Why the US is not a World Soccer Power

Joe asks the question, and Brian does a good job of answering it. The US will struggle to compete with the traditional soccer powers like Brazil, Argentina, England, Spain and others as long as soccer is (at best) the fourth most popular sport in this country. And yes, the arrogance of the American sports fan will be an issue. MLS will probably never be as popular as any of the other big 3 sports, which means that the casual fan will only care about US soccer when the World Cup takes place every 4 years. Hard to compete with other sports under those conditions. Unless of course the President makes being a soccer dad cool.

As a brief aside, let's not forget the arrogance of the European fan. When it comes to soccer, European snobbery takes the cake. American soccer is mocked almost as much as American politics. Honestly, the only reason American fans are still just that much more annoying is because of our indifference and dismissive attitude towards soccer - and really any sport other than football, basketball, baseball and occasionally hockey.

Back to the point. The US will not develop a world class soccer player until kids in this country play soccer like those everywhere else. There are two parts to this. First, kids in other parts of the world play soccer every day. While kids here play basketball or football, elsewhere they play soccer. Brian already mentioned this. To develop his point further though, what this means is that kids everywhere else develop a better understanding of the nuances of the game. You can take an American kid who is incredibly athletic and super fast, and watch him thrive in the US. Then you send him abroad, and he's lost. The reason is that soccer, more than just about any other sport, can neutralize athleticism through tactics and technical ability. Take Brazil and Spain as examples. When they start passing the ball around quickly, forming triangles all over the field, running give and gos on the wing... it doesn't matter if you are Carl Lewis. The Brazils and Spains of the world move the ball around quickly, never letting you get close enough to take it, and wait for somebody to step out of position. Then, they have the awareness and the skill to take advantage of it. On occasion, like Wednesday's defeat of Spain by the USA, a team does manage to play tactically smart for all 90 minutes and takes advantage of its opportunities on the counter-attack. But it happens infrequently. The truth is that athleticism, while important, cannot bridge the gulf in technical ability and understanding of the game.

So how does this change? Soccer academies. I'm not sure that American kids will ever be like kids in the rest of the world, playing soccer at recess and then again the instant they get out of school. But American kids have been moving towards specializing in sports at younger ages. There is no reason this cannot apply to soccer as well in the form of soccer academies (for all I know, soccer may have been one of the sports pushing specialization forward, albeit without academies). American kids play on youth teams, and it requires a lot of time and money to do so. In other parts of the world, if you have talent, you don't play on youth teams - you attend a soccer academy, and you don't pay to do it. If you're good, they sign you to a contract, and then it is in everybody's best interest to develop you into the best player possible. Sure, we like our athletes to be successful, but we also want them to get an education. That attitude has to change to some degree for soccer. Kids will have to be in these academies as early as age 12 if we want them to develop like kids elsewhere in the world (or maybe even younger - is it already too late for this kid? NBA scouts would say he's reached his full potential...)

You can go on youtube and find videos of Ronaldinho embarrassing kids from a rival soccer academy in Rio De Janeiro - he was 10 in the video. You can go to England and you'll see that kids as young as 14 are playing their butts off in hopes of getting a spot at the Newcastle Academy. The USA won't field a team that consistently competes with the world powers (that means being technically equivalent and having a similarly nuanced understanding of the way the game is played) until soccer academies are developing and pumping out hundreds of kids a year.

But there's hope. As MLS develops (even as people like Joe mock it) and becomes financially stronger, clubs will start putting lots of money into their youth systems. New York Red Bulls have an excellent youth system already. But these youth systems will have to become academies, where kids live at the academy and work on soccer every day. If and when these academies come into existence, world class American soccer players will not be far behind.

Time to Talk Football - Confederations Cup Predictions

Since Brian and I apparently write our blogs for each other, and I know he has at least a marginal interest in football, I decided it was time to write about my take on the upcoming international tournament in South Africa, the Confederations Cup.  The USMNT has taken part in WC qualifying recently, and their form has been up and down. Most recently, they lost ugly in Costa Rica 3-1, but responded by gutting out a comeback 2-1 victory over Honduras in Chicago.  Results are great.  How have they looked, and what can we expect next week when the Nats play Italy, Brazil and Egypt? Here are the results, as predicted by me, by peering into the mind of Ol' Stone Face, Bob Bradley.

