Archive for category Confederations Cup
AN ADULT’S LETTER TO ALEXI LALAS
Posted by Cyrus Philbrick in Alexi Lalas, Brazil, Confederations Cup, Maradona, US Soccer on August 27th, 2009
By Diego Maradona
Alexi,
What’s up you leather-faced buffoon? Last time I saw you I was probably putting the ball through your legs. Or blowing lines off your wife’s potatoes after your country banned me in ‘94. You’re lucky I didn’t get you on the field. Just kidding. Have we met before? I don’t remember. But an American kid with big dreams keeps emailing me to tell me you’re spewing garbage about American soccer on ESPN and something about a pod shell. He says you’re treating small soccer players worse than women. So I guess you want a war.
Or, I would want a war if you didn’t make me laugh all the time. Seriously, you’re a funny man on TV, which I respect. But men should not be funny all the time. That is for clowns. And clowns are mostly sad. So I just need to clear one thing up before I get started. Are you serious when you say that “size does matter in soccer and it’s mattering more and more”? Are you serious in saying that America needs bigger players to win? Are you really fucking serious and not just trying to entertain people and make me laugh? If you are not, like I hope, then you can stop reading now and we’ll pretend I never wrote this. But if you are, then it’s on man to man. (Hold on, while I get another drink).
I would look up at you like I look up at a tree, Alexi. It’s true. But I have balls as big as oceans that would sweep you away like dead wood. That is what matters in soccer, and life – not physical size. Strength is different than size. So let’s get that straight. Look at all the best players in the world of all time from any country. First off, myself. I probably come up your gut. Pele would come up to your chest. George Best was up to your neck. And Cruyff to your chin. Got it? Ok.
Now you say that players today are getting bigger and bigger. Maybe this is true. Today you have players like Kaka and Gerrard. You had Zidane. Fine. But they’re not good because of their size. They’re good because they’re good, maybe even despite their size. They’re good because they have the heart and mind and blood for the game. See, this is what I like so much about soccer. It’s such a human sport, unlike a lot of those you play in your country. You can’t tell who is a star by their appearance. You don’t need some kind of freakish body type to be good. You need to have it inside of you. We don’t have a name for it, but you dicks probably call it skill. And the skill matters most on the ground, where the game is played. If you don’t believe this, then I pity you.
Next you say Brazil is a big scary team, and that’s who America should be more like. I admit, Brazil is bigger than it has been before. But what are you smoking Alexi? Brazil isn’t that big. They’re still a bunch of sissies, like you’ll see on September 5th. You make me use numbers, and I fucking hate numbers. But my secretary sent me this:
Brazil’s roster for the Confederations Cup had an average height of (in your language) 5’11’’ and an average weight of 166 pounds. The USA’s roster, without your precious goalkeepers, had the same average height and weighed seven more pounds. You fatties! So you can stop talking about this like it’s the reason you lost. The biggest teams are all the ones from North Africa. And France is pretty big too. I don’t have to look this up. I just know. And these teams are Ok.
Have you seen my team Alexi? Have you seen Mascherano? El Jefecito. Tevez? El Apache. Have you seen my son-in-law? Have you seen fucking Messi, the one who you call “a dying breed”. Have you seen this little fucker! A dying breed? Me? Messi? We haven’t even started yet! I hope we get you country-club bitches in the World Cup.
I know you’re trying to sell soccer in America because that’s your job. But stop saying foolish things so I can focus on more important things than kicking your ass. Who’s the best player on your own national team Alexi? That’s what I thought.
Yours,
- Diego ◊
Translated by Cyrus Philbrick
MY VERY OWN MODERATING EDITORIAL REFLECTIVE ON THE STATE OF U.S. SOCCER IN LIEU OF THE CONFEDERATIONS CUP FINALS
Posted by Cyrus Philbrick in Brazil, Confederations Cup, Spain, Style, US Soccer, Youth Soccer on June 30th, 2009
With its run to the Confederations Cup final the U.S. national team has inched closer to shedding its liminal status – between soccer nobody and soccer somebody. It’s closer to deserving more international respect. It’s also closer to disrupting the sine curve of results that has produced infrequent upsets against superior teams (see 1930, 1950, 1998, 2002), to which we can add Spain, 2009. The tipping point won’t come with one result, and probably won’t come for a while. But the national exposure and enthusiasm that comes with the country’s recent international success undoubtedly works toward expediting a protracted molting process.

