Destiny out of our hands
A late reaction, so I’ll expand this post somewhat over what it would have been on Sunday or Saturday.
Football makes strange bedfellows.
On Saturday, I cheered as loudly as I could for Ghana during their 2-0 upset of the Czech Republic. The Czechs looked lost, disoriented. The Black Stars, on the other hand, looked like winners. As the Univision call had it “If you didn’t know the which team was wearing which color, you would be surprised to find out that the team in white [Ghana] lost their last match, and the team in red [the Czechs] won their last match 3-0!”
Then, the USA finally decided to compete in this World Cup, earning a tough 1-1 draw against the Italians. The Azzurri weren’t taking the Americans seriously enough. To me, nothing said it like the decision to start Totti in what they must have figured to be a kind of rehab start.
Italy’s two goals were obviously not enough to see them through, as one of them was brilliantly scored on themselves. I can’t feel good that USA didn’t score any goals themselves, but I can be comforted, somewhat, by the fact that on the autogol, McBride would have probably knocked it in himself. And there were a few other chances, including that near-miss that Mastroeni fired just over the crossbar. Speaking of McBride, I think he gets the ToughGuy award for his performance--I could almost hear him saying ‘CUT ME, MICK!“ as they patched his cut together. The scar will be genuinely useful as he uses it to grimace theatrically for years to come.
But Mastroeni won’t be making an appearance against Ghana on Thursday, after being sent off after a nasty challenge. He will be missed, but the one man who won’t be missed will be Eddie Pope--yes, the former ”Defender of American Soccer“ (remember those commercials?!) will finally be forced to sit after being sent off as well. Thank God Arena will have his hands tied--I’d hate to watch Pope botch it again for us.
You’d think that the result would make me happy, but paradoxically, it only makes me more mad. Why did it take a 3-0 drubbing at the hands of the Czechs to jolt the US team into taking the competition seriously? Had they held the Czechs to a single goal, or even drawn, the Americans would still be in control of their own destiny. As it is, the only safe way to the round of 16 is by beating the Black Stars of Ghana (who will be without their top two goalscorers) by 2 or more goals, AND hoping that the Italians recover their form in time to defeat the Czechs. So, as someone who was booing the Italians lustily, let me be among the first to say FORZA ITALIA!!!!!!
I’m mad at team USA because their success or failure is becoming a barometer for the progress of the New America against the Old. The New America is young, outward-looking, inclusive. It comes from somewhere else, and chooses America. It can’t be recognized from a photograph, or picked out of a lineup: what color was its skin, anyway? When team USA wins, they win for this America--an America which sees a place for me, and in which I see the outlines of my own place.
What if they fail? What if they crash out, yet again, reverting to historical (since 1990) form? They become the butt of the usual jokes. They are given a free pass by patronizing older Americans, saying ”well, it’s OK, since soccer’s a game for foreigners and communists anyway.“ That old America is backwards, inward-looking, ignorant. It sees itself as the hinge upon which the gates of Heaven will swing shut. The old America is scared of soccer, scared of the people who play it, scared of the change it represents.
Because in America, soccer will be the sport that changes everything and everybody. Never mind the ”soccer moms“ who so loyally (or so we thought at the time) elected Bill Clinton in 1992 and 1996. What matters in America will be the future of those ”soccer kids.“ Their parents were just cheering out of a sense of parental obligation (and the need to keep up with the Joneses). The kids will cheer because they appreciate the beauty of the game--something their parents will never understand.
Those soccer kids will understand a few things their parents never understood, either. They understand technology and the internet; they exist (with varying levels of ease and comfort) in a global world. This generation of ”soccer kids“ will be the generation that oversees the very zenith of the American empire--and they will oversee it from vantage points their own parents, stuck in their habits and their own games, would have never even conceived of.
So go Team USA. Remember: you’re playing for our future.
Football makes strange bedfellows.
On Saturday, I cheered as loudly as I could for Ghana during their 2-0 upset of the Czech Republic. The Czechs looked lost, disoriented. The Black Stars, on the other hand, looked like winners. As the Univision call had it “If you didn’t know the which team was wearing which color, you would be surprised to find out that the team in white [Ghana] lost their last match, and the team in red [the Czechs] won their last match 3-0!”
Then, the USA finally decided to compete in this World Cup, earning a tough 1-1 draw against the Italians. The Azzurri weren’t taking the Americans seriously enough. To me, nothing said it like the decision to start Totti in what they must have figured to be a kind of rehab start.
Italy’s two goals were obviously not enough to see them through, as one of them was brilliantly scored on themselves. I can’t feel good that USA didn’t score any goals themselves, but I can be comforted, somewhat, by the fact that on the autogol, McBride would have probably knocked it in himself. And there were a few other chances, including that near-miss that Mastroeni fired just over the crossbar. Speaking of McBride, I think he gets the ToughGuy award for his performance--I could almost hear him saying ‘CUT ME, MICK!“ as they patched his cut together. The scar will be genuinely useful as he uses it to grimace theatrically for years to come.
But Mastroeni won’t be making an appearance against Ghana on Thursday, after being sent off after a nasty challenge. He will be missed, but the one man who won’t be missed will be Eddie Pope--yes, the former ”Defender of American Soccer“ (remember those commercials?!) will finally be forced to sit after being sent off as well. Thank God Arena will have his hands tied--I’d hate to watch Pope botch it again for us.
You’d think that the result would make me happy, but paradoxically, it only makes me more mad. Why did it take a 3-0 drubbing at the hands of the Czechs to jolt the US team into taking the competition seriously? Had they held the Czechs to a single goal, or even drawn, the Americans would still be in control of their own destiny. As it is, the only safe way to the round of 16 is by beating the Black Stars of Ghana (who will be without their top two goalscorers) by 2 or more goals, AND hoping that the Italians recover their form in time to defeat the Czechs. So, as someone who was booing the Italians lustily, let me be among the first to say FORZA ITALIA!!!!!!
I’m mad at team USA because their success or failure is becoming a barometer for the progress of the New America against the Old. The New America is young, outward-looking, inclusive. It comes from somewhere else, and chooses America. It can’t be recognized from a photograph, or picked out of a lineup: what color was its skin, anyway? When team USA wins, they win for this America--an America which sees a place for me, and in which I see the outlines of my own place.
What if they fail? What if they crash out, yet again, reverting to historical (since 1990) form? They become the butt of the usual jokes. They are given a free pass by patronizing older Americans, saying ”well, it’s OK, since soccer’s a game for foreigners and communists anyway.“ That old America is backwards, inward-looking, ignorant. It sees itself as the hinge upon which the gates of Heaven will swing shut. The old America is scared of soccer, scared of the people who play it, scared of the change it represents.
Because in America, soccer will be the sport that changes everything and everybody. Never mind the ”soccer moms“ who so loyally (or so we thought at the time) elected Bill Clinton in 1992 and 1996. What matters in America will be the future of those ”soccer kids.“ Their parents were just cheering out of a sense of parental obligation (and the need to keep up with the Joneses). The kids will cheer because they appreciate the beauty of the game--something their parents will never understand.
Those soccer kids will understand a few things their parents never understood, either. They understand technology and the internet; they exist (with varying levels of ease and comfort) in a global world. This generation of ”soccer kids“ will be the generation that oversees the very zenith of the American empire--and they will oversee it from vantage points their own parents, stuck in their habits and their own games, would have never even conceived of.
So go Team USA. Remember: you’re playing for our future.