After watching yesterday's soccer match between the United States and its arch-rival Mexico, I left with a feeling of disgust. Sure there were other feeling involved, disappointment, anger, and so on, but the biggest of them all was disgust. Now, let me dive a little deeper into this sentiment.
I was disgusted by the way we played. This was as good a chance as we have ever had to win a game in Mexico City in the "hallowed" Estadio Azteca. The American's were coming off a great showing in this summer's Confederations Cup and felt like momentum was building towards another great result in next year's World Cup in South Africa. Our players had to be full of confidence as this game approached. This is Mexico, not Spain, not Brazil, two of the world's best who we had gone toe-to-toe with. Mexico over the years seems to have lost its luster on the world soccer stage. Mexico who was struggling to qualify for next summer's World Cup. Mexico, our greatest rival.
The game started well, as those of you who watched know. Charlie Davies took a beautiful pass from Landon Donovan and stunned the 100,000 plus crowd in the 9th minute with a great goal to give the American's their first ever lead in Mexico. Some analyst said he has never seen 100,000 people get so quiet so fast. Their fears were being realized, this wasn't the same US team that has gone to Azteca and failed over and over. We had them on the ropes early, our foot was on their throat, we had the opportunity to throw the knockout punch. All the talk about how we needed to "survive" the first ten minutes was gone, silenced by the right foot of Davies. Unfortunately, this is when the game ended.
Bob Bradley, who has done a respectable job as coach of the United States decided not to go for that knockout blow. Instead, as I have felt is so often the case, he decided to play for a tie. Instead of pressing for another goal, a probable back-breaker for the stunned Mexican squad, the American's dropped into a shell. The Mexican's had free reign to do almost whatever they wanted. They dominated possession, they made runs into the penalty area, they drew fouls, everything they could to get the equalizing goal. Ten minutes later, it happened. Mexico regained possession of the ball after Landon Donovan turned it over (I think he was fouled, but more on the officiating later) and Israel Macias Castro drilled an incredible shot for his first goal in twenty international appearances. Just like that our 1-0 lead, our chance to put away the demons of years past was gone. I don't know if Bradley felt we could defend for 81 minutes straight and not give up a goal, but we came up 71 minutes short of that. From there, instead of trying to go for a second goal and another lead, the team continued to sit back and play defense. While I know the environment conditions played a role in keeping our midfielders deeper on the field, I still believe we had to press forward more. We managed to reach halftime with a 1-1 tie, but a tie seemed our best case scenario.
The second half took place as much of the first half did. The US with virtually no possession, and Mexico running wild with opportunity after opportunity. We were constantly defending, and they seemed like they were on the verge for most of the second half. We did seem to get a bit of a spark as Stuart Holden and Benny Feilhaber entered the game as subs. Holdon made a beautiful cross that just missed the head of Charlie Davies. In the 81st minute, our defense broke down, the ball took an unlucky bounce, and Mexican sub Miguel Sabah put the dagger in our hearts. There was still a little time to try to even the score, but we didn't have it in us. 2-1 final, another heartbreaker in Mexico City.
I was upset by a number of things. First of all, the fact that we did not seem to play for the win. The American's did a admirable job trying to defend for most of the game, but when the other team has the ball constantly, it seems like goals are inevitable. Even in the Spain game, Tim Howard had to play out of his mind to keep the lead as he was peppered with shot after shot. Why Bradley continues to coach seemingly without a desire to win is beyond me. Mexico played a good game, they did what they needed to do, but it felt as though the US let them do it. Another complaint I have with Coach Bradley is his starting 11 he put on the field. Now I get that certain players may not be in "game form," but I certainly do not agree with change for the sake of change. Our magical run in South Africa was keyed my a great starting lineup that produced. As the saying goes, if it ain't broke, then don't fix it. Why change something that had worked so well? Another point on this, as my soccer friend Brian states, "when are people going to realize that great form in the MLS means nothing?" Congratulations Brian Ching for having a nice start to your MLS season, thanks for not showing up in yesterday's game (although he had very few chances to do anything because we were defending the whole time). I was also upset at our "stars." All the talk in the lead up to yesterday's game was about how Donovan was ready to step up. He was shedding his image of "LandyCakes" and ready to make a big splash against Mexico. The only thing I'll remember about him yesterday is him getting burned on the final goal. Thanks for playing Landon, hopefully you enjoyed the vacation. This also brings me to Clint Dempsey. An individual award winner during the Confed Cup, and a reputation of a big game player, Clint was a non-factor. I barely remember him doing anything yesterday, just a bystander or spectator with a great view. Don't get me wrong, I am not so down on these two as to give up on them. They are terrific players and will be a big part of our success (or failure) in the coming months as we lead up to the World Cup. It was just disappointing to see them fail in yesterday's match so miserably.
