old one. Not the new one.* Something about multitude of teams (24, at one point), their nicknames (the "Rogues?" Really?), the plastic pitches, and, of course, the players makes me think "Golden Age." Pele. George Best. Franz Beckenbauer. Johan Cruyff. Ringo Cantillo. God, I wish there really was such a thing as a Hot Tub Time Machine.
(*I understand the idea of salvaging a former brand in order to inherent its former loyalists. But in all honesty, how many former NASL fans are going to be drawn to the new NASL? It's second division soccer. I know that Steve Ralston's there, along with a few other former MLS guys. But Pele is not walking through that door, fans. Giorgio Chinaglia isn't walking through that door and Shep Messing is not walking through that door. And if you expect them to walk through that door, they're going to be gray and old. What we are is young, exciting, hard-working, and we're going to improve. People don't realize that, and as soon as they realize those three guys are not coming through that door, the better this league will be for all of us because there are young guys in this league playing their asses off. Whoa, sorry about that.)
But it wasn't all groovy back in the day. Heck, if it was, we'd still have the Earthquakes, Sounders, and Timbers. We wouldn't need a second NASL.
Something went wrong. Actually, lots of things went wrong. The ambitious expansion. The silly in-fighting. And it certainly didn't help that the owners made it rain like rappers at a strip club. However, one thing in particular seems to have a disturbingly familiar taste.
Yep. It was the s-word. For all the glory and glamour galvanized by the league that brought you the 35-yard offside line and penalty shootouts, players eventually became unhappy. And in 1979, they went on strike for the first three weeks of the season.
Imagine - wait, you don't have to. Here's Noel Lemon of the old, awesomely-named Tulsa Roughnecks to tell us a particular, early-April Saturday night in '79 via Clive Toye's "A Kick in the Grass":
"All of the players were supposed to walk off the field right after the national anthem. Ft. Lauderdale's players did that, I remember. We were playing Rochester in Tulsa and on the far side of the field I had two entire teams, one with our uniforms, one with Rochester's spare set, with their jackets on, covering the uniforms, ready to come in if they were needed. But, they weren't."
Doppelgangers. I love it.
Then there's more from Frank Dell'Apa on the Boston.com soccer page:
“Following the NASL’s two most successful seasons, the players struck,’’ recalled local attorney Steve Gans. “In 1977 and ’78, NASL teams had a lot of success and were getting TV contracts. The league had momentum and teams like the Tea Men were getting 30,000 [at Foxboro Stadium] going head to head with a Red Sox-Yankees game at Fenway.
“Then, the first TV game they had on Channel 4, [the Tea Men] used replacement players against the Philadelphia Fury. There was a crowd of 400 rattling around at Veterans Stadium, which tells you the quality wasn’t good.
“As is always the case, Americans need to see a high standard. The Tea Men had players like Mick Flanagan and Gerry Daly on the team and they were calling in freshmen and sophomores in college to take their place. I was at Cornell and I got a call, but I wouldn’t do it.’’
The official attendance at that Fury-Tea Men game on April 14, 1979, was 3,291. Five days later, the Tea Men and Houston Hurricane performed before a crowd of 653 at the Astrodome.
(*I understand the idea of salvaging a former brand in order to inherent its former loyalists. But in all honesty, how many former NASL fans are going to be drawn to the new NASL? It's second division soccer. I know that Steve Ralston's there, along with a few other former MLS guys. But Pele is not walking through that door, fans. Giorgio Chinaglia isn't walking through that door and Shep Messing is not walking through that door. And if you expect them to walk through that door, they're going to be gray and old. What we are is young, exciting, hard-working, and we're going to improve. People don't realize that, and as soon as they realize those three guys are not coming through that door, the better this league will be for all of us because there are young guys in this league playing their asses off. Whoa, sorry about that.)
But it wasn't all groovy back in the day. Heck, if it was, we'd still have the Earthquakes, Sounders, and Timbers. We wouldn't need a second NASL.
Something went wrong. Actually, lots of things went wrong. The ambitious expansion. The silly in-fighting. And it certainly didn't help that the owners made it rain like rappers at a strip club. However, one thing in particular seems to have a disturbingly familiar taste.
Yep. It was the s-word. For all the glory and glamour galvanized by the league that brought you the 35-yard offside line and penalty shootouts, players eventually became unhappy. And in 1979, they went on strike for the first three weeks of the season.