The U.S. performance in the Confederations Cup has soccer fans and non-fans in this country buzzing, looking to compare it with the most unlikely upsets in American sporting history. The win over Spain drew comparisons to the “Miracle on Ice” when an amateur U.S. hockey team defeated the U.S.S.R. in 1980. On grass, the U.S. played with similar determination and sacrifice. The team deserved all the heart-pounding adjectives lavished on it by the media. On Sunday, the U.S. continued its attempt to upset the balance of the soccer world, like a buoy jammed underwater. The U.S. almost withstood Brazil. But it didn’t. Brazil’s second-half dominance restored the balance of the global game.
I’m not glad that the U.S. lost. But in a way it might be the right result, the most natural one. Yes, a U.S. win would have further boosted the prominence of soccer in our homeland. But it also might have made us too giddy and too expectant, made the average fan too annoyingly confident in the face of foreign superiority that demands our modesty and respect. I’m not ready for the U.S. to shed its underdog mentality yet. This mentality is unifying and powerful. And I don’t think the nation is ready for anything else.
As many of the more sober analysts have already said, the U.S.’s performance doesn’t mean that the team has “arrived!” or that we can consistently compete and win against the giants of the game. Like Spanish defender Carles Puyol suggested, if the U.S. played Spain ten times, it would lose nine. Probably true. For this reason alone, the U.S. victory over Spain deserves a resounding celebration. It also deserves a re-sounding after the media’s swooning over this team dries up until next year’s World Cup. It’s easy to get carried away. Soccer serves as one of the few sporting arenas where Americans can actually be considered underdogs, where we can still route for the grit and guts of our players instead of for the superiority of factory-produced physiques and skills. This is part of what makes the sport so attractive to me in this country. It’s still raw and unpolished compared to the real article. This is also the problem. Americans aren’t as technically trained or refined as their South American and European counterparts. This is a cruel fact. They lack the suave, the guile, the natural creativity. In short, they lack the style. Despite the U.S. success in the Confederations Cup, its lack of style still represents the team’s most glaring weakness.
The team’s heart and work-ethic might lay the foundation of a larger identity, but this identity is still barely forming. Passion and bravery can take a group far – about as far as a ragged U.S. team pushed in the Confederations Cup. But In an international sport in which every team pours forth with fully stocked wells of passion, it’s the skill-level of players that makes the difference.

