You Couldn't Have Scripted This!

by Dick Mac

The announce said: "It is breathtakingly exciting!"

I sat in my seat, mouth agape, fists clenched, pounding on my thighs. I couldn't make a sound. Then I started crying like a child. My chest heaved and tears fell down my cheeks. I couldn't catch my breath. I felt the corners of my mouth curl downward as I gasped and sobbed. I realized I was crying over a soccer match and that made me start to laugh. Then I didn't know if I was laughing or crying. I sunk my face into my hands and tried to regain my composure.

When I could breathe properly I confirmed that Landon Donovan had taken a throw from goalie Tim Howard, delivered it forward to Jozy Altidore who crossed it to Clint Dempsey. Dempsey took a shot that was blocked by the goalie, and he tumbled over the keeper as the ball ricocheted back into play. Donovan ran forward to score the game-winning goal in stoppage time.

See for yourself: View the FIFA video at youtube.com.

FIFA has banned the embedding of their videos, because . . . well . . . basically . . . FIFA sucks. So, you have to click the link above and watch an extra minute or so of FIFA highlights before you can see the goal.

March Madness

For most of the sports fans I know, March Madness refers to the NCAA men's basketball tournament. For those of you who might not know what this is, I will attempt a judgmental and cynical description. (Why pretend that I find the condition college sports programs acceptable?):

Most universities and many colleges in the United States are home to professional basketball teams, called amateur teams, that are managed by a team of athletic, public relations, and logistics professionals, paid millions of dollars to ensure that the school secures as much money as possible from the billion dollars pool of funds generated by television contracts. The men who run this professional league (white men) lord over the men who actually earn the money for the schools (black men) and there has never been such a disparate economic arrangement in the United States since the abolition of slavery.

The orgasmic climax, this race for piles of cash, culminates each March with the tournament in which sixty-four teams are selected to play for the 'national championship' and the biggest chunk of money. You see, this is an amateur event, so we aren't supposed to talk about the money, but the men involved all do it for the money. The administrators will earn millions and a tiny percentage of the players will get contracts to play basketball in the National Basketball Association (the other professional basketball league in America designed for slightly older men).

Most of the players will be dismissed from school with no degree, no education, no prospects for future employment, and in some cases a pile of student loans coming due. We're not supposed to talk about those (black) men, though, because they are only supposed to go to college to learn, not play sports, and it's their own fault that they have nothing to fall back on. Besides, the money earned by the colleges has to be spent on paying the million-dollar salaries of the (white) men maintaining the leagues. Colleges are, after all, money-making institutions designed for profiteering, not charitable organizations focused on furthering human knowledge.

I have discussed this issue in articles titled Amateur Athletics and The NCAA and The Student Athlete. I think poorly of the NCAA and the billion dollar business that is college athletics.

For most sports fans in America, March Madness is that tournament. I have selected North Carolina to win it all, and I have enjoyed watching David-sized Davidson College upset Goliath after Goliath: Gonzaga, Georgetown, and Wisconsin, before losing a squeaker to Kansas in the last seconds. So, I think the industry is crooked, but I am entertained.

Besides the Davidson fairy tale run, my fave story of the NCAA tournament was Derrick Rose of Memphis, refusing to have stitches to close a cut because he is afraid of needles. This guy is tough as feathers, and I can only imagine how his prima donna behavior will shine when he leaves college and tries to work int he NBA.

Rose Refused Stitches Due To Needle Phobia

HOUSTON — Derrick Rose was not getting stitches.

No way. No how.

The weekend saw four NCAA tournament games played, but it also marked the opening night of Major League Soccer, the professional soccer league in the United States, and even though my Red Bull New York team was not scheduled to play, I was thrilled to watch.

The entire world is now playing professional soccer! Most leagues are Winter leagues, playing their season from September through May; but, because of our climate, the United States is a Summer league, playing its season from March through October.

March is the month when all nations' professional soccer leagues overlap, so I get to watch a maddening number of matches each weekend.

