(Another) open letter to Revolution fans

NOTE: This is an updated version of a column that ran on goldenboot.blogspot.com following last year’s MLS Cup final. It’s remarkable how little needed to be changed.

You poor, miserable bastards.

When I started covering the Revolution in 1999, my days as a supporter instantly ended – they have to when you’re a journalist, and the process is quicker and more painless than you might think.

Now that I’m no longer on the beat, I wondered if I’d subconsciously revert to the old days, when standing in the Fort, singing a drunken rendition of “Super Revolution” and informing the opposing keeper of his undeniable suckitude was ritual.

Alas, once you go hack, you never go back, and I found myself watching Sunday’s MLS Cup final on my couch with the same sense of detachment that I had while sitting on press row in 2002 or 2005. Sure, it was nerve-racking, but once it was over, all that remained was faint disappointment … and pity for you folks.

You supporters have had to suffer through some excruciating moments over the years, and Sunday’s loss only added one more to the list. With a goal in hand and 29 minutes separating the Revs from sweet redemption, it seemed as if an 11-year (and 12-season) quest for glory had finally reached its conclusion. After so many heartbreaking defeats, at last, you’d have your catharsis, your festive release.

And then a dreadlocked Canadian in a Creamsicle outfit stuck a shiv in your back.

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It’s not easy being a fan of any MLS team. You devote as much time and passion (and in some cases, money) as do supporters of more popular sports, but your countrymen tend to laugh at the effort. The jokes at the office never change (“What was the over/under in that game, 1?”), the bartenders roll their eyes when you ask them to switch just one TV to soccer, and you long ago learned not to even bother with the sports radio guys.

Had the Revs won the MLS Cup, you wouldn’t have been able to share the type of communal joy that swept this region five times over the last six years. The culmination of your 12-year passion would have barely registered among a populace which thinks Sunsing is a Korean electronics brand. The Revs might have held a small rally somewhere, they’d have been introduced at halftime of a Pats game, and then the overwhelming majority of New Englanders would have forgotten about them. I watched as the 2005 Revs filed into the Logan Airport baggage claim following their defeat to the Galaxy; not a soul was there to greet them or, as far as I could tell, acknowledge their existence.

But if I may channel Lt. Frank Drebin: It’s a crazy world, and maybe the problems of an MLS supporter don’t add to a hill of beans, but this is your hill, and these are your beans. Your devotion is as fervent as that of a fan in any other sport, your desire for victory as powerful, your pain in defeat as intense.

And you’ve been hurt in ways that would make Alberto Gonzales queasy.

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This franchise’s history has rather neatly divided itself into two phases: first, six years of incompetence, in which finishing fourth in a five- or six-team conference rated as progress; and then, six years of vastly improved play besmirched by unimaginably cruel fate.

I don’t work for Elias Sports Bureau, but I can’t imagine that any professional team, anywhere, in any sport, has been ever eliminated from its league’s primary championship in overtime and/or penalty kicks for FIVE STRAIGHT YEARS.

These are the worst types of losses, the ones that leave an aficionado re-watching the TiVo at 1 in the morning, wondering, “What if Griffiths’ shot dipped a little lower? What if Ihemelu hadn’t stuck his head out? What if Ching’s header had gone wide?”

In fact, I suspect you could study the video, do the calculations and determine that those critical moments had come down to no more than a few feet combined. And they all went against the Revs, setting the stage for other moments that left you hollow inside:

Ruiz’s golden goal. Armas’ golden goal. Dempsey’s scuffed PK. Pando (Friggin’) Ramirez’s laser beam. A slow roller from Jay Heaps, landing ever so safely in the arms of Pat Onstad.

The most recent heartbreaker didn’t need extra time (mercifully, I suppose), but it still cut deep. One uncharacteristic moment of defensive chaos, one flash of brilliance from MLS’ version of David Ortiz, and one bullet of a header that somehow stayed out of the net -- and another year’s work went to waste.

The Revs didn’t necessarily deserve victory in all of those matches, but it was there for the taking in each. And every time, it ended in agonizing fashion. At least the Buffalo Bills were blown out in three of those four Super Bowls; clearly, they were out of their league. Your Revs might have been the most talented team in their league over the last six seasons, and they have nothing to show for it. Instead, they join the Bills, Minnesota Vikings, Denver Broncos, Detroit Tigers and Brooklyn Dodgers as the only franchises in North America’s five major leagues to lose in their first four trips to the championship round.

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After last year’s loss, it seemed as if the window of opportunity had closed. But only Clint Dempsey flew the coop, and even though the organization opted to sit on its share of the transfer fee (perhaps a fatal mistake, given the lack of depth), the team returned in 2007 nearly intact. They put in the work, took care of business and earned themselves yet another opportunity to break through on the American game’s biggest stage.

Once again, they failed.