Imagine - wait, you don't have to. Here's Noel Lemon of the old, awesomely-named Tulsa Roughnecks to tell us a particular, early-April Saturday night in '79 via Clive Toye's "A Kick in the Grass":
"All of the players were supposed to walk off the field right after the national anthem. Ft. Lauderdale's players did that, I remember. We were playing Rochester in Tulsa and on the far side of the field I had two entire teams, one with our uniforms, one with Rochester's spare set, with their jackets on, covering the uniforms, ready to come in if they were needed. But, they weren't."
Doppelgangers. I love it.
Then there's more from Frank Dell'Apa on the Boston.com soccer page:
“Following the NASL’s two most successful seasons, the players struck,’’ recalled local attorney Steve Gans. “In 1977 and ’78, NASL teams had a lot of success and were getting TV contracts. The league had momentum and teams like the Tea Men were getting 30,000 [at Foxboro Stadium] going head to head with a Red Sox-Yankees game at Fenway.
“Then, the first TV game they had on Channel 4, [the Tea Men] used replacement players against the Philadelphia Fury. There was a crowd of 400 rattling around at Veterans Stadium, which tells you the quality wasn’t good.
“As is always the case, Americans need to see a high standard. The Tea Men had players like Mick Flanagan and Gerry Daly on the team and they were calling in freshmen and sophomores in college to take their place. I was at Cornell and I got a call, but I wouldn’t do it.’’
The official attendance at that Fury-Tea Men game on April 14, 1979, was 3,291. Five days later, the Tea Men and Houston Hurricane performed before a crowd of 653 at the Astrodome.
The scary thing is that it isn't hard to picture a replay of this 31 years later. Markets like L.A., Toronto, and Seattle might be able to withstand a brief stoppage. But the rest of the league? New England, Dallas, and New York? I'm not so confident.
Gans went on about the impact of the player strike:
“Of all the things that led to the NASL’s demise, that [strike] was one of the top five things,’’ Gans said. “Not enough people cared about it to keep the momentum going. The critical mass wasn’t there; there weren’t enough roots set down.’’
"The timing [of the suit] was terribly wrong. This was a nascent league. And that inspired enmity and resentment from the owners and is probably making them less agreeable and open to being generous now. Again, that was something that was antithetical to the progression of soccer in this country."
Wow. That line about momentum sounds eerily familiar. Alas, it looks like we won't need a time-displacing hot tub to relive the NASL days.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
A Kick In the Grass
I love Clive Toye. He is the quintessential unapologetic Englishman. And who couldn't use an unabashedly opinionated gent like him?*
(*You could argue that Bruce Arena is the closest thing we have to a modern-day Toye. And I wouldn't dispute that. But what Arena lacks is that charismatic, "jack of all trades" persona. Toye did everything. He called his own club's matches on TV. He conducted the local youth clinics himself. He did photo ops with a live monkey. Now, I'm sure Arena does alot things - important things- but you certainly won't hear about him posing for pictures with zoo animals.)
That's why Toye's "A Kick in the Grass" is so wildy entertaining. He isn't afraid to give you a colorful history lesson or three. History according to him, of course. And that's OK. He doesn't pull punches. He's like that old, affable uncle that tells you tales of the fantastic at every holiday function.
Like the tale about how he witnessed the astronomical rise of a fledgling professional soccer league; or the one about how he orchestrated the signings of Pele and Franz Beckenbauer; or the one about the sellout crowds at Giants Stadium; and, of course, the time he played hijinx with a visiting club's keeper. HAHAHA! He roars behind his thick, gray beard at that one, nearly keeling over in his chair at every telling. Oh, Uncle Clive. You bugger.
At least that's how I picture him to be. And it's his storytelling - a unique mixture of candor and unconformity - that leaves you craving more. He was a common man and a visionary at the same time. As the general manager of the Baltimore Bays, he also filled in to do color commentary for its TV broadcasts. He sold tickets at Downing Stadium. And he has the stories to prove it. Important stories. Like the one about the time he explained to Steve Ross and the Ertegun brothers that they HAD to get the New York Cosmos across the border into Jersey to play at the newly-minted Giants Stadium. Why? Well, hell, Pele plays in cathedrals, not chapels. And so it came to pass.