This brings me to my third point. I know that it's impossible to expect to get any calls on the road for the United States, but somehow I still hold on to hope. The refereeing in yesterday's match was so one-sided and inconsistent it made me sick. Phantom fouls against the American's or yellow card's that only went to us. Cherundolo get's tackled from behind and it's a mere foul. Bocanegra gets ball first and gets a yellow. Even my Mexican counterparts who I watched the game readily admitted to inconsistency in the reffing, but shrugged and smiled, "we'll take it." Someday CONCACAF and FIFA will not allow our players to be "assaulted" as Brian says, but that day was neither yesterday, today, or tomorrow.
My last issue is with the Mexican players and fans (some not all). Congratulations, you beat us. You beat us at home. You beat us when you HAD to. You beat us with the help of a blind referee. You beat us with a lucky bounce. You beat us on a one-in-million goal. You beat us without class from your fans or your players. So congrats again. I hope you fail to qualify for the World Cup.
The American's had a chance yesterday. A chance that does not present itself very often. An early lead, a stunned crowd, a stunned opponent, a chance to make history, a chance to bury your rival. The opportunity of a lifetime. And they did not take it. That in itself left me disgusted...
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
The End of an Era
Today marks the end of an era. Although brief, it was filled with joy, excitement, and enough thrills to last a lifetime. I was lucky enough to attend a game in which Eric Gagne entered through the bullpen gates at Dodger Stadium, "Welcome to the Jungle" blaring and 50,000 mellow Southern-Californians turned into 50,000 rabid fans.
In Los Angeles, and around the country, the joke is that Dodger fans arrive late, and leave early. Much of this can be attributed to the laid-back lifestyle that most of us are used to, and well, the traffic. It's a phenomenon that I myself don't abide by, but understand and have come to expect just like gridlock on 101 during rush hour. When Eric Gagne took over as the closer for the Los Angeles Dodgers in 2002, and Guns 'n' Roses started blaring of the Dodger Stadium PA, the ninth inning changed forever.
No longer did the casual Dodger fans head for the exits before the top of the ninth. People stayed because each time Gagne entered the game, it was an event. The crowd would rise and cheer and the noise level would reach decibels normally reserved for playoff game atmospheres. Cameras would flash hoping to to catch a glimpse of their local folk-hero, and In would come our stocky, goggle wearing, goateed closer, and out would go the other team, often times with a scream and a trademark fist pump to emphatically shut the door.
When he first broke in as a starter with the Dodgers, I will admit, that I was not a fan. He could never quite handle the game and mistakes were always just around the corner. He would look great for a few innings and then implode with a few home runs. 2002 started with the Dodgers with much uncertainty in the bullpen. Then the transformation took place from an underachieving starter to maybe the most dominant closer in Major League history. I'm not sure how it happened, many will attribute it to steroid use, but he became a new pitcher, a new person. He no longer looked like a overmatched pitcher that didn't belong on a Major League mound. He was now the face of intimidation. Armed with his high-90's fastball, a "Bugs-Bunny" volcan change-up, and a slow rolling curveball, he became unhittable.
In 2003, it all came together in a Cy Young Award winning season. With video game like numbers (56 for 56 in saves, 1.20 ERA, and 137 K's in 82.1 innings) he took the National League by storm. When the Dodgers had a lead going to the ninth, it was "GAME OVER." But his place in Los Angeles was not about the numbers. It was about the surge of energy that Eric Gagne brought everytime he toed the rubber. It was about the air of invibility that surrounded him everytime he made his slow jog in from the pen. It was how he made us stay.
I remember watching the Dodgers play the Yankees on television. The final pitch he threw was about a 69 mph curveball that absolutely froze Bernie Williams and sent me flying off the coach and screaming into a pillow. The amazing part wasn't that I lost it (I frequently do when watching sports), but that the uncomparable Vin Scully did too. "OH MY GOSH! WHAT A PITCH!!" Now those of you that have listened to Vin know that very rarely if ever does ever get excited to the point where he will gasp in amazement. But as this pitch fell into the glove, he and I screamed simultaneously. That was the effect Eric Gagne had on those who watched him.