Continuity and stability have long been considered the Revolution’s strength. However, four Cup final defeats, as close as they may have been, suggest that significant changes might be in order. I’m not sure what the MLS equivalent of trading for Schilling or acquiring Moss, Stallworth and Welker might be, but the Beckham Rule makes it more possible than ever to make a major splash. Plugging in a rookie here and there every season might keep you in the mix for a championship, but it hasn’t produced a league title here. The status quo isn’t working.

As I said at the start, it’s no longer my problem. But I know enough of you guys that it’s impossible not to sympathize. You’ve waited long enough, endured more than your share of anguish (the sports fan’s version, not the real thing, of course) and paid your dues. Sunday should have been your day to rejoice. Instead, it turned into yet another devastating day.

And the thing about franchises (at least, the ones that last, and I suspect the Revs will) is that the fans live with the devastation longer than anyone else. In a few months’ time, one or more of the best players (Michael Parkhurst, leave while you can!) on this team might be competing in different kits, in different leagues, in different nations. Their time in New England will be irrelevant, ancient history; it has to be, because those are the realities of their profession.

The supporters, meanwhile, don’t leave on a multimillion-dollar transfer to Celtic or Fulham. They stay, and they reassemble their hopes and dreams behind whomever management signs. To be a fan is to submit to powerlessness. You don’t pick the manager, you don’t pick the players, you don’t pick the tactics. All you can do is watch, sing, scream, weep. And perhaps, someday, celebrate.

Finishing touches

Before lamenting the United States’ inability to finish its scoring chances this summer, let’s at least acknowledge that the work – and the skill – that went into said chances. Thirteen years ago, it took a minor miracle (Wynalda’s free kick vs. Switzerland, for example) for the Americans to generate any sort of offense at the World Cup, In the last couple of World Cup cycles, the likes of Reyna, O’Brien, Beasley, Donovan and Dempsey have allowed the U.S. squad to build a far more sophisticated attack. Youngsters such as Feilhaber and Bradley appear primed to expand on those efforts in the next decade.

But damn, can’t anyone put the ball in the net?

At the Gold Cup and Copa America, the United States scored 15 goals in nine matches – not a terrible rate by any means. But one-third of those goals came from the penalty spot, and the total was inflated by a four-spot against an entirely overmatched El Salvador squad. In the Gold Cup, the failure to finish turned what should have been easy victories into nail-biters. At Copa America (particularly the enormously frustrating Paraguay loss), it cost the Americans a shot at advancing to the quarterfinals.

Brian Ching squandered two 1 v. 1 opportunities against the keeper in the first half of the Trinidad and Tobago match alone, then wasted a heroic run late in the Mexico match by plunking the post with what should have been the insurance goal.
Dempsey, Beasley and Eddie Johnson often didn’t press the issue in the penalty area, holding the ball too long or playing it back rather than going to goal.
And for all of the open headers the Americans had in both tournaments, they only scored once with the noggin, courtesy of Carlos Bocanegra in the Panama victory.

Johnson vacillated between dynamic and maddening. As mentioned, he often put himself in position to score, only to pull up and wait for support rather than blowing by the last defender. This tendency drew plenty of attention in the Argentina and Paraguay matches, but it was evident in his first U.S. performance of the summer, against Guatemala. His speed and his tenacity when pressuring defenders are wonderful assets, but his instincts seemed to fail him in the box (and when it came to beating the offside trap). On the whole, he did so many things right in his two Copa America matches that one has to consider his tournament a success.

At 23, however, he needs to take the next step forward, and it should be a giant step across the Atlantic. Perhaps no U.S. player stands to benefit more from a move abroad.

And then we have Taylor Twellman, whose international struggles puzzle me. I covered his first 4½ seasons with the Revolution and saw him thrive under pressure. In 2005, he scored several game-winners and/or equalizers in the waning minutes of the match; it was a run of nearly Ortiz-esque proportions. Sure, you could argue that he struggled in the postseason, with scoreless (and largely invisible) MLS Cup performances in 2002 and ’05 as evidence. But then he buried one against Houston in overtime in last year’s final, and you couldn’t blame him one bit for the shocking equalizer that followed seconds later.

Obviously, the international game is a vastly different creature than MLS, and some guys simply aren’t cut out for the transition. Jason Kreis and Ante Razov are the top two American goalscorers in league history, yet their U.S. careers never took flight. Twellman will likely eclipse them on the leaderboard in the next couple of years; the question is whether he’ll also be a bigger bust with the national team than they were.

Strangely enough, Twellman’s best moments this summer were moments of playmaking rather than scoring. Against Guatemala, he turned a defender, used a burst of speed to break free toward the end line, and slid a nice pass across the goalmouth to Dempsey. And in the Copa America match versus Paraguay, he made a fantastic touch with his back to goal, redirecting Drew Moor’s long ball to Ricardo Clark for the equalizer. Those efforts and a few other smart passes outshined his lone goal of the summer (a shot that nutmegged the Salvadoran keeper in the Gold Cup; it wasn’t a great strike).

They could not, however, compensate for the shoddy finishing: the open header over the bar from 10 yards out against Guatemala, the sitter in second-half stoppage time vs. El Salvador, the left-footer that glanced off the post early in the Panama match, the misfired right-footer later in that game, the header off the post and the weak side volley against Paraguay.

