You'll Never Walk Alone

"Walk on through the wind
Walk on through the rain
Tho' your dreams be tossed and blown
Walk on, walk on
With hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone"
--You'll Never Walk Alone, Rodgers & Hammerstein (from Carousel)

I'm merely continuing my soccer love here, so bear with me, real quick. For those of you who tuned in for the Champions League Final yesterday (AC Milan vs. Liverpool), you may have heard a song of some kind emenating from the stands during the pre-game and wondered what it was. One of the coolest traditions in the Premier League is the singing of "You'll Never Walk Alone" at Anfield by Liverpool fans (they do so on the road as well, obviously), and here's a great example (singing starts about 30 seconds in, after the guy stops talking):

Warum?

"So tell me why I gotta feel this way
And tell me why I don't feel the same"
--Why, Pt. 2, Collective Soul

I never did hear "Why, Pt. 1," but I like this one enough, so I'm sure the original was great. It's just a shame that this band only has like one good song (that's a quote from Dave, nothing I would ever say myself, obviously). Okay, the relevance of the question asked in this morning's song lyrics (and in the heading, auf Deutsch):
Yesterday morning at the Fox gym (what's a gym? oh, a gym), I went through the exact same routine I enact every time I'm there: I entered, scanned my badge, put my bag into locker 130, placed the lock on said locker, locked said lock, placed my iPod in my left pocket and my keys in my right and exited the locker room. I then placed my keys on the floor, in the corner by the lat pull machine (out of normal traffic), because who wants keys in their pocket while they're working out, right? And it's not like it's a super-crowded gym, where there's a risk of many sets of keys getting confused or of them getting kicked around or stolen or something. Or so I thought...
I close out my workout (finishing things off with a 10-minute, 1-mile jog on the treadmill) and return to the scene of my key-dropping to retrieve them and head back into the locker room. No keys to be found. Quite vexing. It's possible that I picked them up before I went to the treadmill, I suppose, so I check that area, and again, no dice. Scanned all around the perimeter of the place (it's not very big, so that didn't take too long), and still, nothing to be found. Even took a look at the front desk to see if they had been dropped off up there. Nope. Ran into my friend Jerry, on the way in, and he suggested that I look in the back office. Actually, he first suggested that I not leave my keys on the floor (pointing to the key attached to his shoe as representation of a better idea), but while I appreciated his sentiment, that wasn't really helping me much at the time. The office is usually closed, but the door was ajar, so I poked my head in, and there, on the desk next to the employee with her back to me, were my keys. She was busy surfing the internet (as good gym employees are wont to do), so I grabbed them, said "I'm here to pick up my keys, thanks," and left.
Now here's the why part. At what point do you, as a gym attendee, make the decision that those keys on the floor over there definitely don't belong to anyone still here in the gym working out? Why are they misplaced, not placed? How many people would actually be able to leave the gym and go to work without their keys? WHY did you put my keys in the office and make me a) think I was being very forgetful, b) question my own sanity--I know I put these here, and c) waste 10 valuable minutes of my time so I could walk aimlessly around the outside of the room? This is not something to get worked up about (capital letters notwithstanding), but I really can't understand what would bring someone to that action. If you see a set of keys sitting on the floor, the absolute worst thing that can possibly happen is that they sit there until the end of business hours and get moved to the office at closing time, for the concerned party to pick up first thing the next morning. Otherwise, someone who notices their keys are missing (which would likely take place before they attempt to drive home, sans keys) would return to the scene of the crime and locate them at that time. I'm all for acts of kindness, but this, I'm afraid, would have to be categorized under acts of stupidity. There, I'm done.
Meanwhile, reason #642 why I love my job: As I'm writing, I'm watching a tape of Reggie Miller's 25-point fourth quarter against the Knicks in 1994. It's one of numerous classic NBA games I have on tape at my desk, and on dark days, I'm occasionally able to enjoy something like this. It's too bad the NBA is nowhere near what it was back then. I won't bother commenting on the Spurs-Suns debacle, but I am at least a little bit encouraged by the lottery (though it didn't benefit my Lakers at all). As much as I hated them when they were good, the NBA was better when Portland (1990-92, then again late 90's and early 00's) and Seattle (1994-97) were good. The Lakers often did battle with these guys (big upset to get to the Finals in '91, thank you B-Shaw in '00) and the league was better for it. Hopefully Oden and Durant can eventually bring them back to that level, or somewhere near it. It's pretty great that the Trail Blazers (nee Jail