This past weekend I saw the following broadcasts:

From England: Derby v. Fulham, Manchester United v. Aston Villa, Liverpool v. Everton, and Tottenham v. Newcastle

From Italy: Lazio v. Inter Milan, Juventus v. Parma, AC Milan v. Atalanta

From Spain: Real Betis v. Barcelona

From the USA: New England v. Houston Dynamo, and Colorado v. Los Angeles.

From Scotland: Rangers FC v. Celtic FC

From Argentina: River Plate v. Arsenal

Many other matches from Spain, Germany, and Columbia were also broadcast in my television market, but I saw none of them. I get my fix of South American soccer during the week when Copa Libertadores matches are broadcast live, late at night.

Both MLS matches were a disappointment to me. Reigning champs Houston Dynamo played very poorly against the always-hateful New England Revolution, and the Colorado Rapids made mince-meat of the David Beckham-led Los Angeles Galaxy, in a poorly-officiated match with two red cards, violent tackles, too much blood, and anger verging on rage (even from Lady Landycakes himself).

Actually, I must admit that Landon Donovan showed remarkable leadership on the field and should be reinstated as the LA team captain. When bad calls were made by the ref, Landycakes was right there to negotiate on behalf of the player accused of unfair play, and when Ciaran O'Brien levelled a vicious late-game tackle on Carlos Ruiz, Landycakes bolted right at the perpetrator and shoved him back, leading to a purse-swinging festival that ended with O'Brien red-carded and dismissed from the game. Donovan's intensity, negotiating, and leadership did nothing, however, to prevent an embarrassing drubbing by Colorado. David Beckham should relinquish the captain's armband to Donovan, because he showed absolutely no leadership in a match that required strong guidance from a smart and determined leader. Bonnets off to Landycakes, ladies!

Referee Abiodun Okulaja was atrocious. I often sympathize with soccer referees because one official is expected to cover a field larger than an NFL field, so it is common for an official to miss a call or two throughout a match. This match was allowed to spiral out-of-control by the official and his poor performance jeopardized the safety of the players.

Okulaja's unforgivable sin was making a call against Abel Xavier in the box that was not a foul. Xavier did come from behind, but he kicked the ball and the attacking player's stumble to the ground should not have been called a foul. When Xavier protested, he was yellow-carded for dissent. Later in the match, Xavier was called for a foul and bumped the ref during his vehement and dramatic protest. The ref had no choice but to book him a second time (this time for abusive language) which led to Xavier's dismissal. This took place in the 89th minute, and the match was long-lost, but it had also been long out-of-control.

I don't like Abel Xavier because he is a show-off and a hot-head and I think he is bad for the sport, but the calls by the referee would frustrate the most level-headed player and I hope that this ref is sent to officiating classes soon so that he can stop losing control of matches.

By midnight Saturday, I was soccered-out! Sunday allowed fewer opportunities for viewing, but I ended the weekend sated and a little maddened by so much soccer.

I am a lucky man, and March Madness for me is this weekend when I can watch soccer from all over the world, including the United States.

Next weekend, I make my way to Giants Stadium for the Red Bulls home opener. This will be the last opening day at Giants Stadium, as Red Bull Park should be ready for next season.


Dick Mac Recommends:

Fever Pitch
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Thank Goodness He Has Left Town

The last two weeks leading up to Saturday's soccer match between Red Bull New York (RBNY) and the Los Angeles Galaxy had been stressful.

There was quite a bit of talk around the RBNY fan base about the increase in ticket price for this match. Ticket prices were doubled on average from $20-$30 to $50 and $60 per seat. Many, including me, were dismayed by this ploy and I feared that the whole thing could backfire on my team. The reason for the increase in ticket prices was the new addition to the Galaxy squad.

David Beckham is now playing soccer for a team in Major League Soccer, and his arrival has caused quite a stir.

The hope of Beckham's arrival is that he will add consumer legitimacy to the league. That RBNY will now draw more than fifteen thousand spectators to their home matches.

RBNY has a solid fan base, a good supporters club in the Empire Supporters Club (ESC), and is situated in a lucrative market (metropolitan New York). But fifteen thousand attendees do not make the team financially viable or impressive in the media.