For those lucky enough to bear witness to the NASL in its grandeur, many of Toye's tales will take you back to those halcyon days.* Randall's Island. Tainting the opposing team's Gatorade with Visine (R). Team America. It's all in there. And some will bring you behind the curtain and into the board meetings, beachside kickabouts with Pele, and the unending chase of international talent.
(*You probably knew this already, but the sole reason the Cosmos original colors were yellow, green, and blue was to influence the aforementioned Pele to sign with them. The club's general manager at the time? Clive Toye.)
But for the rest of us - myself included - Toye offers a first-hand glimpse of the dizzying heights pro soccer ascended to years before the letters M, L, and S became synonymous with American soccer. It started on balding pitch with a group of ragtag teams in 1967. It ended in a Manhattan board meeting less than two decades later with the last two clubs that could afford the annual performance bonds.
But everything in between - the merger with the United Soccer Association, the Warner Communications involvement, the Soccer Bowls, etc. - is delivered with such casualness and candor that you wonder whether Toye simply recorded a few extended interviews for transcription and submitted it as his final draft.* And that's exactly why the distinct storytelling of is book is so intriguing. It's not a series of impeccably edited paragraphs, with a ghostwriter molding the stories. It's the exact opposite of David Beckham's polished and precise autobiography. Toye's effort is his clear, unfiltered thoughts. **
(*There is an instance somewhere in the middle of the book - I've been searching for it for the past twenty minutes, in fact - where he openly references the interviewer's tape recording. So it would not surprise if this is were true.)
(**One of the best lines: "In retrospect, it was dafter than anyone has ever said on the PA system at Yankee Stadium, including the resident ogre, 'er, owner, George Steinbrenner, and on par with the utterances of peace and tranquility for all under the reign of the resident owner, 'er, ogre, Saddam Hussein, by Baghdad Iraq's Minister of Information as the tanks and footsloggers closed in on him." Cleary, this is a man who does not believe in the use of an editor.)
In fact, the stream-of-consciousness approach is almost a direct parallel of the league which Toye helped birth. Much of the league's development was ad libbed. Owners bought into the league thinking it would deliver them to the heights as their NFL counterparts. Spend the money and everything will OK. Sign Pele? Sure! Expand to 24 teams? Absolutely! And so on.
There wasn't time to go over the particulars. It was pure, living-for-the-moment thought. And it's one of the reasons why the book, not to mention the league at the center of it, is so fascinating.
(*You could argue that Bruce Arena is the closest thing we have to a modern-day Toye. And I wouldn't dispute that. But what Arena lacks is that charismatic, "jack of all trades" persona. Toye did everything. He called his own club's matches on TV. He conducted the local youth clinics himself. He did photo ops with a live monkey. Now, I'm sure Arena does alot things - important things- but you certainly won't hear about him posing for pictures with zoo animals.)
That's why Toye's "A Kick in the Grass" is so wildy entertaining. He isn't afraid to give you a colorful history lesson or three. History according to him, of course. And that's OK. He doesn't pull punches. He's like that old, affable uncle that tells you tales of the fantastic at every holiday function.
Like the tale about how he witnessed the astronomical rise of a fledgling professional soccer league; or the one about how he orchestrated the signings of Pele and Franz Beckenbauer; or the one about the sellout crowds at Giants Stadium; and, of course, the time he played hijinx with a visiting club's keeper. HAHAHA! He roars behind his thick, gray beard at that one, nearly keeling over in his chair at every telling. Oh, Uncle Clive. You bugger.
At least that's how I picture him to be. And it's his storytelling - a unique mixture of candor and unconformity - that leaves you craving more. He was a common man and a visionary at the same time. As the general manager of the Baltimore Bays, he also filled in to do color commentary for its TV broadcasts. He sold tickets at Downing Stadium. And he has the stories to prove it. Important stories. Like the one about the time he explained to Steve Ross and the Ertegun brothers that they HAD to get the New York Cosmos across the border into Jersey to play at the newly-minted Giants Stadium. Why? Well, hell, Pele plays in cathedrals, not chapels. And so it came to pass.