Blazers) have transformed the character of their team in the last few years (Simmons said something about how it says something about your team when a convicted sex offender--Ruben Patterson--isn't even the third-worst guy on the roster), and it looks like Nate McMillan (poorly-treated in Seattle, by the way) has a real solid core (Oden, Aldridge, Roy, Jack) to build around for the next few years. Maybe trade Zach Randolph for a small forward? I'm obviously not rooting for them (or anyone else in the Western Conference), but it won't be bad to see them back. As far as the Sonics are concerned, everybody watched the Warriors in this year's playoffs, right? Why wouldn't Seattle try to bring Rashard Lewis (free agent) back and run him out there with Ray Allen and Durant? Throw a decent big man in there, Luke Ridnour (or an upgrade) to get them the ball, and get out of the way. Good times...
UPDATE: Great video of Blazers fans celebrating like it's 1977 as they hear the lottery announcement...
I've been doing a lot of reading lately, not so much of the book variety (though "Breaks of the Game" by David Halberstam--featuring those Portland Trail Blazers, incidentally--is a very good read, and I should be finishing it this weekend), but more of the internet variety. My Google reader is filled to the brim every day, and I can barely get through everything that comes up before it refills the next morning. If you've never used Google reader (or a similar RSS feeder), it's quite worthwhile. Besides getting all kinds of hilarious stories from numerous sports blogs and news sites, I'm exposed to more bad grammar and misuse of words than a 6th-grade English teacher (or a local youth baseball story editor). Here's a sampling, from just the last two days, starting off with a favorite of you and your loved ones:
New Real Salt Lake Coach Jason Kreis, on Freddy Adu: "...the ball is in his court, literally and figuratively" - you're halfway there, Coach. The ball would be literal, but the court would not be. Unless he's also playing tennis or basketball...
Unnamed blogger on something Scott Skiles did: "...is going to illicit such a response..." - that would be elicit, sorry...
Several violations on this one lately, regarding the US Soccer roster for the upcoming Gold Cup: "...he would ordinarily be a shoe-in for the roster..." - it's shoo-in, but close
Another soccer story: "...both were booked for descent..." - when you talk back to the referee (Sir, Sir), it's called dissent; when you start up high and you come down, that's descent.
These are all off the top of my head, so I know there have been more, which means maybe I'll start keeping track. I'm like that. I care way too much about spelling and grammar and all of that, but somebody's got to, right? This is going to sound pretentious, because all writing does not have to be "proper," as it were, but I think the explosion of blogs has brought about another level of the "dumbing down" of America. More sources for news (and sports, in my case) are coming from less "properly-trained" sources (I mean less in the sense that the sources haven't received as much training, not in the sense that there are fewer sources; I would have used the word fewer in that case), and the AP Style Guide (and the dictionary...) goes out the window. I make no claims about its necessity, and I know it sounds lame to say this (and pretentious, I already said that), but I grow disheartened with improperly-presented opinions, great as they may be.
Speaking of improperly-presented opinions, I have never experienced a worse speech than the one given at my bro's law school graduation on Saturday night. I won't slander the man by mentioning his name, but he did everyone there a disservice by either failing to prepare or just being that bad. Fortunately, my brother already speaks much better than this cat (see Suss's wedding reception and best man toast #2), so I'm not too concerned. I'm just bummed I'll never have those 15 minutes of my life back.
One quick meeting today and then probably home early to prepare for a busy weekend: long work day tomorrow, baseball Saturday, 10 p.m. flight to Indianapolis for the Indy 500 (all day Sunday), back Monday afternoon and then prep for the week ahead before bible study that night. I'm already tired, thanks to a basketball game Tuesday night (Dimes comes in with 2:00 left, our team down 6; we force OT and win)--didn't get home until 11--and the Dodger game last night (much obliged, Shupe), dugout club-style, which landed me home at 11:30 (a conveniently-timed accident on the 110 South right after the game meant it took me an hour to get to the South Bay). Highlights of last night's game (since I was on the wrong side of the stadium, and we missed the game's one big hit--a three-run double by Russell Martin) included a Martin home run that was changed to a foul ball, followed by a pitch from Carlos Villanueva that sailed over Martin's head, followed by a walk, followed by some jawing between Martin and first baseman Prince Fielder, followed by some jawing between Mariano Duncan and the Brewers dugout, which became Duncan and Fielder, and then the dugouts (and the bullpens--God bless the bullpens for running out) cleared, but nothing too crazy happened. Oh yeah, and the sweet and sour turkey was outstanding.
Peace.