When teams like the New Jersey Devils and New Jersey Nets (both of whom have played in the same Meadowlands Sports Complex as RBNY) draw only fifteen thousand on average, they can survive because they play in established leagues (the NHL and NBA, respectively). So, the success of other teams in their leagues and their lucrative television contracts make those less successful franchises more viable.

MLS is still a fledgling league in its 12th year of existence. The owners and the league, all billionaires extrodinaires must subsidize growth of the league; but that will come to a halt some day. The league must start to stand on its own two feet (and checkbook).

Beckham's arrival, along with the arrival of other foreign players, is hoped to be the next big step in solidifying the league's standing in the US market. Beckham's arrival in Los Angeles a few weeks ago was marred by an ankle injury he picked-up as a member of Real Madrid at the end of the season in Spain. He played twelve minutes in his new team's exhibition against Chelsea, then sat on the bench for league matches against D.C., New England, and Toronto, before making a strong and successful appearance in a non-league match against D.C. United in the International SuperLiga semi-final.

On Saturday morning, I drove my family to visit some friends in Northern New Jersey. One of those friends was joining me for the big match. We had a couple conversations about how much time we should leave for the drive to the stadium and it was a more complicated discussion than any other time we attended a match together.

Why?

Over 66,000 tickets had been sold for the match, the stadium holds 79,000, and some of the parking lots were shut-down to accommodate construction, all of which generated helpful publications for the RBNY front-office offering guidance about how much time you should allow and where you would be allowed to park.

We left two hours before kick-off, weaved our way through the maze of security, construction and tail-gaters to find a rather excellent spot closer to the entrances and exits than we had hoped.

There was almost a full-hour before lick-off when we were safely ensconced in our seats, our excellent seats in Section 137, near the corner flag.

The stadium filled with nubile young women in Beckham shirts, and the phenomenon I don't quite yet understand: teenage boys in Beckham shirts swooning over the superstar. Are these boys excited about his excellent play or his excellent physique? They seem to know very little about soccer in general, the league specifically, and are ignorant about the details of Beckham's career that soccer fans can generally spout off with ease.

We had four of these lithe young men seated in front of us and they went wild when Beckham made his appearance for warm-ups, then when the team arrived for kick-off, each time time their studly hero touched the ball, and ultimately when he removed his shirt at the end of the match.

A phenomenon I like, but do not understand.

The match?

Spectacular. Within nine minutes the score was NY 1- 2 LA, which goals were scored in quick succession:

Juan Pablo Angel, the RBNY international superstar, All-Star MVP, league MVP candidate, RBNY leading scorer, Colombian international beauty, and New York team savior, netted a free-kick by shooting under the Galaxy wall.

Two beautifully crossed shots bent into the box by Beckham led to two goals by Carlos Pavon, putting LA into the lead.

The match settled down a bit, but play remained strong. When Beckham fell victim to hard but legal tackle, he leaped to his feet enraged that the tackle took him off his feet. It was a text-book tackle that any player would make and Beckham's reaction was completely out of proportion to the situation. If he thinks his arrival as the most famous player in MLS means he is exempt from defensive plays, he is grossly mistaken. He lashed-out at the defender and players had to be restrained to prevent fisticuffs.

Beckham's frustration showed again when in a defensive move he stepped on the foot of a NY midfielder and aggravated his tender ankle. The crowd roared its approval, and it took a few minutes before he could walk properly again.

The score remained the same until the closing moments of the first half when Dane Richards came down the field on the left side (he usually plays on the right), and when attempting to deliver a cross into the box saw the ball slam squarely into the face of David Beckham. The force of the blow was obvious ten rows up and Beckham was dazed as the play continued around him. The ball returned from Beckham's face to Richards' foot and he delivered it into the mouth of the goal, it deflected out to the foot of Clint Mathis who hammered home a shot that no goal keeper, including the excellent LA goal keeper Joe Cannon, could hope to stop. Score at the half: NY 2-2 LA.

