- Jason Davis

Robbie Keane landed in LA yesterday. The Irish forward was greeted by a small collection of Galaxy supporters sporting scarves and (I imagine) chanting his name. I'm in danger of making this blog a little too Keane-heavy, but as I do see his signing as a seminal moment in the history of a league with the reputation of Scrooge McDuck when it comes to transfer fees, it's a hard development to ignore.

The "Welcome Robbie" contingent reportedly surprised Keane, who was no doubt expecting the anonymity footballers typically enjoy in the States (though, with his wife on his arm, it's not like he could go unnoticed). Rather than point to that fact and turn it into yet another "the game is growing" pillar, let me instead focus on the tenor of the crowd.

- Keith Hickey

In addition to my love of soccer, I'm something of a music geek, so it's always special for me when the two combine. There have been a surprising number of songs, either for or about football by an existing group or performer or pop songs recorded by footballers. Some are pretty good. Some are excruciatingly bad. All are memorable. Here's the 10 best and worst soccer pop songs.

Brian "Buster" Phillips of Run of Play has a new post up extrapolating some of the "cultural shadow" (my phrase) discussion on Ian Darke and the influence the English have on American soccer into a wider musing on cultural cross-pollination.  The thrust of his piece is that perhaps English and American soccer cultures are beginning to blend and fuse as a greater number of Americans throw themselves into the game, English outfits looks to learn American marketing techniques, clubs are passing into American hands and the Internet puts us all into a rolling shared-language conversation on all of the preceding and more.  Brian reasons that as time moves along, the language and the growing involvement of Americans will only pull us closer to our cousins across the pond when it comes to this game.  That's the nature of globalization, and soccer isn't immune.

As an admittedly huge soccer geek, it will surely surprise nobody that I'm a bit of a stadium aficionado, too. Over the past two years or so, I've been to, by my count, eight different professional grounds. They all have their attributes and their flaws, but there's something the older grounds, like RFK and Crew Stadium have, that set them apart.

Borrowed NFL stadiums don't feel right. I've seen games at Lincoln Financial Field in Philly and LP Field in Nashville, and didn't feel quite at home in either. It's like wearing a borrowed shirt that's three sizes too big. Even if it's the coolest looking, most comfortable shirt ever, it's somebody else's sweat that's been in the pits and the sleeves cover your hands. Any soul and history that an NFL stadium has isn't really yours if your club side doesn't play its home games there.

Lower league stadiums have their drawbacks, too. I've been to Skyline Sports Complex in Harrisburg and Maryland SoccerPlex in Boyds, and there's a lighter atmosphere than I like at my soccer games. Not to take anything away from a family atmosphere - the more kids getting involved with the sport, the better - but it's not my cup of tea. Sometimes it feels like you could put the same people at a minor league baseball game or a 4th of July picnic and they'd be none the wiser.

Newer MLS grounds like my beloved PPL Park or the excellent, if bedpan-shaped Red Bull Arena come close, but they're not there yet. The soul of a stadium comes from years of use, from hundreds of games of thousands of people trudging up and down its steps, from standing and singing and watching triumph and heartbreak, from games long forgotten and games that will be remembered forever. RFK has that. Crew Stadium has that. There's a feeling of soul, and of identity in those places that the new parks won't have for at least another decade.

That soul, that romance, is one of the greatest strengths a sport like baseball has, and one of the things we're playing catch-up in. Will Crew Stadium ever hold the same cachet as Yankee Stadium, Wrigley Field, or Fenway Park? Probably not. But will it be special when a father tells his son or daughter about watching Brian McBride play there? Or about when he stood in the freezing cold to have a beer dumped on him when Josh Wolff scored against Mexico in La Guerra Fria? You bet your scarf-wearing ass it will.

That, more than the cold calculations of "Revenue Controlled Facilities," is what excites me most about the wave of soccer-specific stadiums that has swept the country in recent years. It's cherished memories and that priceless mythology, not 15 dollar parking and eight dollar beers, that will propel the game to new heights in this country.

