What's new isn't romantic, or lacks the age-created absorbent qualities that would allow romantic notions to become part of its character. Romance in sports is built up over time, after decades of existence, and is often applied in retrospect; for American soccer, this is a hindrance to widespread acceptance, especially when contrasted to the heavy amounts of romance surrounding clubs and leagues in Europe. Rich histories, historic grounds, and deep cultural relevance give these soccer institutions which compete for the domestic soccer fan's interest and attention a distinct advantage.


MLS doesn't have romance. Attempts are made to turn a few years of success into "tradition" and "honor", and while there's nothing inherently wrong with these efforts, they feel painfully forced. There's no magic number for when tradition kicks in, but fifteen years seems a bit short of the mark. The cross-generational connection is missing, and the stories of the nascent days of the league, which happened only yesterday in relative terms, offer little attraction.


Sports fans are drawn to romance. Baseball's power over legions of fans is as much about its long history as it is the game's appeal itself. We romanticize the game and its legends to the point of hyperbole; Field of Dreams is a two and a half hour ode to the "magic of baseball", a direct product of the game's mythical past.


Soccer's magic doesn't live here. Sure, we try with the few historical moments we possess, but there's only so much romance we can squeeze out of 1950 and the late Joe Gaetjens. The intervening dark period, one in which American soccer dropped off the international map even when a professional league was in operation (which itself suffers from an issue of timing; the 70's are not generally romantic), cancels out most attempts to give American soccer a baseball-like antique sheen.


Even the actual glory days of American professional soccer, a few years in the 1920's when it seems the game had a chance, are buried beneath decades of apathy. Though there is something romantic about the Fall River Marksmen and Bethlehem Steel, the line was broken too early for any of it to resonate. We've settled for putting our romantic names on t-shirts.


England has romance in abundance. It oozes from the century or more of history most clubs have to their names, is buoyed by the ancient nature of England herself, and rings a special note with Americans who romanticize almost anything English anyway. American soccer, and specifically MLS, is the soccer equivalent of an Ikea dresser side-by-side with England's handcrafted Victorian chest. Which will the discerning choose?


Promotion and relegation - now there's a romantic concept. In theory, the perennial underdogs, hamstrung by small fan bases or lesser budgets, can reach the pinnacle of the sport in their country. It's Hoosiers, in soccer terms.


Practically speaking, it's nearly impossible to defer to romance in the way the sport operates in the U.S. The implementation of such a system now would be for romance's sake and romance's sake only; the game will not be served by a succession of dissolving clubs when the harsh realities of relegation hits. Those with money and a bit of interest in soccer may appreciate romance as an abstract concept, but they'd be loathe to accept it as part of their involvement in the game. Not now, when the lack of a reliable historical foundation means failure is conceivably just one demotion away.


So when will romance kick in? Or is American soccer always destined to pale in comparison, unable to create the type of magic we take for granted with baseball, American football, and even basketball (the relative newcomer of the pro sports group)? If England has a monopoly on common-language soccer romance, how many years will our little league need before it inspires the kind of wispy reflection that even the lowliest clubs in modern day England engender?


Accepting, supporting, and appreciating American soccer is unlike doing the same for leagues and clubs abroad whose tomes are packed with glorious victories from the distant past. It takes a clear recognition that we're not leaning on history, we're helping to write it; it's very possible that none of us will live to see the day Major League Soccer clubs cross the magical threshold into "institution." If the league lasts and grows and becomes a undeniable component the American sports fabric, it will still fail to be the Premier League, La Liga, Mexico's Primera, and scores of others we can see on our televisions week after week in terms of romantic appeal. MLS Cup 1996 has none of the cache of the FA Cup Final of 1948. If soccer fans need the romance of days gone by to become attached to a club, MLS is flat out of luck.


There's hope, though. Local bonds can trump the need for romance. Several clubs have proven that. New stadiums, ones the clubs can call their own and in which history can be written, help. More and more fans of the game are either forsaking the richer histories of clubs overseas for American teams they can see in person, or are adding the joy of live soccer and being a part of the creation of a legacy to their distant loyalties. If the right mindset can be found, this can be the best of both worlds.


Romance is intoxicating. History helps tell us what is important. American soccer suffers from a deficit of both.


The beauty of this seeming disadvantage is that it provides fans with something incredibly unique; the chance to be there in the beginning. There's a certain romance to that, after all.


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