C'mon In Girls, the Water's Fine

Yeah, yeah, you've read this before. Or something close to it anyway.

The difference is fans of women's soccer in the United States don't need an introduction to the sport or to World Cup thrills.

But just as a year ago Landon Donovan and the U.S. men gave us 90 minutes of tension and then jubilation, so too Abby Wambach and the U.S. women (and a less-than-helpful Australian referee) gave us 122 minutes of nail-biting thrills against Brazil in the Women's World Cup yesterday and then tacked on a penalty shootout for good measure.

Megan Rapinoe and Abby Wambach celebrate Wambach's goal
(and Rapinoe's cross that set it up) at the death against Brazil.

Yesterday's match was the re-invigoration of soccer in our country that we so needed. Instead of its earliest ever exit from the World Cup, Wambach and her resilient, never-say-die teammates gave us a match for the ages and a lesson that makes us all feel a little bit better about the sport in our country. And maybe ourselves.

There's still a long way to go, no doubt about that. The Americans have to beat the surprising French in the semifinal and, if they get past Les Blues, either a team that has already bested them in this tournament (Pia Sundhage's native Sweden), or a Japan team that knocked out the favorites Germany in the quarterfinals.

While you have to like their chances, regardless of what happens in the semifinals and final, this game will likely be remembered as the match of the 2011 Women's World Cup, or perhaps any women's World Cup. Just as Donovan's goal, while ultimately not leading to a World Cup (or even a spot in the quarterfinals), was an example of grit and determination, so to the women's victory demonstrated guts, and heart, and most of all belief in the value of team.

Wambach's perfect header.

At the very least, the women made a believer out of their coach. "I come from Sweden," said Sundhage after the match, "and this American attitude, pulling everything together and bringing out the best performance in each other, that is contagious. I am very, very proud, and I'm very, very happy to be the coach of the U.S. team."  

The U.S. women faced a daunting task when the match began against a squad with the five-time defending world player of the year in Marta and several other teammates with, honestly, more flair than that possessed by any American player. An early own goal by Brazil seemed at the time a gift (the only one the Yanks received all evening), but may have caused them to play more tentatively as a result.

It would be easy to dwell on the negatives of the next two hours of soccer that followed that first goal.  Horrible refereeing decision upon bad. Cynical play and play-acting by the Brazilians. Even, surprisingly, at times clueless commentary by the usually fine Ian Darke and Julie Fouty (90 plus 15 plus 15 equals 120, not 115 y'all). More globally, whether it's good that the women's game appears to be evolving into the same bad-tempered, cynical affair that marks the men's game. Or whether our apparent malaise regarding women's soccer is indicative of a misogynistic turn that my favorite soccer blogger, Fake Sigi, thinks our nation has taken in the last 12 years.

But we'll leave all that for another day (if ever). Now is the time to just revel. In the accomplishments of a team of resolute women who ignored at best horrible misfortune and at worst a stacking of the deck against them. In a team that stuck to the task at hand and believed, when all seemed lost, that they would persevere.

Or, as Wambach said after the match: "I think that is a perfect example of what this country is about. What the history of this team has always been. We never give up. We literally went to the last second it seems."

The reference in the title to this post is to the Donovan goal a year ago, and to Delmar's invitation to join the nation of believers in O Brother Where Art Thou? But perhaps a better observation from Delmar for yesterday's game, and our reaction to it, comes after Delmar thinks that he has discovered that his fellow escapee Pete in an altered state. "Them syreens did this to Pete." says Delmar. "They loved him up and turned him into a toad."

What's the state of U.S. soccer? For at least one day, it's about as good as it can get, thanks to the sirens of our national team. Color us grey and cover us with warts for all we care.

2010 World Cup Wrap Up

From True/Slant on July 12, 2010:

Vuvuzelas, Penalty Kicks and Landon Donovan.

This year, I set myself to the ridiculous task of watching all the World Cup soccer I could fit into my schedule. The idea was to, once and for all, settle the matter of whether or not I could tolerate soccer, and maybe, hopefully, even like it. I admit, I didn’t see every match. Sadly, I did have other obligations that tore me away from my television from time to time, the kinds of obligations that required I actually changed out of my jammies for the day, which is annoying no matter how you cut it. Turns out, I liked the soccer. I didn’t love it, but at the end of the day, the more I watched, I had to admit I kind of enjoyed it. I liked it enough that I expect I’ll remember this World Cup for a long time. These are the things I’ll remember most.