The United States starts off on Monday June 15 playing Italy.  Some may remember that last time the USMNT played Italy, in the 2006 WC.  Brian McBride received a bloody face in that game thanks to Daniele de Rossi (he's smirking because he knows he's still getting laid after the game), in what would end up as a 1-1 draw.   This time around, barring any unforeseen red cards, I expect the game to be less bloody but more tactical - read that to mean boring.  Italy will defend and absorb pressure.  Against better teams, this tactic can backfire.  Against the US, which has no legitimate attacking options at the international level and must rely on set pieces for many of its goals, this approach will probably work wonders.  This is a warm up tournament, and of course the US would love to advance and do as well as possible, but I just don't see the US being dedicated enough to the sort of tactical approach that will be required to win this game - and that means not pushing forward and forcing Italy to come out of its defensive shell.  The US will probably find itself on equal terms in regards to possession, but won't generate many scoring chances while it sends men forward.  Italy will score on a counter attack, and grab another goal later as the US pushes forward to chase the game.  I hope I'm wrong, but I see this as a 2-0 victory for Italy.  With some luck, the US will get a goal early on and force Italy out of the back.  If that were to come from the run of play and not a set piece, and you actually saw it happen, consider yourself lucky. Gorillas reproduce in captivity more often than the US scores from the run of play.

Following Italy the Nats take on Brazil and its plethora of attacking options. Kaka, Robinho, and whoever else they decide to call in to make us all feel pedestrian and ordinary.  Maybe we'll be lucky and Kaka will come in lacking inspiration after his recent transfer to Real Madrid (note that he is not one of those athletes that thanks God, as you might assume from the picture.  In fact, he is mocking God because he knows that he now has more money than God). I would be shocked to see the US try and play attacking football in this one, if only because they don't have the ball enough to get their players forward.  However, Brazil has focused more on getting results under current manager Dunga.  This means that we won't see Brazil pushing 10 men forward, playing beautiful football. Instead, we'll see Brazil dedicating 3 or 4 players to the attack, and including others when the opportunities present themselves.  And with this approach, Brazil is just too individually talented to fall to the US.  The hope here is that the US plays smart and tough, denies open space and closes down quickly.  Hope for the draw.  0-0 would look good to Bob Bradley. Hopes for a win?  It will take a piece of individual brilliance by somebody (I'm thinking Clint Dempsey scoring on a long shot), or the US scoring from one of its few set pieces (Bocanegra diving header? anybody?).

Lastly, we play Egypt.  I don't know anything about Egypt except that a few of their players have had some success playing in England.  I also know that one of them (Amir Zaki who played with Wigan this year in the EPL) just pulled out of the tournament because of a pulled hamstring - probably an injury he suffered because of training while hung over (after attending a costume party, as seen in the picture).  My guess here is as good as yours. By this point, the US will either be eliminated, or in need of some points to earn their spot in the next round.  Egypt will likely be in the same position.  Expect both teams to play attacking soccer, and expect whichever team still cares about defense to win.  Personally, I don't like the idea that we would lose to Egypt.  I think we've come a long way as a footballing nation and we should start expecting to get some results in tournaments of this nature.  That means winning games against those teams that aren't named Italy and Brazil.  I don't care if Moses himself suits up for Egypt and parts Onyewu and Bocanegra on his way to scoring.  We should be able to get a result against Egypt.  So I'm going with my heart and not my brain on this one.  I say the US wins this game 2-1.

I would love to see the US advance out of the group, but in all honesty, I don't see it happening. The US will need inspired performances from some guys who haven't been playing very well lately, and they'll need some guys to step up.  If it happens, we may be pleasantly surprised.  If not, it will be a quick week in South Africa.