Lacking such skill, the U.S. needs to hang on against better teams, to pray for the right opportunities and to pounce on them. For the majority of both the Spain and Brazil games the U.S. defense dug its nails in against a wave of relentless and flowing attacks. In those two games, the U.S. got out-shot 35-12. But it played with a remarkable understanding of its own abilities. It played with intelligent and relentless defensive pressure, with measured and swift counter-attacks that punished the best teams in the world for their over-aggressiveness. Such a backs-against-the-wall survivalist mentality might force other nations to give more respect to our bite, but it won’t necessarily give us the self-belief or self-evident expression needed to carve out space on the stage of world soccer powers.
Landon Donovan summed up a lot of this in typically political fashion in comparing an emerging U.S. team to an established Brazilian one after the U.S. loss: “We’ve got the potential to be at that level. The difference is, Brazil has been there before. A lot of their players have been in games like this, and they knew how to finish it and how to win. We still have to learn that. We have a lot of guys on our team who haven’t played a lot of national team games, haven’t played a lot of high-level club games, that were starting. You can tell there’s a difference there.”
“Look, it’s Brazil,” Donovan said. “You have to expect they’re going to get chances. They’re going to keep coming. What are you going to do? They have players that are probably worth three times as much as our whole team. There’s a reason for that.”
The American players are coming, slowly. Soccer in this country is growing, in fits and starts, only some of which we can measure. Most importantly, it continues to grow at the grassroots level, as passion for the global game fills the fissures of America’s fractured sports landscape. Participation in youth soccer continues to swell. Immigrant blood continues to boost passion for the sport while eroding the sport’s stubborn stigma as white and suburban. The sport reflects glimpses of this growth at its frothing head, measured by the commercial interest and TV ratings it attracts.
As the late great Brit-American journalist Steven Wells said it in a recent interview with Richard Whittall on EPL talk: “I’d even go as far as to say that the day that soccer really succeeds in the US isn’t when the US wins the World Cup, it’s when it becomes the default sport in the nation’s playgrounds. Which—in Darwinian terms—it really should, being far better suited to that arena (and way more fun as well as being better exercise) than all the alternatives. Way to go yet though…”
I agree with Wells. I just suspect, or at least hope, that the two measurements of success that he suggests will coincide.◊
WHAT? THE U.S. EMERGES OUT OF GROUP OF WORLD CUP CLASS
Posted by Cyrus Philbrick in Bob Bradley, Brazil, Confederations Cup, Hejduk, Style, US Soccer on June 22nd, 2009
No Heart? I’m All Heart Mother…
*As the U.S. National Team attempts to qualify for the World Cup in 2010, I will write a series of pieces concentrating on the style, or lack of it, of American soccer. See the other three here and here and here.
Lucky? Yeah. Holy shit, yeah. The U.S. got a waist-high boost from Brazil’s 3-0 thrashing of Italy to advance to the semifinal round of the Confederations Cup. But after the grit and determination it showed on Sunday, the team deserves some apologies, some reconsideration.
Before Sunday, most critics wrote the team off as over-classed and under-talented when compared with any good international team. Maybe this is true. But for me watching the U.S. was more disillusioning than revealing. Following the Brazil game, it looked like the tournament was a lost cause, both in determining a more consistent lineup and in spurring any team or individual confidence. While the U.S. showed that it could frustrate good teams, at least for spells, it looked incapable of producing anything like a functional attack. In one of the more hopeless throes of fandom in recent memory, I just hoped for a few linked passes – a shot on goal.

After Sunday’s performance against Egypt, we can all take a breath from the thick criticism and humming African air. When it needs to, when it has all eleven players on the field at once, the U.S. can attack. As Paul Gardner said in his pro-attacking reaction to the game: “The straightforward lust for goals is something new for this team, a Bob Bradley team. The usual caution had to be abandoned, and many a risk had to be taken.” Risk produced goals.
In addition to risk, the U.S. showed some of the characteristics that have been most persistent and true to the team’s identity over the years – namely perseverance and energy and grit – all of which the U.S. left behind inexplicably in its first two games. These are some of the principles on which the good ole U.S.A was founded, or so I’ve heard. And in the sports realm they are obvious and unifying. In large part, they represent one reason why I like watching the U.S. play. Usually I know that whichever team the U.S. plays, it will play that opponent hard – maybe too hard – with so much feist and defensive spirit that its opponent won’t have the time or space to work any of its exotic magic. At its best, the U.S. energy creates a different game, one that must be played a faster-than-normal pace, which forces its opponent to raise the magic of its game to a higher level if it is to succeed.
At the very least, this is the legacy of U.S. players like Frankie Hejduk. While he might not be as talented as anyone he lines up against on the wing, he will grind them into the lime of the sidelines with his energy. And in his absence, I hope we can have more talented U.S. defenders play with half his spirit.
Although characteristics like energy and perseverance don’t always win games at the highest level, they don’t lose them either. And as the U.S. proved against Egypt, such characteristics can be as invaluable on attack as on defense. For example, Charlie Davies produced the game’s first goal with more grit than talent. And his effort was emblematic of the U.S. style as a whole. Although it lacked guile, it had a straightforward urgency and speed that necessarily put Egypt under pressure. The other two goals came from purposeful offensive surges. Although hardly flowing or dazzling, they came from clean and efficient attacks that put Egypt at the mercy of American strengths – speed and power.
It was also encouraging to see the personalities of American stars come through their shells in this game. Oguchi Onweyu dominated the air and the box. Landon Donovan attacked with tireless pace and pointed guile. And Michael Bradley put in another performance that worked towards cementing his place in the center of the midfield. A refreshing American talent, he is as gritty as he is technical. The second goal, a quick and precise combination with Donovan that ended with Bradley tucking a sliding pass into the corner of the goal, presented these attributes in one fluid play.