The stands were electric. Section 101, home of ESC, was rocking and rolling the entire half and right through half-time.

The second-half started as hard and fast as the first half, and Jozy Altidore, the 17-year-old phenom for RBNY scored in the 49th and 70th minutes to the great delight of the home crowd (and silently passive consternation of the Beckham fans who wouldn't know a set-shot from a red card).

Beckham is known for his delivery, not his goal scoring. As the first two LA goals showed, Beckham can place the ball squarely on any spot in front of the goal, at will. he is the international king of the set-piece, whether from the field of play or delivering in from a corner.

Corner shots are a staple of soccer. If the defense sends the ball out-of-bound behind the goal line, the offensive squad places the ball in the corner of the field and delivers an unimpeded shot into play. Nobody does this better than Beckham. He can score a goal from this position, but more often than not, as was the case with Carlos Pavon in the first half, he can place it right on the head or foot of a teammate standing all alone in front of the goal. It's almost like a magic trick. It's an amazing feat.

My fear about the sixty-six thousand fans attending this match is that they would be rooting fro LA, just because Beckham was here.

A wonderful surprise was awaiting me when Beckham took his first corner, but it was even more impressive when he took his second. As he approached the corner, a cacophony of boos greeted him. I had never heard such a roar of derision at a Red Bulls match. Of course, the boos have little, if any, impact on a professional athlete; but they sure warm the cockles of the heart of an aging soccer fan who suffers a near-empty stadium week after week.

I am a David Beckham fan. I love reading about him and watching him play. But when his club (L.A. Galaxy) plays my club, my admiration goes on hold and I cheer against him as I would any opposing player. And if ever his national team (England) should play my national team (USA), I will boo him again. My admiration of him is not blind. I want my team to win, and I will like him again right afterwards.

The 4-2 score stayed the same for less than a minute, when Landon Donovan (a/k/a Landycakes or Landon Divanon) delivered a goal for the visitors. NY 4-3 LA.

Seven goals had been scored. SEVEN!

Ten minutes later, Edson Buddle (formerly of my NY team), evened the score with an unassisted beauty; and with less than ten minutes remaining it seemed the match would end in a draw. Not the best result, but certainly better than losing at home to the likes of David Spice and Landycakes.

In the 88th minute, Juan Pablo Angel, delivered a very hard shot on goal that ricocheted from the arms of the goal keeper into the goal to change the score in our favor: NY 5-4 LA!

As time ticked away the last two minutes and four minutes of added time, RBNY became a defensive machine, burning precious seconds off the clock as the LA squad seemed to fall into depressed resignation.

A glorious finish!

We jumped for joy in the stands, the Beckham supporters slunk away to derisive calls from home-town supporters, my voice began cracking, and the teams shook hands and the media swarmed into place for the after-match interviews and pictures.

Beckham made his way to the Galaxy bench where he removed his shirt and a Beatlemania-like squeal rose from the stands. I once attended a Frankie Goes To Hollywood show filled with thirteen year old girls screaming in the same manner. I never thought I'd hear it at a sporting event.

Juan Pablo Angel, as talented and handsome as Beckham, was declared Man of the Match, and he was being interviewed for television and was followed on-screen by Beckham who was gracious, friendly, enthusiastic and proud of the match.

This was a success.

The Beckham machine had rolled through New York, as ominous as a Hillary Clinton campaign stop but far more entertaining, and we had survived the hype and come out on top.

Beckham is a star non-pareil. There is no athlete like him. No baseball player, basketball thug, hockey player, or NFL gentle giant who commands the adoration of so many men, women, boys and girls. Nobody sells more shirts (not even the Rolling Stones), and no star is as gracious and humble off the field.

The fear about ticket prices had been that thousands would buy over-priced tickets and Beckham would not play, and infuriating tens of thousands of potential new soccer fans. Not only did Beckham play for the entire match, it was one of the best matches any of us had ever seen played in the United States.

Red Bull New York delivered! Everyone was satisfied.

Beckham delivered. MLS is lucky to have him.

And thank goodness he has left town!


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