Remembering Why I Never Wrote Rebuttals to Henry Cotto in the First Place and Trading Jarrod Washburn

It only took two posts on the Henry Cotto before I realized why I won't be responding to it anymore - the posts are really long and tend to be boring.  So many posts about baseball... I imagine that my experience reading about baseball is akin to the uninitiated reading about soccer.  But I will take this opportunity to write about the one thing that always piques my interest when it comes to the Mariners - trades.

I don't care whether the Mariners are 2 games back or 20 games back when July rolls around. The last person I want to see wearing a Mariner uniform when the calendar tells me it's August 1st is Jarrod Washbun.  I don't like him, I don't like the way he pitches.  I don't like that he has two R's in his name.  Let's face it.  This guy is a fraud.  We know what he's about - getting paid a lot of money to deliver an ERA in the 4.50 range.  Somehow, his lifetime ERA is 4.09.  But if you take out his contract year (2005, he had to be on the juice), and his early productive years when he was 26-28... well, I'll just say that his ERA would go up significantly if I crunched the numbers.  I don't think it's unfair to remove those years and consider them aberrations, since his ERA has hovered in the 4.50 range most years in his career.  It's not like the guy had a sudden drop-off in form.  He's just not very good.

I would love to see him go.  Even if it's for Henry Cotto himself.  Maybe Henry Cotto has a son, or knows somebody that can deliver 200 lbs of steak to the team free of charge.  Both of those are better than more Washburn.

I don't feel the same way about Bedard.  If the man is performing and you can get him to come back, I am all for it.  I love good pitching (mostly because it shortens games that I find boring to begin with).  Bedard may not like to pitch more than 5 innings, but at least the guy has nasty stuff.  And I love that he hates the media.  Adds some spice to an otherwise dull 162-game stretch on the sports calendar.

And another thing.  If they can package Washburn with Beltre, I might get a Jack Zduriencik Fathead to put on my wall.  This guy knows what he's doing.  I still don't know where we got Russell Branyan.  And the outfield is much less frightening this year with Gutierrez and Chavez out there.

I say - Let JZ work his magic, and don't waste your time hoping that this could be a playoff year for the Mariners.  They are terrible on offense.  Trade Washburn, trade Beltre, get Bedard to stick around if you can.  And I will be the calling 1-877-328-8877 to order my JZ Fathead.

Henry Cotto...

So Brian has decided to start writing his blog again.  This of course means I have to start writing mine again.  I'm not sure how that makes me feel, but I don't have much of a choice.

When Brian's wife is out of town, he blogs.  That's sad.

I don't know what to make of the choice to name his blog after Henry Cotto's mustache. Several jokes about the sexual innuendo of this choice come to mind, but I generally try to stay away from jokes that are too easy.  In this case, what I find interesting is that Brian chose Henry Cotto, when all of his pre-adult life, Brian had a poster of Alvin Davis in the TV room of his basement.  If you want to hold up a mustache as the pinnacle of manliness, I would have gone with Alvin Davis. He was more successful and more handsome than Henry Cotto.  And I think Brian is selling himself short by suggesting that he is only an average sports writer.  I think Brian, like Alvin Davis, would be the star sports writer at a crappy paper, and maybe even win Rookie of the Year and make the All-Star game once.  But I understand that the point of Brian's blog aims to be self-deprecating... a tactic used to set the bar as low as possible.  I fully endorse this approach.  I just think Alvin Davis should have been the choice.

More interesting to me is the inclusion of Joe in this version of the blog.  Joe has a job as a sports writer, so theoretically he should bring some professionalism and talent to the writing on this blog.  To be honest, I haven't read much of the blog so far, so I can't comment on Joe's contribution.  But I did start wondering... if Brian is Henry Cotto, who is Joe?

After an exhaustive 2 minutes of research, I came up with this: Joey Cora.  I thank Wikipedia in advance for all this material (Joey is the one crying, which I thought was particularly suiting).

To begin with, who can pass this up: Joey Cora first came to national attention in 1986 for thwarting an attempted murder. While playing for the Beaumont Golden Gators and waiting  to board the team bus in Texas, he was stabbed twice by two men for no apparent reason.  The attempted murder he managed to thwart was, in fact, his own, and he thwarted it by being rushed to the hospital and surviving.  Can you think of anybody more likely to be stabbed at random than Joe Tone?  I sure can't.  