For those lucky enough to bear witness to the NASL in its grandeur, many of Toye's tales will take you back to those halcyon days.* Randall's Island. Tainting the opposing team's Gatorade with Visine (R). Team America. It's all in there. And some will bring you behind the curtain and into the board meetings, beachside kickabouts with Pele, and the unending chase of international talent.
(*You probably knew this already, but the sole reason the Cosmos original colors were yellow, green, and blue was to influence the aforementioned Pele to sign with them. The club's general manager at the time? Clive Toye.)
But for the rest of us - myself included - Toye offers a first-hand glimpse of the dizzying heights pro soccer ascended to years before the letters M, L, and S became synonymous with American soccer. It started on balding pitch with a group of ragtag teams in 1967. It ended in a Manhattan board meeting less than two decades later with the last two clubs that could afford the annual performance bonds.
But everything in between - the merger with the United Soccer Association, the Warner Communications involvement, the Soccer Bowls, etc. - is delivered with such casualness and candor that you wonder whether Toye simply recorded a few extended interviews for transcription and submitted it as his final draft.* And that's exactly why the distinct storytelling of is book is so intriguing. It's not a series of impeccably edited paragraphs, with a ghostwriter molding the stories. It's the exact opposite of David Beckham's polished and precise autobiography. Toye's effort is his clear, unfiltered thoughts. **
(*There is an instance somewhere in the middle of the book - I've been searching for it for the past twenty minutes, in fact - where he openly references the interviewer's tape recording. So it would not surprise if this is were true.)
(**One of the best lines: "In retrospect, it was dafter than anyone has ever said on the PA system at Yankee Stadium, including the resident ogre, 'er, owner, George Steinbrenner, and on par with the utterances of peace and tranquility for all under the reign of the resident owner, 'er, ogre, Saddam Hussein, by Baghdad Iraq's Minister of Information as the tanks and footsloggers closed in on him." Cleary, this is a man who does not believe in the use of an editor.)
In fact, the stream-of-consciousness approach is almost a direct parallel of the league which Toye helped birth. Much of the league's development was ad libbed. Owners bought into the league thinking it would deliver them to the heights as their NFL counterparts. Spend the money and everything will OK. Sign Pele? Sure! Expand to 24 teams? Absolutely! And so on.
There wasn't time to go over the particulars. It was pure, living-for-the-moment thought. And it's one of the reasons why the book, not to mention the league at the center of it, is so fascinating.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Finishing is overrated
There's a saying out there about the importance of finishing. I can't think of the author off the top of my head, but you've probably heard it before: "It's not how you start, it's how you finish."
That might as well be the mantra of the U.S. Men's National Team. Because if yesterday's match taught us anything, it seems as if they’ve taken the advice to heart, but horrendously misplaced the application.
For the first eighty minutes, the Yanks chased around the Dutch as if the Oranje had stolen the golden ticket or something. The Americans played without swagger. They were tentative. It was disheartening. Bloopers ensued. Robbie Findley forgot how to finish. Tim Howard looked like he was auditioning for Limp Bizkit lead singer. And Jonathan Bornstein - bless his heart - picked the worst possible match to have his worst possible match. So yeah, that was the first hour and twenty minutes. Must See TV it was not.
But around the 81st or 82nd minute, the Yanks finally warmed up and began to get their swole on. DeMarcus Beasley, whom we last saw back in June get basted by Brazil, was a man on fire - in a good way, this time. His looping crosses found teammates. He held the ball. Yes, you read that right. DeMarcus Beasley held the ball. It must be 2002 all over again.
With the minutes winding down, Alejandro Bedoya and Clarence Goodson buzzed about the box. Jozy threatened. The goal that evaded the Yanks against in their previous tries against the Dutch appeared imminent. It was. Eighty-ninth minute - Beasley to Bocanegra, deficit halved. Unfortunately for the visitors, it was too little, too late.
Where was this in the first half? One might say the Dutch were probably tired. And that very well could have been the case. Except for one thing: that doesn't make any sense.* The Oranje had already used their full compliment of subs by the 81st minute. Half of the their field players were fresh legs. The Dutch starting XI that remained certainly hadn't spent the entire match running down the ball the way the U.S. had. They should not have been tired. Whatever it was, the Dutch looked lethargic. And the U.S. took advantage.
(*Unless, of course, they were Amsterdamming it up the night before.)