He put himself in position to score in most matches he started (Argentina being a key exception), but repeatedly wasted the opportunity. Maybe it was a case of trying too hard to impress, especially when you know that a couple of fellows named Adu and Altidore are climbing up the depth chart. But Twellman has been part of the national team pool since 2002, he’s still an unproven commodity at this level, and he didn’t help his cause at Copa America, the biggest stage of his career. As a result, one commentator (Phil Schoen) wondered aloud if it was time to send Twellman (and Kasey Keller) to pasture.

I don’t buy it – yet. If he weren’t getting the chances, I’d be more worried, but he’s simply not burying those opportunities he usually finishes off in MLS. It’s not too late for Twellman to replace Brian McBride as the fearless poacher of the national team. McBride was 26 when he made his World Cup debut at France ’98; Twellman was the same age when Bruce Arena controversially bypassed him last year. Bob Bradley would be foolish to give up on him, despite this summer’s disappointments. But his window of opportunity is beginning to close.

Entering World Cup qualifying, Johnson should be a fixture in Bradley’s starting 11. After that, it’s a mix of midfielders in strikers’ clothing (Donovan, Dempsey), underachieving target men (Twellman, Ching) and untested, talented youngsters (Adu, Altidore, Cooper). It’s a group full of potential, but who’s going to convert potential into goals?

Next up, the shaky state of affairs in the back.

Wet Hot American Summer

Thirty minutes into yesterday’s Under-20 World Cup quarterfinal, I was ready to pencil – no, Sharpie – the United States into the final … of the 2014 World Cup.

Freddy Adu had rediscovered the form that made jaws drop in those “60 Minutes” highlights. Jozy Altidore looked like a more dynamic, more predatory version of Eddie Johnson. Robbie Rogers was torching the Austrian defense as if it were an order of crème brulee. Maracana, here they come!

By the end of regulation, however, I was feverishly penning a letter to Sepp Blatter, begging him to revoke the United States’ FIFA membership, to spare the nation any more shame. The second half was that wretched – surely the worst I’ve seen a U.S. team play in years.

Yesterday’s vicissitudes provided a fitting coda to a wild summer for U.S. Soccer: brilliant Gold Cup, brutal Copa America, bittersweet U-20. The performances were all over the map, making it virtually impossible to draw conclusions about the national team’s future. So as we look back on the last month and look ahead to World Cup qualifying, it’s imperative to put the Sharpie away, grab that pencil and resist the urge to mail that manifesto to Zurich.

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Clearly, no U.S. player made a better impression than Benny Feilhaber, the Hamburger SV midfielder whose golazo won the Gold Cup. That wonderstrike might have been a once-in-a-lifetime moment, but Feilhaber’s quality on the ball is no fluke. Quick combination plays, splendid diagonal passes at inventive angles, precise long balls in transition – he delivered them all. And especially in the Gold Cup, Feilhaber also won his fair share of balls in the midfield.
He faded a bit in the Copa America, perhaps due to fatigue, but even against Paraguay he had his moments, such as a superb ball (struck with the outside of his left foot) that sprung Justin Mapp for what should have led to the equalizer.

Is he the next Claudio Reyna? It sure seems that way.

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Ricardo Clark had more than a few inspired moments on the ball in addition to tending to his defensive duties. He made an instant impact in the Mexico match, and it’s hard not to note the symbolism of him replacing Pablo Mastroeni in that game. The guard may not have changed yet, but it will soon.

Otherwise, it was a mixed bag for midfielders trying to make a name for themselves. Justin Mapp’s pace and touch on the left flank injected energy into the team at times, but his indecision (and some poor decisions) proved costly at Copa America. Michael Bradley played masterfully at times (particularly the friendly against China) and displayed a solid work rate, but reckless tackles and a dreadful showing against Austrians his own age hurt his final grade.

Perhaps it was merely a coincidence that the United States fell apart against Argentina when Eddie Gaven replaced Ben Olsen, but Gaven did little to prove that it wasn’t, and an improved, earnest showing against Colombia couldn’t erase the sense that he’s nowhere near ready for prime time. Sacha Kljestan showed intermittent flashes of quality on the right side, but also set the tone for the Americans’ nightmarish performance in the box against Paraguay with what Ray Hudson aptly deemed a “toilet-bowl finish” on an open header. Kyle Beckerman and Lee Nguyen didn’t make much of an impact in limited minutes in Venezuela, and Danny Szetela was hard to find against Austria.

A year and a half from now, when the final stage of World Cup qualifying begins, DaMarcus Beasley and either Landon Donovan or Clint Dempsey should still be manning the flanks (with the other up top). All three impressed at the Gold Cup, but all three should impress at the Gold Cup. Meanwhile, Feilhaber and Clark are primed to take control of the central spots, and Bradley and Mastroeni should provide quality depth. It’s a pretty solid midfield. Now the trick is to find some finishers, but that’s a story for another day – perhaps tomorrow.