Lastly, Clint Dempsey. For all his too-cool-for-school-and-defense attitude, he often appeared the most creative player in white, unlocking Egypt with a few incisive passes in the first half. And after all the criticism Dempsey endured from commentator John Harkes, some of which was deserved but much of which got comically egregious in the second half as Harkes vented biases about individual players instead of watching the game, Dempsey won the game for the U.S.. His snapping header in traffic displayed exactly the leftover determination that Harkes criticized him for lacking. It left Harkes and all the other critics struggling to capture their surprise and the improbability of the result, to revise the harshness of their reactions to the first two games.
The critics, however (including myself) weren’t necessarily wrong. This is only one win. Many questions about players and tactics persist.
But this game served to remind the critics, and the team itself, that grit or passion (or whatever other cliche you want to use) represents the one fundamental trait that the team needs to survive. All the team’s best players have it. Some could use more of it. It can serve as a baseline from which everything good springs.
Maybe all good teams need such a baseline. But somehow effort seems more crucial to the U.S., maybe because we have little else to rely on. It’s sewn into the fabric of American sports lore. It’s “Miracle” and “Rocky.” It’s a lot of elbow-grease, or maybe knee-grease in soccer’s case, and it’s lung-bursting sprints after the ball. Of course we crave flare and fluidity, more touch and guile, but as long as we have effort we know that other teams will still fear and respect us. And this is crucial to forging any sort of meaningful identity.
As Micheal Bradley said after the game:
“All the f—— experts in America, everybody who thinks they know about soccer, they can all look at the score tonight and let’s see what they have to say now. Nobody has any respect for what we do, for what goes on on the inside, so let them all talk now.” ◊

THE U.S. NATIONAL TEAM: THE ‘MAGIC ELEVEN BALL’
Posted by Cyrus Philbrick in Bob Bradley, Confederations Cup, US Soccer on June 18th, 2009
How do you rate a team that hasn’t really played so far? Bob Bradley is probably dealing with this himself after two hopeless games against Italy and Brazil. Touted as a tournament that would provide answers to persistent lineup questions for the U.S., the Confederations Cup has provided more of the opposite: questions – some about tactics and most about individuals. I imagine that for Bob Bradley, who hasn’t impressed with his decisions, watching the Confederations Cup has been as unrevealing and unhelpful as shaking a magic eight ball.
Does DeMarcus Beasley deserve another chance after one of worst performances of his career? Looks doubtful.
Will I give him another one if he promises to do better? Outlook good.
Does Sacha Kljestan deserve another chance after a completely ineffective first half and a rash challenge early in the second that saw him sent off and once again put added pressure on the U.S. to defend when that was the last thing the team needed? Maybe.
Ricardo Clarke? Maybe.
Jermaine Jones? No.
Jermaine Jones? Yes.
Why didn’t I play Jose Francisco Torres? Yes. Definitely.
Did Jonathan Bornstein play well enough to cement a place at left back, at least for a few more games? Concentrate, and try again.
Has Clint Dempsey really been bad enough to lose a starting position? My sources say no.
Do other players resent me for playing my son without question? Doubtful.
Is that why they’re not trying anymore? Or is it because they don’t respect me? Or believe in me? We went over this Bob. You can only ask yes or no questions so that I can give you a meaningless answer.
Is Jozy Altidore really the 19-year-old phenom that can solve our striker problems? Nice one. Try again.
Has the U.S been bad enough on the attack to warrant giving other young Americans like Freddy Adu and Robbie Rogers and even Stewart Holden a chance? Bubbles fizzing around. Indicator stuck.
Bradley stares in shock and confusion, pretending like he doesn’t want to break the thing against a wall, like he he’s seen this before, like he knows what the answers and he’s not afraid.
Alright, enough, before I get sick. What does this U.S. team look like when it plays well? Aside from solid spells against Mexico in the first qualifying leg, I have no freakin idea.
USA VS ITALY: SO PREDICTABLY PAINFUL IT DIDN’T HURT
Posted by Cyrus Philbrick in Bob Bradley, Confederations Cup, Italy, Style, US Soccer on June 16th, 2009
Part Three of a Series on American Style
*As the U.S. National Team attempts to qualify for the World Cup in 2010, I will write a series of pieces concentrating on the style, or lack of it, of American soccer. See the other two here and here.
Watching the U.S. play Italy in the Confederations Cup made glaring all the differences we already knew existed between the two teams. Where Italian touches were deft and calm, the Americans’ were heavy and hurried. The U.S. booted the ball out of the back to nobody. It coughed the ball up in midfield. It couldn’t hold it on attack for long enough to get any meaningful numbers going forward.
Italy is style incarnate. Describing the nature of this style seems redundant because it plays with a style so pure that it’s self-evident. It’s obsidian glass, as natural and clear as it is mysterious, as delicate as it is lethal when sharpened.