Some of that may be attributable to the fact that the U.S., for all its technical shortcomings, has athletes. They have the stamina and endurance to grind it out for ninety. They can chase all day.
But I think it’s something else. And it has nothing to do with fitness or conditioning. Quite the opposite. It’s mental. The Yanks don’t know how to pick the fight. They either don’t know or are too scared to set the tone. They wait it out. And when the opponent is either tired or lackadaisical, they magically find their bearings.
So it only makes sense that the Yanks always seem "awaken" near the closing bell. It’s because they refuse to strike first. They seem to run and run and run some more defending the first hour or so. Then, when the opponent is worn and weary – which typically happens when a team handily obliterates a defense - they pounce. But here's the problem: come eighty minutes, it's often much too late. The deficit is too steep and the time is too near.
Now you might say that, hey, at least the Yanks got a goal. Indeed...at least they got a goal. But, at least they got a goal will not win you many trophies. And at least they got a goal certainly won't get you anywhere close to a World Cup.
There’s no doubt that the Yanks know how to “finish” a match. But it's painfully obvious they still don't know how to start one. They play without initiative. They allow the game to come to them, rather than taking the game by the horns. Defend now, attack later.
Forget the previous bit of conventional wisdom. Sometimes, it is about how you start. How you start determines how you finish. Always.
Setting the tone - dictating the match - is something the Yanks better learn in hurry if they don't want a repeat of 2006.
That might as well be the mantra of the U.S. Men's National Team. Because if yesterday's match taught us anything, it seems as if they’ve taken the advice to heart, but horrendously misplaced the application.
For the first eighty minutes, the Yanks chased around the Dutch as if the Oranje had stolen the golden ticket or something. The Americans played without swagger. They were tentative. It was disheartening. Bloopers ensued. Robbie Findley forgot how to finish. Tim Howard looked like he was auditioning for Limp Bizkit lead singer. And Jonathan Bornstein - bless his heart - picked the worst possible match to have his worst possible match. So yeah, that was the first hour and twenty minutes. Must See TV it was not.
But around the 81st or 82nd minute, the Yanks finally warmed up and began to get their swole on. DeMarcus Beasley, whom we last saw back in June get basted by Brazil, was a man on fire - in a good way, this time. His looping crosses found teammates. He held the ball. Yes, you read that right. DeMarcus Beasley held the ball. It must be 2002 all over again.
With the minutes winding down, Alejandro Bedoya and Clarence Goodson buzzed about the box. Jozy threatened. The goal that evaded the Yanks against in their previous tries against the Dutch appeared imminent. It was. Eighty-ninth minute - Beasley to Bocanegra, deficit halved. Unfortunately for the visitors, it was too little, too late.
Where was this in the first half? One might say the Dutch were probably tired. And that very well could have been the case. Except for one thing: that doesn't make any sense.* The Oranje had already used their full compliment of subs by the 81st minute. Half of the their field players were fresh legs. The Dutch starting XI that remained certainly hadn't spent the entire match running down the ball the way the U.S. had. They should not have been tired. Whatever it was, the Dutch looked lethargic. And the U.S. took advantage.
(*Unless, of course, they were Amsterdamming it up the night before.)
Some of that may be attributable to the fact that the U.S., for all its technical shortcomings, has athletes. They have the stamina and endurance to grind it out for ninety. They can chase all day.
But I think it’s something else. And it has nothing to do with fitness or conditioning. Quite the opposite. It’s mental. The Yanks don’t know how to pick the fight. They either don’t know or are too scared to set the tone. They wait it out. And when the opponent is either tired or lackadaisical, they magically find their bearings.
So it only makes sense that the Yanks always seem "awaken" near the closing bell. It’s because they refuse to strike first. They seem to run and run and run some more defending the first hour or so. Then, when the opponent is worn and weary – which typically happens when a team handily obliterates a defense - they pounce. But here's the problem: come eighty minutes, it's often much too late. The deficit is too steep and the time is too near.
Now you might say that, hey, at least the Yanks got a goal. Indeed...at least they got a goal. But, at least they got a goal will not win you many trophies. And at least they got a goal certainly won't get you anywhere close to a World Cup.
There’s no doubt that the Yanks know how to “finish” a match. But it's painfully obvious they still don't know how to start one. They play without initiative. They allow the game to come to them, rather than taking the game by the horns. Defend now, attack later.