1. Rhapsody of the Vuvuzelas. These sounded like a swarm of killer bees, hopped up on angel dust, attempting a dissonant Mahler composition. It was so bad that even antidiluvian old FIFA considered banning them. (They wisely did not.) The strangest part of the Vuvuzelas (aside from the strident buzzing noise) was that they were blown continuously throughout, with no discernible relationship to the action on the field. They didn’t get louder or softer, didn’t change with a scoring opportunity or amazing defensive play. They just were. Like it or not, nobody will ever forget the Vuvuzelas.

2. FIFA Idiocy. There is something to be said for tradition, for learning the old ways, so that we can understand where we come from and how we got here. That said, the tradition, the acceptance and the bizarre near pride in horror show officiating is not tradition or venerating those who came before. It is stupid.

I accept that officials make mistakes. They do. And you know what? That’s fine by me, because players make mistakes and coaches make mistakes. It happens. But any player as bad as the officials we watched would be benched immediately. Any coach that bad would be fired via a Twitter feed. So what would be wrong with weeding out the worst officials or holding all of them to a high standard of performance? FIFA operates in extremes: either we have to suffer the inadequate, primeval buffoonery we saw in South Africa, or we will be beset by a horrible dystopian technological future, with malevolent computers running the game. I have seen hundreds of high school games – basketball, football, baseball and softball – all of which were officiated better then the World Cup, none of which had the benefit of instant replay. Competence is not technology dependent. If the officials at a Division III women’s college basketball game in East Bejeebers, Western Pennsylvania are better then the FIFA officials at the World Freaking Cup, then FIFA needs better officials. Period.

3. USA! USA! USA! Yeah, they bowed out in the first game of the elimination round, but Landon Donovan’s rebound goal in extra time is the kind of sports moment that those who were watching will always, always remember. I’ll remember for a long time where I was, who I was with and what it felt like. That may not be enough to turn soccer into a big time sport in America (I have a buddy who says that soccer is the sport of the future -- and it always will be), but it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what happens in the future. This was one of those great moments, like Carlton Fisk’s homer, or The Catch, or Jordan’s Shot.

4. Down goes Ghana. Even when they beat the USA, I enjoyed watching Ghana. I admired their speed. They were fast and they were fun. And their uniforms were snazzy. And did I mention how freaking fast these guys were? Now, I have nothing against Uruguay (and their uniforms are snazzy, too), but there was something very endearing about team Ghana. I like underdogs and I did want to see an African team advance just because. Because South American teams are always around in the semi-finals, to say nothing of the ubiquitous Eurotrash. Then Ghana’s normally deadly penalty kicker, Asamoah Gyan booted the penalty kick off the crossbar, giving the Uruguayans new life. Remember that old “Wide World of Sports” opener, with the agony of defeat? If they ever resurect that show, they can use the footage of Gyan after the loss to Uruguay. It was painful to watch, no matter who you had been rooting for.

5. Hamtastic. What I’ll remember most about Spain’s run was the beatdown they put on Germany. Before this World Cup, had you told me that a game with a 1-0 final score was a blow out, I would have laughed in your face. And then probably said something both rude and crass. And maybe a little bit funny. Maybe. But certainly rude. No way around it though, Spain’s semi-final victory was nothing short of an epic smackdown. And it was a beautiful sight. My sincerest congrats to the fans of the Ham Capital of the World.

All of that said, as much as I enjoyed this World Cup for reals, I don’t expect I’ll be going off in search of a soccer bar to watch the English Premiere League any time soon (although Wayne Rooney was in my dream last night, he really was). So, for now, I’ll say goodbye to my new buddy (or at least casual acquaintance) soccer. So long, and thanks for all the Vuvuzela Etudes. I expect that buzzing sound will leave my head by the time the NFL season kicks off.

C'mon In Boys, the Water's Fine

One and one-half hours and 45 seconds of nerve-rattling theater.