NOTE: after my own racial profiling experience in Texas, this is just further proof that nothing good will ever happen there, and further reinforces my conclusion never to return to Texas.

His official nickname: "Little Joey"  (this speaks for itself).

Little Joey did have one amazing season, 1997, in which he had a 24-game hitting streak as a switch hitter.  He batted .300 for the year with 11 home runs and 54 RBI (I want to make this RBIs, but I'm sure that would be redundant).  Just like Cora, Tone is capable of having one amazing year.  I'm not sure if that year has come or gone, but Tone's version of the Cora hitting streak has to have been when he insulted that player for the Cavs in the locker room (wish I knew the details of that story but I don't).

Incidentally, there were persistent rumors floating around Seattle in 1997 that Cora was on the juice.  While these have never been substantiated, I am pretty sure that Joe was on human growth hormones as a child.

Lastly, and I'm guessing here, but if I had to put money on it, Joe Tone played second base in Little League baseball.

So Brian, here's my suggestion.  If you're going to co-author this blog with Joe, you need to rename it.  Change it to A Lot Like Alvin Davis and Joey Cora.

Am I From Darkest Peru?

My father is from Central America. There is no getting around it, even though my mother is from the great state directly to our east. That makes me a halfie. Half Latino, half white. Despite my father's being very clearly from one country in Central America, several people have decided that it is more fun, more entertaining, and more rewarding to claim that I am from any different number of Third World nations. With increasing frequency, these nations often do not contain any Spanish speaking citizens. However, the ongoing joke started in earnest roughly three years ago, when I was working with Dan.

My old boss, and (as he directed me to call him) my current best friend Dan, liked to ask me if I knew who Paddington Bear was. I have heard of said bear, but I was not familiar with the story behind him. Incidentally, Paddington Bear has his own "Official Website," which you can visit and learn all you want. The reason Dan was so keen to explain Paddington's history is because Dan believed Paddington and I shared a common homeland - Darkest Peru. That's right. Darkest Peru. I've heard of Peru, but never Darkest Peru. I'm not sure exactly where that is, but Dan believes that everything south of the equator, not including Australia and the Antarctic, qualifies as Darkest Peru. Perhaps this is why in the past three years, Dan has suggested that my relatives live in Bolivia, El Salvador, Ecuador, Venezuela, Chile, Cameroon, Liberia, Chad, Botswana, The Congo, and The Gambia. Hey, it makes him laugh, and there's only really two countries in the world that I don't want people to think I'm from. Both are too far north for Dan to include in his list.

Now, I've done some researching on Paddington Bear. It quickly became clear that he and I share very little in common. Let's start with homeland. While I was born in Seattle and have lived here my entire life, Paddington Bear was born in Darkest Peru, and lived there for several years. While both my parents raised me, Paddington was orphaned during an earthquake when he was only a few weeks old, and was in turn raised by his Aunt Lucy. How sad. At some point in her old age, Aunt Lucy made the selfish decision of moving to Lima (I assume that she and Paddington were living in Darkest Peru) to take residence in a home for retired bears. Paddington would have to go elsewhere, so Aunt Lucy taught him English, and then taught him perhaps the single most important skill for anybody living outside of The United States, Canada, and Europe - sneaking into a country by hiding on a boat. That's right, Aunt Lucy had Paddington hide on a boat and smuggle himself into England.

I assure you, I am a legal resident of this country. When my Central American relatives visit, they do so by obtaining a visa. Most of the time, they just fly to Miami to shop, never making it up to our corner of the country to say hello. But occasionally they come visit, go to school in LA, or go on a cruise to Alaska with my parents. I wonder if they're smuggling in others on those cruises? Who knows. There is no logical connection between myself and Paddington Bear.