Forget the previous bit of conventional wisdom. Sometimes, it is about how you start. How you start determines how you finish. Always.
Setting the tone - dictating the match - is something the Yanks better learn in hurry if they don't want a repeat of 2006.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
I forgot to buy the hype
Maybe it's the raw weather. Or it could be the fact that it's March and I'm not wearing any spring colors. I honestly don't know. But for some reason, I haven't bought into the hype surrounding this afternoon's USA-Netherlands match.*
(*Another reason may be that the Yanks are debuting their - how do I say this - aesthetically unpleasing navy blue World Cup kits. This from the same Nike company that created one of the best-looking soccer jerseys ever - the 2006 "Don't Tread on Me" red kits. And how long did they last? One game. Against Latvia. Sheer brilliance.)
I understand that alot of people are talking about how crucial this game is for Bradley's boys. A win would be tremendous a confidence booster. A loss would destroy the last of the Project 2010 crew. A draw would make an effusive John Harkes double his "as well" quota. Take your pick.
To me, the importance of this game seems to have been a bit overstated. It's really nothing more than a glorified tryout for guys like Robbie Findley, Clarence Goodson and international newb Alejandro Bedoya. They need to lodge convincing arguments to show Bob Bradley they're World Cup worthy.
The rest are either locks or friendly fodder while Deuce, Gooch, & Co. convalesce. I don't care how many goals E.J. scores. Dude's streaky. Bob Bradley will probably lose his number after the game. Same goes for Stuart Holden, even if he channels Soccer Dog and becomes a Best XI ballwinner. In all likelihood, he'll be watching it on TV like the rest of us.
If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that Bob Bradley has two, maybe three, spots that are legitimately open. The squad is pretty much settled aside from the vacancies for starting left back and Jozy's striking partner.
Anyway, it'll be a good one to watch. The Dutch don't mess around. The Yanks will have their hands full. It should be entertaining.
Hopefully, the sun comes out so I can enjoy it.
(*Another reason may be that the Yanks are debuting their - how do I say this - aesthetically unpleasing navy blue World Cup kits. This from the same Nike company that created one of the best-looking soccer jerseys ever - the 2006 "Don't Tread on Me" red kits. And how long did they last? One game. Against Latvia. Sheer brilliance.)
I understand that alot of people are talking about how crucial this game is for Bradley's boys. A win would be tremendous a confidence booster. A loss would destroy the last of the Project 2010 crew. A draw would make an effusive John Harkes double his "as well" quota. Take your pick.
To me, the importance of this game seems to have been a bit overstated. It's really nothing more than a glorified tryout for guys like Robbie Findley, Clarence Goodson and international newb Alejandro Bedoya. They need to lodge convincing arguments to show Bob Bradley they're World Cup worthy.
The rest are either locks or friendly fodder while Deuce, Gooch, & Co. convalesce. I don't care how many goals E.J. scores. Dude's streaky. Bob Bradley will probably lose his number after the game. Same goes for Stuart Holden, even if he channels Soccer Dog and becomes a Best XI ballwinner. In all likelihood, he'll be watching it on TV like the rest of us.
If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that Bob Bradley has two, maybe three, spots that are legitimately open. The squad is pretty much settled aside from the vacancies for starting left back and Jozy's striking partner.
Anyway, it'll be a good one to watch. The Dutch don't mess around. The Yanks will have their hands full. It should be entertaining.
Hopefully, the sun comes out so I can enjoy it.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
What can mediation do for MLS?
Mark Abbott and Bob Foose are definitely not biffies. We know this. If they were, they wouldn't have broken the veil of silence and turned the ongoing negotations into certifiable stalemate.
Psst!- here's a secret. You don't have to be best friends to entertain mediation.
Yep, good ol' fashioned mediation. Time-tested, Higher Power-approved dispute resolution.
Since touching upon the subject last week, I figured it would be worthwhile - maybe even educational - to provide the 411 on how labor peace can be achieved with relative ease.
First things first. Mediation is absolutely IDEAL when two sides have an ongoing relationship with each other. Unless intergalactic war is waged and the Shi'ar overtake the planet and Erik the Red banishes MLSPU to a distant star in the process, the League and the union are going to have to shack up with each other for awhile. And that's the great thing about mediation: it serves to preserve long-term relationships.