That's how long it took for Landon Donovan's goal, probably the most important goal in the history of U.S. men's soccer. What happened in those 90 plus minutes defines both what is right about soccer and why the provincialists among American sportswriters, fans, and talk show hosts (Sean Hannity doesn't like soccer? Oh, the horror) are so wrong.

It was crazy, it was choreography, it was froth-at-the mouth exasperating, it was exhilarating, it was schizophrenic, it was sublime.

Not unlike a normal day, when you have a good day at work, but the drive home is stymied by some idiot driver (probably with an Ohio license plate on his vehicle), or are trying to finish the perfect project or paper only to be annoyed by a co-worker, or are making a brilliant argument in court only to be stopped dead in your tracks by an inane observation or simplistic question.

Unlike American football (which, by the way, I enjoy watching very much), so much of soccer is ungoverned and ungovernable. No instant replay, please. No excessive celebration penalties, we beg (okay, you get a yellow for taking off your shirt, but how many 15 yard penalties would the Saints get if they celebrated a touchdown the way the Slovenians celebrated a goal?).

Go ahead, keep the NBA, with its 100+ field goal attempts, 200 points, 50 personal fouls, and five dives/flops (yes, they do that in the NBA too) per game. Keep Major League Baseball, with its juiced up balls, juiced up bodies, and bandbox ballparks all introduced to score more runs and thereby make it more modern American.

Give me a game filled with uncertainties and foibles, where the most talented team doesn't always win and maybe a bad call does change the outcome. But where the players run for miles every game, play offense and defense (ask Tim Howard about that one) every game, and trade shirts with the opposition when it's over.

And, every once in a while, a game filled with 90 nerve-wracking minutes that ends in a single, exhilarating, jump off the couch, high-five, I-remember-when moment of complete joy.

America loves winners and loves winning underdogs even more. That's why it will be watching Saturday as we take on Ghana. But maybe, just maybe, during that match it will get a whiff of the ether that makes the game magical. As Delmar says in Oh Brother Where Art Thou shortly after he's been saved "C'mon in boys, the water's fine."

Well, that was good timing

Since I had already tipped my hand regarding what this post would be about, Michael Bradley certainly helped make it a little more newsworthy with his late equalizer in the U.S. men's World Cup match against Slovenia. Bradley played much more positively than against England, probably because that's what his Dad asked him to do. His Dad, of course also happens to be the U.S. coach, Bob Bradley. And that's where it gets interesting, at least from my perspective as both a coach who has coached his children and as an employment lawyer.

Many employers have anti-nepotism policies that forbid, or at least limit, the hiring of relatives and significant others. The reason is understandable -- prohibiting the co-employment of spouses or children of supervising spouses or parents certainly avoids potential claims of favoritism. Having hard and fast rules prohibiting nepotism in the workplace avoids having to justify decisions regarding relatives of management employees, either to other employees or, worse, in court.

If U.S. Soccer had an anti-nepotism policy, however, the team would likely not be as good as it is (and how good it is can be argued as well). Michael Bradley earned his first cap for the men's national team in 2006; a few months later, after a disappointing showing in Germany, his father was named the interim coach, and later confirmed as the permanent choice. Although Michael was "there first" in terms of tenure on the team, under most anti-nepotism policies he would have to leave the team once his dad became the coach.

While some may assert that Bob Bradley's value to the team is questionable, very few doubt that Michael has become an essential member of the squad, doing the grinding work required of defensive center midfielders in today's game. His goal Wednesday was sparkling, but the work he does in front of the defense or in back of the offense, depending on what is needed at the time, is the stuff that goes largely unnoticed.

Employers with hard and fast anti-nepotism policies may end up like the National Team would be without Michael Bradley -- losing out on essential team members and potential stars merely because of familial relationships. Those that are willing to acknowledge both the value that relatives can add to a business -- in terms of talent and investment in the success of the business, however, by allowing the hiring of relatives may be better off in the long run.

Michael Bradley's teammates clearly think so. Landon Donovan was recently quoted as saying that Michael was a crucial cog in the team. Through communication and, most importantly, hard work, relatives can convince co-workers that nepotism, on the field or at work, can be a positive dynamic.