Today, Eric Gagne has reportedly signed a one year contract with the Texas Rangers. I do not feel any bitterness. I do not feel sadness either. Something happened in his elbow two years ago. The invulnerability that was once there left. It wasn't the other team you were worried about, it was his own body. We still wanted to believe that someday he would come back. That he would be that same guy that converted 84 consecutive saves, that blew away batters with a 97 mph heat, that would come through the bullpen gates music blaring, and Scully's familiar voice announcing his entrance, "Bienvenue Monsieur Gagne." Deep down, we knew that would never happen. Still we hung on to the memory of his greatness. We scoured the paper looking for updates on his health, and signs that he was coming back. We loved watching him cheer on his teammates in the dugout, and watching old video clips of him leaping off the mound to high five his catcher as the opposing batter walked away with his head down. As he rides off down to Texas, I have one thing left to say. Au revoir Monsieur Gagne. Thanks for the memories.
In Los Angeles, and around the country, the joke is that Dodger fans arrive late, and leave early. Much of this can be attributed to the laid-back lifestyle that most of us are used to, and well, the traffic. It's a phenomenon that I myself don't abide by, but understand and have come to expect just like gridlock on 101 during rush hour. When Eric Gagne took over as the closer for the Los Angeles Dodgers in 2002, and Guns 'n' Roses started blaring of the Dodger Stadium PA, the ninth inning changed forever.
No longer did the casual Dodger fans head for the exits before the top of the ninth. People stayed because each time Gagne entered the game, it was an event. The crowd would rise and cheer and the noise level would reach decibels normally reserved for playoff game atmospheres. Cameras would flash hoping to to catch a glimpse of their local folk-hero, and In would come our stocky, goggle wearing, goateed closer, and out would go the other team, often times with a scream and a trademark fist pump to emphatically shut the door.
When he first broke in as a starter with the Dodgers, I will admit, that I was not a fan. He could never quite handle the game and mistakes were always just around the corner. He would look great for a few innings and then implode with a few home runs. 2002 started with the Dodgers with much uncertainty in the bullpen. Then the transformation took place from an underachieving starter to maybe the most dominant closer in Major League history. I'm not sure how it happened, many will attribute it to steroid use, but he became a new pitcher, a new person. He no longer looked like a overmatched pitcher that didn't belong on a Major League mound. He was now the face of intimidation. Armed with his high-90's fastball, a "Bugs-Bunny" volcan change-up, and a slow rolling curveball, he became unhittable.
In 2003, it all came together in a Cy Young Award winning season. With video game like numbers (56 for 56 in saves, 1.20 ERA, and 137 K's in 82.1 innings) he took the National League by storm. When the Dodgers had a lead going to the ninth, it was "GAME OVER." But his place in Los Angeles was not about the numbers. It was about the surge of energy that Eric Gagne brought everytime he toed the rubber. It was about the air of invibility that surrounded him everytime he made his slow jog in from the pen. It was how he made us stay.
I remember watching the Dodgers play the Yankees on television. The final pitch he threw was about a 69 mph curveball that absolutely froze Bernie Williams and sent me flying off the coach and screaming into a pillow. The amazing part wasn't that I lost it (I frequently do when watching sports), but that the uncomparable Vin Scully did too. "OH MY GOSH! WHAT A PITCH!!" Now those of you that have listened to Vin know that very rarely if ever does ever get excited to the point where he will gasp in amazement. But as this pitch fell into the glove, he and I screamed simultaneously. That was the effect Eric Gagne had on those who watched him.
Today, Eric Gagne has reportedly signed a one year contract with the Texas Rangers. I do not feel any bitterness. I do not feel sadness either. Something happened in his elbow two years ago. The invulnerability that was once there left. It wasn't the other team you were worried about, it was his own body. We still wanted to believe that someday he would come back. That he would be that same guy that converted 84 consecutive saves, that blew away batters with a 97 mph heat, that would come through the bullpen gates music blaring, and Scully's familiar voice announcing his entrance, "Bienvenue Monsieur Gagne." Deep down, we knew that would never happen. Still we hung on to the memory of his greatness. We scoured the paper looking for updates on his health, and signs that he was coming back. We loved watching him cheer on his teammates in the dugout, and watching old video clips of him leaping off the mound to high five his catcher as the opposing batter walked away with his head down. As he rides off down to Texas, I have one thing left to say. Au revoir Monsieur Gagne. Thanks for the memories.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Witnessing Greatness with My Own Two Eyes
I sit here, one day later, images of Reggie Bush's latest touchdown playing through my head. Just a little flare out to a rookie running back, innocent at first glance, that turns into one of those "OH MY GOD!" moments in sports. One, that even as you're watching it, you are already waiting to see the instant replay.