It's crucial that both sides are willing to concede something. After all, it would be a complete waste of time if the parties don't budge from their positions. You can't cross a bridge by standing still.
Each side must also recognize and understand the other's importance. Without the league, there is no MLSPU. Without the MLSPU, the League becomes USL-3, halftime dog olympics and all. I know that sounds overly simplistic, but I just don't have the brainpower to argue such complexities as player coups, scabs, Pele, and outlaw leagues. Therefore, it's important enter any mediation with good faith. Each side should genuinely apprach mediation with the intent to settle, rather than using it as a delay tactic.
Psst!- here's a secret. You don't have to be best friends to entertain mediation.
Yep, good ol' fashioned mediation. Time-tested, Higher Power-approved dispute resolution.
Since touching upon the subject last week, I figured it would be worthwhile - maybe even educational - to provide the 411 on how labor peace can be achieved with relative ease.
First things first. Mediation is absolutely IDEAL when two sides have an ongoing relationship with each other. Unless intergalactic war is waged and the Shi'ar overtake the planet and Erik the Red banishes MLSPU to a distant star in the process, the League and the union are going to have to shack up with each other for awhile. And that's the great thing about mediation: it serves to preserve long-term relationships.
It's crucial that both sides are willing to concede something. After all, it would be a complete waste of time if the parties don't budge from their positions. You can't cross a bridge by standing still.
Each side must also recognize and understand the other's importance. Without the league, there is no MLSPU. Without the MLSPU, the League becomes USL-3, halftime dog olympics and all. I know that sounds overly simplistic, but I just don't have the brainpower to argue such complexities as player coups, scabs, Pele, and outlaw leagues. Therefore, it's important enter any mediation with good faith. Each side should genuinely apprach mediation with the intent to settle, rather than using it as a delay tactic.
Next step is to bring the parties together to agree on either a sole mediatior, or a panel of three mediators. In this case, given how contentious these discussions have recently turned, a three-mediator panel might be approrpiate. So here's how it works.
Each side picks a nationally-respected neutral to mediate on their behalf. This allows each party to remove themselves from the fight, so to speak. From there, the party-appointed mediators sit down, the weather, their kids, the economy, etc. and confer on a third, completely neutral mediator who will act as the chairperson. They agree on said mediator. And thus, the panel is born.
The panel schedules a conference call to which the neutrals and parties discuss a date to schedule the actual mediation. The chair will ask for position statements detailing what each side wants, and is willing to concede. These are strictly confidential unless otherwise agreed. Oh, and even though it's pretty much a given, the schedule must ensure that all of the decision makers are present for the mediation.
On the day of the mediation, the panel and the parties meet at the roundtable. From there, the party appoints caucus with their respective parties. After some preliminary discussions, the chair then meets with each party separately, and acts as the "voice of reason." She listens to the League, ie., its demands, and what it is willing to concede. The chair then consults with the union. She listens to what their demands. The chair then goes back to the League. She outlines what the union wants. The League will likely turn down some of those demands. She goes back to the union and tells them what the league will accept, and what they'll turn down. And so it continues as the sides are brought closer together.
A good mediator - one who did his/her homework and understands the nature of collective bargaining agreement disputes - will attempt to bridge the parties positions with neutral, unbiased advice. She will offer solutions. If necessary, reasonable alternatives will be explored. She will work feverishly to bring about one result: settlement. Her role isn't to decide who is right and who is wrong. Her sole responsibility is to bring the sides together.
So, if the League and the union are genuinely interested in remaining playmates this season and beyond, then mediation is a no-brainer. Of course, mediation is non-binding. In the event that a party renegs on its part of the bargain, the agreement cannot be enforced in court. However, it's worth mentioning that the rate of voluntary compliance is very high when the parties have settled in good faith.
Lastly, I'm sure a question that anyone would naturally have is the success rate of mediation. Although there is no hard number, it is generally believed within the industry that nearly 80% of mediations end in settlement.
There. I've outlined it to the best of one's ability during his lunch break. I'm almost certain I've missed some key milestones in the process. However, this should only to serve as a glimpse of what the League and the union is missing out on by failing to mediate their dispute.
Come on. This isn't Celebrity Housewives of Orange County. This is Football. Futbol. Soccer. MLS.
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