Like it or not, soccer fan culture in cities across the United States and Canada will naturally reflect the character of the particular city. Individually speaking, this means that the supporters for an MLS team are going to act like fans from other sports. Maybe they'll sing a little more. Maybe they'll have drums or chant in Spanish due to a larger Latino makeup. But for the most part, New Yorkers are going to act like New Yorkers, Chicagoans like Chicagoans, Philadelphians like Philadelphians, etc., etc.


And those Philadelphians like to curse if you haven't heard, or if you've simply ignored the fan behavior at Phillies, Flyers, Eagles, and Sixers games over the years. In most cases more than a few fans aren't doing it in unison, so the extent of aural destruction is limited. Get a couple hundred or thousand fans on the same page, however, and you have a chorus of profanity washing over everyone and everything in its path like a wall of dirty sound. It's not what Phil Spector had in mind. Because soccer promotes this coordinated chanting like no other sport, the profanity is generally much clearer and more easily noticed.


Which is a problem when uptight tourists visit a stadium containing passionate rowdies, and do so expecting a quiet family-friendly day of watching their favorite foreign powerhouse club. There are a lot of Manchester United fans, for whatever reason, and when the Red Devils come Stateside for the first time in years, those fans flock in droves. As moths to the overpriced flame, they're simply appalled (APPALLED!) when those disgusting local fans - dressed in the colors of the lowly MLS team whom they value their real connection with - yell out a resounding "F**k You!" or "You Suck A**hole!"


How cute, those delicate sensibilities.


Whether or not it's right for those fans to curse, or whether their use of the language is a touch...basic, is a debate for a different day. The former is a matter of taste and what one expects from fans at a sporting event. There are lines that shouldn't be crossed, and fans should be careful not to cross them. I don't see simple cursing as that, usually. There are times when it's not called for and repetitive use is distasteful; more than anything, it just grates on the ears to hear fans resort to profanity to express themselves rather than create something clever. American soccer crowds too often lack for creativity.


But if Philly fans, at all sporting events, curse, why should we want or expect anything different at a Union match? Screw soccer exceptionalism, I want my American soccer crowds to be just like their football, baseball, and hockey equivalents but with that little bit of extra flair. Soccer crowds should be unique because they're soccer crowds; that doesn't mean they should be watered down versions of crowds at other sporting events, it means they should be the exact opposite. Louder. More coordinated. A better representation of the passion they have for the sport and their team. Since we're talking Philly, they should be more Philly.


I'm not advocating more cursing. I'm advocating that they use it wisely to its greatest effect and they stay true to their Philly-ness. American soccer culture is American sports culture with a twist. And it should be.


Now that I've bored you to tears will all of this, I should reveal the source of my inspiration. After attending the Union-Manchester United game, someone decided to lambaste Union fans for their choice of words. Most of it is uptight nonsense. Subsequently the author apologized for mistaking a non-profane chant for "F*ck You!", which takes much of the sting out of the "controversy." If I didn't know better, I'd think the entire thing was a concoction meant to rile up Union fans and set off a firestorm. The post is certainly getting a lot of attention, with links from more bloggers than you can shake a stick at.


The retraction doesn't change my feelings on the issue, and I'll defend the fans' right to use any words they choose that aren't racist, homophobic, or make light of a tragic loss of life. In fact, I almost wish the Philly fans had been chanting what the writer thought they were chanting.


More bothersome to me than the objection to perceived bad words is the idea that an American Manchester United fan should feel an obligation to apologize to the English fans in the crowd on behalf of their countrymen. What? There are almost no words to describe how ridiculous this is, both from a visiting-fan perspective (forget where the fans individually came from; Manchester United were the visitors, which makes their fans the visiting fans) and because it indicates a tragically mistaken view on the niceties of football. Here's the truth: there are none. Even as we speak, MLS is slowly shedding the family-friendly soccer mom label it embraced for too long; professional soccer matches around the world, and yes, also in England, are attended by adult supporters who curse, curse often, and curse loudly. There's nothing for which the Union fans should be ashamed. Britain is not populated by a race of super-polite cheery gents who never curse and will always invite you over for tea. Sports can be crude and impolite, and this is part of their appeal.