Andrea Pirlo gave a snapshot of Italy’s class when he created its third and final goal. A pirouette along the sideline eluded Jay DeMerit before Pirlo glided to the endline and floated a left-footed chip over the American defense to an onrushing Guiseppe Rossi, who spiked the ball into the net.
The U.S. showed flashes of its ability, making a few penetrating counterattacks while frustrating Italy with defensive pressure when the two teams played with equal men. And it had a good excuse for playing defensively after losing Ricardo Clarke to a red card. But too much of the team’s play seemed forced and desperate, squirming underneath the approaching shadow of Italy’s refined point. For fans of U.S. soccer, all of this is expected. We swallow it like we do our morning medications, out of habit and necessity. What else can we do?
The U.S. is a “build-it-yourself” rocket dad ordered for us when we were eight. Despite what we imagine, the parts don’t have the right hinges and bends to fit together like they do in the pamphlet. We have too many of one screw, not enough of another. Plastic snaps under pressure. Still, we hold out hope that this rocket will fly before the summer’s out, no matter how many replacement parts we need to order and how much duct tape we need. It’d better, goddammit. But when? How? How much can we guard our hope before it crumbles along with our expectations?

What’s getting better – not just with the current crop of American players but in the last twenty years? We can attribute much of the team’s stagnation to Bob Bradley’s experimenting with personnel and tactics. He’s still looking for the right mixture. This takes time to sort out; there are lots of combinations to try. But I’m starting to worry that the team is too volatile, with too many question marks and too much repair required, for it to turn into anything solid and functional a year from now.
Meantime, the South African vuvuzelas make the stadiums sound fuller than they really are. They create a hum like a giant hornet’s nest, the gathering pressure of frustration and nervousness and fear. These are the last motivators that the U.S. team needs, the last emotions that create a useful and powerful style. But the team is right in the middle of it. What is it made of?◊

![[Bloglines]](http://www.footsmoke.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/bloglines.png)
![[del.icio.us]](http://www.footsmoke.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/delicious.png)
![[Digg]](http://www.footsmoke.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/digg.png)
![[Facebook]](http://www.footsmoke.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/facebook.png)
![[Google]](http://www.footsmoke.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/google.png)
![[LinkedIn]](http://www.footsmoke.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/linkedin.png)
![[Squidoo]](http://www.footsmoke.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/squidoo.png)
![[Technorati]](http://www.footsmoke.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/technorati.png)
![[Email]](http://www.footsmoke.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/email.png)



Recent Comments