It was just a year ago now, that Reggie Bush was still in college, and captivating the sports world with breathtaking plays and numerous moments that made people stand up out of their seat, or stop what they were doing and watch him run. His 2005 Heisman campaign was filled with these types of moments where as the viewer, you knew you were witnessing something special and that's why we stopped. We knew that every once in a while, an athlete comes along that does things that can't be matched. A guy who's speed is just a little faster. Who's home runs go just a bit farther. This was Reggie's case. Every single time he touched the football, you felt like something special could happen. Something that you didn't want to miss.
For the younger generation such as myself, we've heard about athletes like this from generations past. When our parent tells you, "there was no one like Walter Payton," or "I've never seen anyone better than Sandy Koufax," we nod our head's in acknowledgement, and even watch old videos just to see for ourselves, but we don't fully appreciate what it was like to watch someone so great because you don't get the true feeling from watching old tapes.
Well Reggie Bush was our guy. Never in my life have I stopped what I was doing to watch a single athlete (Okay, that's a lie, but not quite the same as I did with Bush). I would be thrilled to see that the USC football game was on TV, because it was another chance to witness greatness at its best. I've always thought sports can't be summed up in words. Its the feeling you get that make them special. Watching Reggie, you always had that feeling. That cross somewhere between excitement and anticipation ready to burst from you in a gasp of disbelief.
Now, I've seen some great accomplishments in sports. I watched Tiger Woods dominate the U.S. Open at Pebble Beach and win by 15 strokes. I watched Michael Johnson outrun the camera at the Atlanta Olympics. But those were singular moments, Reggie's was an entire season. I watched as he took over perhaps the greatest game I've ever seen in Notre Dame, or as he emerged from a pile at Washington and speed off into the endzone. I saw him make moves that left me on my phone to friends asking, "DID YOU JUST SEE THAT?"
His effortless strides and physics defying cuts have left another defender grasping for air, as his black Saints jersey has turned into a flash of white from a towel that drags behind in his wake. It feels special, and I feel lucky to be watching as Reggie glides by the final Dallas defender, ball outstretched as he enters the endzone. Yet another play that has left me standing up and shouting. Thirty years from now, as I will watch my kids emulate their own favorite sports heroes, I'll start, "Let me tell you about a guy named Reggie Bush..."
It was just a year ago now, that Reggie Bush was still in college, and captivating the sports world with breathtaking plays and numerous moments that made people stand up out of their seat, or stop what they were doing and watch him run. His 2005 Heisman campaign was filled with these types of moments where as the viewer, you knew you were witnessing something special and that's why we stopped. We knew that every once in a while, an athlete comes along that does things that can't be matched. A guy who's speed is just a little faster. Who's home runs go just a bit farther. This was Reggie's case. Every single time he touched the football, you felt like something special could happen. Something that you didn't want to miss.
For the younger generation such as myself, we've heard about athletes like this from generations past. When our parent tells you, "there was no one like Walter Payton," or "I've never seen anyone better than Sandy Koufax," we nod our head's in acknowledgement, and even watch old videos just to see for ourselves, but we don't fully appreciate what it was like to watch someone so great because you don't get the true feeling from watching old tapes.
Well Reggie Bush was our guy. Never in my life have I stopped what I was doing to watch a single athlete (Okay, that's a lie, but not quite the same as I did with Bush). I would be thrilled to see that the USC football game was on TV, because it was another chance to witness greatness at its best. I've always thought sports can't be summed up in words. Its the feeling you get that make them special. Watching Reggie, you always had that feeling. That cross somewhere between excitement and anticipation ready to burst from you in a gasp of disbelief.
Now, I've seen some great accomplishments in sports. I watched Tiger Woods dominate the U.S. Open at Pebble Beach and win by 15 strokes. I watched Michael Johnson outrun the camera at the Atlanta Olympics. But those were singular moments, Reggie's was an entire season. I watched as he took over perhaps the greatest game I've ever seen in Notre Dame, or as he emerged from a pile at Washington and speed off into the endzone. I saw him make moves that left me on my phone to friends asking, "DID YOU JUST SEE THAT?"
His effortless strides and physics defying cuts have left another defender grasping for air, as his black Saints jersey has turned into a flash of white from a towel that drags behind in his wake. It feels special, and I feel lucky to be watching as Reggie glides by the final Dallas defender, ball outstretched as he enters the endzone. Yet another play that has left me standing up and shouting. Thirty years from now, as I will watch my kids emulate their own favorite sports heroes, I'll start, "Let me tell you about a guy named Reggie Bush..."
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