Now if the story of Paddington is a bit too much to swallow, it gets better. Paddington eventually arrives at Paddington Station in London. There is no explanation of how he gets there from the boat on which he traveled. I don't need to be a geography expert to tell you that boats from Peru don't dock in London. What important facts of Paddington's journey are we not being told? How many knife fights did he get into on the boat? How did he feed himself? Does a stuffed bear even have to eat? And how did nobody notice and walking, talking, stuffed bear? What would happen if he fell and shattered one of his glass eyes? Can he regain his eyesight simply by replacing the eye? In either case, somehow he arrives in London and is taken in by a loving family that disregards his disheveled appearance. I'm pretty sure that in any London transportation station, you are told not to give money or food to the homeless beggars. So taking one home to live with you seems like gross disregard for this instruction. And one last fact. His real name is Pastuso, so why do we persist in calling him Paddington?

Here's the real issue. What do they mean exactly by Darkest Peru? The name insinuates that there is no civilization, no culture, no education. But let's examine the facts. In Darkest Peru, bears speak like humans. On top of that, the bears are smart enough to teach their young how to speak other languages, like English. I'll bet these bears have organized sports leagues, libraries, five star restaurants, and incredible musicians. And what happens when bears get old? They move to the human cities. Sounds to me like Darkest Peru is where its at. Who wouldn't want to live with a bunch of cordial, easy going, talking bears? I think it sounds much cooler than living in, say, St. Louis, or Tulsa, or Oklahoma City.

So I say Boo to anybody that believes that Darkest Peru is a backwards place. And from now on, when Dan tells me that I am from Darkest Peru, I will consider it a compliment. Perhaps someday Paddington and I can go paint balling. I think that would be a lot of fun.

I See Home Runs

We all loved The 6th Sense. It was a great movie. Beside the fact that some woman in the theater kept asking her husband questions, I truly enjoyed it. And I'm starting to appreciate the character played by Haley Joel Osment more and more these days, because he and I share similar abilities. I see home runs before they happen.

A little background, if you will. Ever since I can recall, my father has loved nothing quite as much as sitting on the couch on the weekend and watching football. Now my father, god bless him, isn't the world's most optimistic man. I inherited a bit of this from him - I've developed what I call Selective Pessimism. I've changed "Expect the best - plan for the worst" into "Expect the worst and plan for it." How does this work in reality? Anything better than the worst possible scenario is good, so I'm able to take bad situations and operate within them. My father? Not so much.

What makes my father's pessimism so destructive is that my father can predict awful, horrible things in sporting events. It's to the point where I actually believe that his predicting them is what causes them to become real. He does not see the future, he shapes it. For years, this has centered most clearly around Husky and Seahawk football. With the Huskies, it was always this: "I don't know son, the Cougars always love to run trick plays against us...." which of course was followed instantly by a reverse or fake punt that worked to perfection, to the dismay of Huskies the world over. With the Seahawks, my father just had a general sense of impending doom. His predictions with the Hawks were always more general, like Nostradamus, but somehow they always came true. It usually started with, "I don't know son, the Seahawks always seem to find a way to screw up in these situations...." followed predictably by a fumble, holding penalty, interception, or missed field goal.

Needless to say, when your father has this kind of power, it makes watching football incredibly stressful. Watching the Hawks and the Dawgs for years was excruciating because my father seemed to have some sort of supernatural ability to affect the outcome of the game. What was worse, he never used his power in a positive way. It was always for evil. I've tried to dissuade him, but a man drunk with power cannot understand reason. So I struggled in vain to atone for the sins of the father. It was not until 1990 that I managed to do so.

The Huskies were playing Nebraska, in Lincoln, and were having a hard time. Nebraska was good, and the Dawgs were losing a close game. They drive down to the Nebraska 40, and face a 4th and 9. Coach James decides to go for it. My father? "I don't know son, I think this is the end of the game right here...", despite the fact that it was the late 3rd quarter. I responded, "Father, have a little faith. I think they're going to get the first down." I didn't exactly believe myself. But what happened next? Billy Joe Hobert completes a pass to Orlando McKay for 11 yards and Husky first down! It was the first time I'd ever successfully defeated my father.

