Thoughts on the USSF's bid for the '18 and '22 World Cups

As I'm sure you've heard by now,* the United States Soccer Federation officially announced its bids for the 2018 and 2022 World Cup Monday afternoon.

(*I apologize for waiting two days to write this. Yeah, I definitely finished my 18-page paper, but no sooner did I complete it that seven short stories, and a paper on those selections awaited. Homework. It never ends.)

Although it's just the first of many steps required to actually clinch the bid, it's worth noting that Monday's announcement marks third time in the past 25 years that the U.S. has officially bid on a World Cup.

On a personal and completely un-newsworthy level, that is three times during my 27 years on this planet that my home nation's soccer federation has bid on the its premier showcase. Think about that. The USA - a country which, historically, has struggled to field a world-class national team - has manned-up three times to ask for the World Cup to be played right here on its own shores. Pretty awesome, isn't it?

With each bid, the USSF had something more to offer. In 1984, when Colombia dropped out of its 1986 World Cup obligations at the last minute, FIFA scurried to find a replacement. The U.S. and Mexico were considered. The USSF posited that a recently-successful Summer Olympics in Los Angeles proved that it could host the quintessential large scale international convalcade. It had the stadiums. It had the money. It had Henry Kissinger, Steve Ross, and Pele' pushing for its bid. But its first division league - the NASL - was on life support. FIFA awarded the Cup to Mexico instead.

Undeterred, the U.S. renewed its bid in 1986 for the 1994 tournament. Many of the same factors - large stadiums, money, television, HenryKissinger, and a wealth of American sponsors (Coca-Cola, Gillette, Marlboro, Budweiser) - helped boost the bid in FIFA's eyes. Two years later, the U.S. was awarded the Cup, even without a national first division league.*

(*As part of its conditions, FIFA required the USSF to install a first division league by the time the Cup was held. Hence, Major League Soccer. Its first season - originally scheduled to begin play in the spring of 1994 - was pushed back twice, until it finally kicked off in '96.)

Now, 23 years later, the U.S. has cast its third bid for the Cup. And it is stronger than any bid imaginable, in my humble opinion. The stadiums that the USSF bragged about a generation ago have been replaced by bigger and better structures. A successful league is now in place. Many key sponsors are still American corporations. Plus, the passion for soccer in this country is no longer speculative. It is real. This country loves its soccer more now than ever before. It has never been more ripe to host a World Cup.

With that being said, I will be severely disappointed - crushed - if both the U.S. bids are defeated. I will be utterly inconsolable. I will lock myself in my house and eat PB&Js for the rest of my life. E-mails to FIFA will be pounded out incessantly until the smoke from my keyboard chokes me.

Call me ignorant, sheltered, or Brian. It makes no difference. The '94 Cup is still the highest-attended tournament in World Cup history, even though it proceeded without the benefit of a first division league or an expanded qualifying field (it was 24 until 1998, when the field expanded to 32). This country is a sports nation. Our culture is bathed in sports.* A Stateside tournament, whether it occur nine years or thirteen years from now, would not only top the attendance records set fifteen years ago, but it would absolutely obliterate even the most optimistic attendance figures projected by other country's bids.

(*For reference, see last Sunday's Super Bowl, or any other Super Bowl since the Reagan years for that matter. We're a bit obsessed.)

On a personal level, many of the kids who didn't get to see USA '94 in person - i.e. me - will get the chance to witness a World Cup in our backyards. The idea of witnessing a World Cup here almost brings man tears to my eyes. Not just for my sake, but moreso the idea that I will be able to take my future kids to a World Cup match. It gives me the jibblies. Ohhh...the jibblies.

And who knows? Maybe - just maybe - the kids and I will get to see the Yanks claim a World Cup on home soil.

Did I mention I'm excited about this?

(Women's) Football on a Sunday in December, continued

As if the College Cup had failed to deliver a veritable shipment of drama for the afternoon, the FIFA Under-20 Women’s World Cup promised even more just thirty minutes later. Just the prospect of a US Women's match was thrilling. After all, the opportunities for donning my Carli Lloyd USA jersey are often scarcer than those Tickle Me Elmos were a few years ago.*

(* I actually tried to think of this season's toy craze, but couldn't, even after watching The Disney Channel for the past three hours. Darn. That's six episodes of Miley Cyrus and Jonas Brothers. For absolutely nothing. Now if you'll excuse me, I have friend coming over. He'll be here any minute now to whack me in the face with a shovel.)

What an affair it was. Before a sellout crowd of 12,000 hearty spectators in Santiago, Chile, the Americans and Koreans took to the pitch ready to decide ownership of the Cup.

During the opening minutes, it appeared Korea’s attack was far mightier than the American defense. A hard shot sting the palms of Alyssa Naeher before five minutes. The question of a Korean goal not only seemed imminent, but near.

But with Sydney Leroux and Alex Morgan stirring in the offensive third, the Americans eventually discovered their form. They stationed themselves in the Korean end where, with a lightning quick touch from Keelin Winter, Leroux corralled it and fired a seering shot over the outstretched arm Korean keeper Kim Un Ju. The early advantage had been claimed.

And the Americans began to dominate possession. They were comfortable in tight spaces, and their distribution was machine-like. The Koreans chased and chased. They did not tire. And it still wasn’t enough.

That much was clear when a well-marked Morgan raced parallel to the goal, and with gravity pulling her down, unleashed an unlikely screamer from distance that kissed the twine of the far upper ninety. Just minutes before the interval, a 2-0 cushion had been acquired.

Out of the gate for half two, the Korea barely tasted the ball. It had been kept away by Tony DiCicco’s young midfielders and backs. Ra Un Sim must have felt like the baby who’s candy had been taken away. She was powerless.

With a clean sheet and championship in their sights, the Americans entered extra time almost salivating. They got ahead of themselves. And Cha Hu Nam finally breathed new life into her side with a fortuitous goal with only ninety minutes of stoppage afforded.

However much the Koreans pressed for a sudden equalizer, the Americans simply played back and returned the ball to the Korean end. Seconds later, the American substitutes and coaching personnel spilled onto the pitch. They bounced around like numbered ping pong balls. A dejected Korean contingent stared through the celebrations.

A happy crowd embraced the victors. The Americans returned the favor with a large “Gracias, Chile” banner. The stakes for this match had their own altitude, and twenty American women ascended the highest pinnacle to rightfully stake their claim.

The previous ninety promised to awarded the ultimate prize. It did not renege on that vow. The Cup belonged to the Americans.

***
Post-script I: For a football glutton like yours truly, this afternoon was like watching The Godfather II and Raging Bull for the first time, and back-to-back. Or, in a soccer-related note, watching the O.J. chase before Spain-Korea's 2-2 draw during USA '94.

You want drama? Skip the TNT.

Watch women’s soccer instead.

Post-script II: I just added an Alex Morgan #13 USA jersey to my Christmas list.