Think of soccer in American like you would any other sporting event, consider the locale you're visiting, and prepare accordingly. If you find yourself with even the smallest doubt about the level of behavior at the game, don't go.


For a similar take to mine, see Aaron Stollar's at Fighting Talker.

- Jason Davis

Should there be pride taken from the provenance of the players on our national team? As a developing soccer nation, how much of our desire to win should be balanced against our desire to produce those winning players here? Is a straight line progression away from the Stewarts and Dooleys a goal we collectively possess, or does it not matter if the players who represent us come from somewhere else?

Germany's multi-ethnic World Cup team, a reflection of that country's new attitude both on soccer and national identity, has received a lot of attention. The side includes players born in several countries other than Germany itself; this would hardly be unique for a second-tier soccer nation like the U.S., but is noteworthy within the roster of a traditional power. The Germans, for lack of a better phrase, are less "German" than they used to be. And, from all appearances both on and off the field, this new look has fit the team and the nation well. German players are German because they learn their football in Germany; the nation of their birth hardly matters.

In the years the United States spent establishing itself as a respectable participant in international game, players with little connection to the U.S. were drafted into the National Team. Earnie Stewart ended his career as an American great, but he'll always be Dutch by birth and upbringing. The story is similar for German-American Thomas Dooley, who never met his American father, but was tapped by U.S. Soccer in 1991 and served admirably for his adopted nation. These men are Americans in the technical sense, and formed bonds with the country because of their National Team status, but neither were products of our system or representative of American soccer's growth.

The reasonable belief is that American soccer is now far enough along that our national team players should, and can, be reared here. Of the twenty-three selected by Bob Bradley to the U.S. World Cup squad, only two were born outside of the country: Stuart Holden, who arrived in the States at the age of 10, and Benny Feilhaber, who was six when his family left Brazil. Neither player is comparable to Stewart or Dooley because they received the bulk of their soccer education in the U.S.; both, in fact, played college soccer, an element that is wholly unique to our system.

Notably, between 1994 and 2006, the number of foreign-born Yanks in the World Cup dropped with each successive tournament (the number went from one in 2006 - Pablo Mastroeni - to two this year). With allowances made for players who, like Feilhaber and Holden, weren't born in the U.S. but spent their formative years here, the reliance on players developed elsewhere is essentially non-existent. The days of calling up a naturalized citizen with only nominal ties to the United States (see: Regis, David) appear to be long over. Thanks to the better utilization of domestic resources, it's no longer necessary; like the new Germany, the U.S. uses its varied ethnic makeup to form a team. Through parental connections, ten foreign nations are represented in the 2010 U.S. World Cup roster; but with twenty-one of twenty-three born in the U.S. and all twenty-three coming of age playing the sport here, the independence of the American soccer nation appears to be complete.

That doesn't mean U.S. Soccer or American fans have closed the door on the old ways. The potential inclusion of German midfielder Jermaine Jones, like Stewart and Dooley the son of an American serviceman, had many hearts racing on this side of the Atlantic. Because Jones was unavailable due to injury, it's impossible to know if Bob Bradley would have called him into the team; the difficult question of Jones' "American-ness" (meaning his worthiness to play for the U.S.) never truly materialized. As a matter of putting together the best team possible, Jones in a U.S. shirt made sense; but because we have largely left behind the days of relying on the other nations to provide us capable players, it's no longer a forgone conclusion that he would be accepted with open arms.