Fast forward to last night. I've been developing this ability over the years, and it's not quite 100% accurate, but it's pretty damn good. I am at the Mariners game. In the last few weeks, I've been able to predict a number of home runs and RBI doubles. I'm feeling it. Two weeks ago it was a Jose Guillen blast. Last weekend it was an Adrian Beltre home run. Last night, it was Richie Sexson. Richie came up in the first inning with two on and two outs. I turned to my friend the wedding photographer and said, "I don't know if he'll hit this one out, but I think he's going to hit it hard, and drive in both runs." Two seconds later, Richie drills the pitch to left center, where it hits the wall, just a few feet too low to be a home run. Two runs score. The wedding photographer says, "You were right!" It's hard to capture his excitement, but it was there.

Later in the game, I predicted a strike out by Jose Guillen. That's not really a prediction, it happens all the time. But enter the bottom of the ninth. Mariners and Twins deadlocked at 3. Richie is the first man to the plate, facing what appeared to be some French-Canadian dude with an ERA lower than my blood alcohol level. I turn to the wedding photographer and say, "He's going to end this game right here. Walk off home run." At the same time, I'm sending a text message to B Els, saying, "Time for a walk off." The next pitch, Sexson destroys. It goes flying to left center. The crowd is going nuts as the ball arcs through the thick night air. Nothing was getting out of the park in batting practice. The wind was blowing in. There was no reason for this ball to get out of the park. But sure as hell, two Twins outfielders converge at the wall, and watch as the ball sails over their heads into the bullpen, for a game ending walk off home run. I turn to my friend and say, "I have the power!" B Els sends me the following text message: "You are absurd. But I love it." Conclusion? I am He-Man.

My Arch-Enemy: The Spider

I love my apartment. A lot. It has two very large windows in the living room that let in a great deal of natural light (albeit at the expense of privacy - let me tell you something, when you live alone, you walk around naked a lot. Having two huge windows that look out on the street make me something short of an exhibitionist). It's in a great location, with lots of trees and bushes and plants. Wildlife abounds. Everything from stray cats to coyotes, to annoying crows, to spiders. And it is with this last group that I have issues.

My windows overlook what is essentially a small deck. The deck lies above the sidewalk, connected by a short set of steps, perhaps 7 in total. The landscaping on the embankment includes a few large bushes, some big rocks, and five small yet thick evergreen trees. On the other side of the steps are more bushes and a tree with expansive branches. Somewhere amidst all this vegetation is a sign that says "Welcome all Starving Spiders," because there are at any given time upwards of 50 spider webs in the trees and bushes.

Now what angers me is not that spiders make webs in the area. I'm fine with that. But I hate walking through spider webs. It is one of those minor idiosyncratic things that makes me angry. Much like I can handle being in crowds, but my Dad can't. He can handle walking through spider webs, I cannot. So I hate them. And I hate the spiders that make the webs that I walk through.

This past weekend, as I was returning home from the gym, I reached my breaking point. For the past week and a half, I've been dealing with this stupid spider. This one particular spider has decided that the best location for his/her web is across the stairs. If I can paint a picture with words, and clearly I can't, the web is basically in the area that receives the highest amount of human traffic. I walk through that particular spot at least once a day, probably more like 5 times a day. And nearly every time, I walk through the stupid web. As summer goes along, I become more aware and stop to look before I pass through, destroying the web if need be. I've now destroyed the web six times this month. And each time, the stupid thing gets rebuilt.

There is only one answer, only one logical solution to this problem. That spider has to die. I need to make an example of him. I need to stab him, dismember him, and hang him in a bush for all his little spider friends to see. And they will know that I am not a man with which to be trifled (awesome work on my part not ending that sentence in a preposition). Seriously. This spider must die. What is it about this guy that he thinks he can succeed in this struggle? Every day I destroy his web. It is his life's work. Every day he has the persistence to rebuild it. But at some point, he will give up. With that kind of useless persistence, I will name the spider John (after John Kerry). He must give up. He must be defeated. He will eventually starve to death, or move to another location. Either result is acceptable. John must Die.

Death to John.