For American fans, the issue of what makes a player "American", and how forgiving we are in accepting "foreign" players like Jones into the team is only now becoming relevant. For some, nothing will ever trump the desire to win; if Jones makes the team better, it matters little how "American" he is, feels, or desires to be. In part because of the trails blazed by Stewart and Dooley, there may even be a bit of nostalgia attached to welcoming in a player of Jones' background. But as the fan base matures and expands, there is likely to be as much push back as there is enthusiasm; should the U.S. National Team be made of up of players meeting a criteria greater than the legal definition of "American"? As a soccer nation we're growing up, twenty years after our return to the World Cup. So...does it matter where our players come from?

Perhaps it's not a matter of philosophy or preference, but one of pragmatism. Jones' pedigree led most observers to believe he would walk into Bob Bradley's roster, if not the first team. Another German with American blood, Freiburg fullback Daniel Williams, received his own wave of will-he-play-for-the-U.S. interest when he broke into his Bundesliga squad. There simply aren't enough Americans of similar quality to reject outright the idea that these players might suit up for the United States. If U.S. Soccer failed to unearth players yet to be cap-tied by their native countries who have U.S. eligibility, certain segments of the fan base would accuse them of shirking their duty. "Leave no stone unturned" is practically a U.S. Soccer credo.

Soccer as the fringe sport, as the sport of outsiders, expats, immigrants and the younger generation in America means that we've never had to contend with analyzing our national team as a reflection of our national image. Nationalism and xenophobia are only cursory parts of the narrative, and even then come only from a discounted minority of marginalized voices. Unlike France, the failure or success of our team is not distastefully connected to the ethnic makeup of our country - win and the variety of ethnicities is lauded, lose and the same variety is a weakness.

Without the weight of national identity tethered to the make up of our soccer team, the U.S. is freer to explore the breadth of its player pool without complication. Despite the widely held belief that American soccer is disproportionately white and privileged at the youth levels, the National Team stands in contrast to perception; that the picture is more complicated is born out in the backgrounds of the men who represent us. Although the newness of the team's relevance means national identity plays a smaller role here than in many countries abroad, politics are still part of the game; the slow integration of Latino Americans into the U.S. setup has long been a point of contention for fans, and as long the national immigration debate remains unsettled, the two will inevitably collide. Thomas Rongen has called in a U-20 roster that indicates a new emphasis on Latin players; how this will shape the future of the team and whether it will hasten discussion of our National Team as reflection of American society is unclear, though it's undoubtedly a positive step from a soccer standpoint.

Meanwhile, the names Mwanga and Najar are on the tips of American tongues. The two young MLSers have burst onto the domestic scene brilliantly, each garnering their own bit of interest as potential U.S. players from anxious fans. Talent is talent after all, and with both players having landed in the U.S. as adolescents (Mwanga from the Congo, Najar from Honduras), they meet our rather low threshold for "American" status. Living and playing here is enough.

In the end, winning is the cure-all for any discomfort. Should another Stewart - clearly the best option at a position we simply don't have an American-raised player of similar quality - present himself and help the team win, fans will quickly get over their misgivings. Principle is a luxury the United States can yet afford; from a slightly different angle, this attitude is one of inclusiveness and opportunism, characteristics often claimed as part of the American mindset, not a condition which to shed as we continue our growth as a serious footballing nation.

In other words, we should be more like Germany.

You, my dear friend, are being begrudged your passion. While you were doing your psychic beast to will the United States to a victory on Saturday, while you reveled in the match-ups of Sunday, and even while you sit in a cubicle surreptitiously monitoring streaming videos of Monday's matches, you're being begrudged your soccer. ESPN is bringing you the Cup, but several of their personalities would prefer that weren't the case. Millions are watching the games, but millions more reject it. The U.S.-England match made headlines, and Bob Bradley's team started their World Cup with a half-step towards their goals. Still, the tone from certain quarters is the ridiculous and predictable, like tantrums thrown by toddlers when forced to take a bath.


Waaah, soccer is different and people that don't look or talk like me play it.


As Soccer Politics rightly points out, this dance is neither new nor will it end any differently than it has before. Those of us who appreciate the game will continue to do so, and those with entrenched viewpoints in opposition to a sport will continue to use it as an anti-immigrant, anti-socialist, anti-American straw man. The best thing to do is sigh and move on.


Because this segmentation of the American view of the greater world, of which soccer is an intrinsic part, is hardly notable. This is a big country we live in, with 350 million people sharing the title "American" despite stark differences in cultural upbringing, worldly sensibilities, and our understanding of just what makes any of us "American" to begin with. To believe that there won't always be hold outs, "entrenched" as Soccer Politics labels them, is fantasy. It's equally delusional to think that the entrenched won't always have their champions.


The fight, if we're being honest, is already won. The televisions ratings for this World Cup are justifying ESPN's financial commitment. Our domestic league continues to grow, and even with bumps in the road certain to appear, shouldn't be going anywhere. Our TVs are packed with North American, South American, and European versions of the sport on a weekly basis. None of those things are likely to change.


Which means that the only reason for us to harbor hard feelings when the Glenn Becks and Mike Florios spew forth with nonsensical criticisms is if we're intent on soccer "taking over". If you dream of the day that a soccer match out draws the NFL for television viewers or MLS is dominating headlines in places like ESPN and Sports Illustrated, then perhaps you're angered by the usual suspects taking to their soapboxes and lashing out at your game. If you self-identify as a soccer evangelist, or feel deep down as though you're a member of the Righteous Soccer Army taking on the clueless rubes who deny the sport's brilliance, then Beck, Florio, and the rest probably boil your blood. I suppose it's understandable.


But while you're doing that, letting people whose opinions matter little in the grand scheme or won't have any bearing the future prospects of soccer in America get your proverbial goat, I'll be over here enjoying the games. Fighting that "battle" is not only tilting at windmills, it only leads to maddening frustration. I for one, have taken leave of the proceedings, having learned that soccer's state is solidly one of constant advancement; the only reason to fret is if we believe it's not moving forward fast enough. Considering the environment and the variables, it just as easy to argue the opposite. To be sure, loss of ground simply isn't happening.


Militancy is rarely the answer, and inevitably draws backlash. Not constructive, but destructive.


Soccer's history is rich. Its past is rife with political shadings and cultural significance almost everywhere but here. For some, the game isn't just a sport, but a symbol, its image easily manipulated by those whose sit on both sides of the divide. In America, soccer is often less sport than it is scapegoat or idol.


But try to remember, everyone, that is just a sport. One that isn't going anywhere.

While debating the issue of ESPN signing up only British voices for their World Cup match coverage on the most recent American Soccer Show, I found myself arguing more strenuously against the problem of American soccer appropriating English/British football culture than the actual announcers themselves.

This is a pervasive problem (and if you have an issue with my characterization of it as a "problem", you're more than welcome to disagree in the comments) that extends not only to the soccer fanatic's general preference for English announcers, but to more widespread issue of taking our cultural cues from the Old Country.

This all stems, of course, from the common language. Without it, England would be just another football-mad country that cares about the game way more than we do, no different from Spain, Italy, Germany, etc. But because information flows freely across the Atlantic without the need for pesky translation, Americans absorb the English game and opinion on it naturally and without effort. It's why the English Premier League has so many fans here, and why a strong streak of inferiority runs through too much of American soccer's fan culture. Still, it would be amazing if we didn't defer to our colonial progenitors in some way.

Which is why I struggle with the larger question of just how much of an imperative there should be for American soccer to develop its own identity. And by "American soccer" I mean less the youth team machine, which is a major part of any discussion but remains oddly detached from the highest levels, and more the appreciation of the professional game; we have our own leagues, we have a pretty good national team, and we have a history. So why then should the English version of things have such an impact on how we view ourselves?

I'm generalizing, of course, because it's the easiest way to paint the picture and the simplest way to convey my thoughts. There are many, many, Americans who can both appreciate the English and Scots, enjoy their brand of football, and listen to them pontificate without turning their noses up when their Yank counterparts get in on the act. But there's also a large segment of the American footy-loving populace that refuse to believe Americans capable of much when it comes to the game, be it playing it, announcing it, or otherwise. This attitude holds America back from developing its own unique soccer culture, one that sets it apart from our Anglophone cousins while properly recognizing the strong connections that exist between us.

We're conditioned, as fans, to believe British is better. ESPN's decision on their World Cup announcers is just another example that the media decision-makers understand that fact; add that the country's highest profile/most popular soccer radio show is hosted by Brits and that Brits populate the analyst chairs on our studio shows, and it's clear that as a soccer nation we struggle to assign credibility to those with American accents. The inevitable consequence is that aforementioned inferiority complex; not only do we defer to the British on matters of opinion, we begin to feel anything done by Americans is inherently less valuable. This sense of inferiority colors how many of us view any domestically-bred soccer, including our nascent top-flight club competition, the efforts of our national team, Americans as players, coaches, etc.

If it's American, it's can't possibly be good.

Back to that pesky ESPN World Cup announcer for a moment. How much of the backlash I've received for my stance on ESPN's decision is related to conditioning? I believe that people are being honest when they say that the choices are good because "there are no good American announcers", but the cynic in me finds it hard to accept that that at face value; American announcers are held to such a different standard than their British counterparts that I wonder if fans aren't simply deferring to the accent rather than objectively assessing the abilities of the announcers in question.

Any criticism of Martin Tyler is anathema, of course, so I play with fire as I type.

But focusing on the individual comparison (i.e., Martin Tyler v. J.P. Dellacamera) misses the point; the issue isn't "who's better", but rather why an American network is turning wholesale to foreign voices. Again, the common language makes it easy, but that doesn't mean that there's not room to question the cultural (strictly in terms of soccer) implications. The continued appropriation of English football culture for a burgeoning American soccer culture does this country no favors as it grows with the game.

The English invented the game. They took it around the world, spawning soccer-mad cultures in nation after nation. Those countries made the game theirs, developing their own unique flavors and idiosyncrasies that make the sport the world's game not just because it fit in so many cultures, but because those cultures made it fit them. In a time before instant communication and where language was a serious barrier, the Italians, Germans, Brazilians, Argentines, and others were able to create their own soccer bubbles where an organic cultural growth wasn't hindered by the expansive shadow of the English originators. In terms of a more popular American sport, this is similar to the growth of and development of baseball in Japan; the game is the same, but the culture, approach, and style is something different.

The modern world of television and the Internet might mean we'll never escape that English shadow. A distinct, separate, and unique American soccer culture will always be slow to develop as long as the English loom just over the horizon, ready to critique and influence everything we do. Fans here might always defer, always see themselves as more inclined to the British game and voices, always unsure that Americans can fill any of the roles as competently. If we've passed to point of no return on becoming hopelessly conditioned to English football over American soccer, it's probably too late.

Elitism, combined with the sense of inferiority, has too many Americans ashamed of their nationality when it comes to the sport of soccer. It's not enough to love the game, appreciate it in all its forms, and accept that things here will be just a little different. The uphill battle to respectability for our leagues, our players, and our media (announcers included) will be a long and difficult one as long as Americans can't see value in soccer being American, and that being just fine.


***
I realize that I've probably offended a few people with this, or that it might come off as jingoistic (it's not). All I would ask before you lambaste me via the comments (which you're certainly allowed to do) is to think critically about what I've put forth here; if you have never questioned why you might prefer English to American, now might be a good time for self-examination. And with that being said, I'll admit to my own prejudices, and note that my opinions here are born somewhat out of my own desire to understand the phenomenon as it relates to my soccer appreciation.


There's nothing wrong with preferring English accents, or identifying English soccer as better (of course it is); there is something wrong in my mind, however, with preferring English over American to the full exclusion of the American.