Segundo Tiempo

"I pulled over to ask where we was at
His index finger he tipped up his hat
'El Segundo,' he said, 'My name is Pedro
If you need directions, I'll tell you pronto'"
--I Left My Wallet in El Segundo, A Tribe Called Quest


Man, I loved Tribe--Low End Theory is about as good as it gets when it comes to hip hop albums. You know, back when they had a few more topics to cover in that genre (money, girls and cars are about it these days). Speaking of hip hop, my buddy Zeus produced a collaboration with KRS-One, Kool Moe Dee and Young MC recapping the great sports moments of the 80's. Unfortunately, it can't be up on YouTube until the show airs, but the audio version exists here.
Anyways, the title of my post is Spanish and it means "second half" (I know certain terms from watching enough futbol on the television (which means "television"), and I'm merely resuming the history of me and soccer, as started here the other day. I left off with LC's victorious CIF final against Sierra Vista in '95, and made a brief mention of the UCLA effect. The story continues there...
My freshman year at UCLA wasn't quite as soccer-centric as the previous (basketball was still king, by a long shot), but we had a great team on campus, and I made it to a few games. Chris Snitko, Robbie LaBelle, Greg Vanney, Ante Razov and Eddie Lewis were the seniors that year (I think, since I didn't see them again after that), but I didn't really know enough to know how good these guys were. Eddie has gone on to a successful career in England, and Ante, having since returned from Spain, is one of MLS's all-time leading scorers. Vanney's had a great MLS career (with some dabbling internationally) and Snitko made it in MLS for a few years, but I don't recall LaBelle having much to do professionally. Meanwhile, I was trolling cable for college and international soccer games, alternately catching my boy Josh (teaming with fellow frosh Jay Heaps) earning national player of the week honors for a sick two-goal, one assist performance against Clemson, and various Champions League fixtures on ESPN, continuing to expand my knowledge of international teams and players. To be honest, there are very few specific soccer-related memories of the early part of this year, since I was a) consumed by basketball, a carryover from my senior year, and 2) I was home pretty much every weekend, still with a foot very much in LC. Once the college basketball season ended (a little early for my beloved Bruins--thanks, Gabe Lewullis), the debut of Major League Soccer was right around the corner, and I instantly became of fan of your Los Angeles Galaxy. Cobi (a UCLA alum), Cien, Jorge Campos, Robin Fraser, Dan Calichman, El Tanque Eduardo Hurtado (the first--and biggest--in a long line of Latin strikers), Vanney, Andrew Shue (!), Chris Armas--I could probably keep going, but you definitely don't care. Around the same time (I honestly don't remember the exact release date), Dan Ryazansky came out with Major League Soccer Manager, which meant I got to combine my geeky love of soccer management games with my newfound curiosity about MLS. Again, the major benefit here was getting know all the players in the league (and their supposed value). Having the Galaxy play games at the Rose Bowl meant I could (and did) go quite a bit, and the attachment to that squad would only grow.
I know that Shearer was torching his way through the Prem once again (though Kenny Dalglish's Blackburn side were unable to duplicate their success) and I got a little taste of Italy (courtesy of Juventus) and Holland (Ajax) as I watched the Champions League play out. So many great Dutch players on that Ajax squad, and all of them went elsewhere over the next few years, I think--van der Sar, Blind (I always thought it rhymed with find when I read the name on 1-0, but it actually rhymes with flint), the de Boers (great goal celebrations, those guys), Bogarde, Davids, Kluivert (he's like a Darryl Strawberry to me, never what he should have been) and (not Dutch) Jari Litmanen, who I loved to watch. Juve had Del Piero, of course (always my first purchase on 1-0), and a bunch of other studs, Italian and otherwise: Vialli and Ravanelli were a great strike duo (Ravanelli was the blond one, I think), Peruzzi in goal, Conte and Di Livio running the flanks, Ferrara and Montero at the back, Deschamps the midfield general (at least until Zidane arrived), and then guys like Jugovic and Paulo Sousa.
Besides my devotion to Shearer (and sort of Blackburn, though they crapped out in the group stage of this particular competition), I was at a point here, so early in my exposure to international football, that I was just rooting for great games and usually hoping English teams won (I definitely dug Cantona, who was a 1-0 star as well). As the summer came, I read about Euro '96 (none of the games were on here)--Gazza, who was much bigger a figure than I ever knew (I read his autobiography last spring upon my return from England, and WOW, what a character), Shearer's stellar run (and Sheringham, who was tall and skinny like me, so I kind of liked him too) and the unfortunate Gareth Southgate miss that sent England home. 1-0 was still an obsession, and MLSM became a similar addiction (setting the stage for soccer management games to consume my life for months on end), and the Galaxy lost in the first MLS Cup (darn you, Tony Sanneh and Eddie Pope--we had it).
After Euro '96, by the way, came a big moment in my club devotion history, because Newcastle United shelled out the big bucks to bring local boy Alan Shearer home to the northeast, immediately making the Magpies my favorite squad in the world (little did I know how much heartbreak awaited). I immediately became familiar with Les Ferdinand ("Wor Les" read the cover of my first FourFourTwo magazine), Kevin Keegan (knowing nothing of his playing career), former Rover David Batty, Rob Lee, Warren Barton, Pavel Srnicek, Lee Clark, John Beresford, Keith Gillespie, Shaka Hislop, Tino Asprilla, David Ginola and Peter Beardsley (among many others, obviously). Fortunately, I think, I wasn't able to watch very many matches, with the exception of a few Champions League encounters (one Asprilla hat trick against Barca in '97 or '98 rings a bell).
Sophomore year meant the addition of fellow Spartan Nick Paneno (part of a tremendous recruiting class--Sasha Victorine, St. Francis alum Pete Vagenas and Michigan native Shea Travis among them) to the Bruin soccer team, and my interest in the squad jumped exponentially. I was also living in a dorm with that whole group of freshmen, and got to know several of them very well. Kevin Hartman was the starting 'keeper that year, Tahj Jakins was the defensive stalwart (he might have even been the #1 pick in the ensuing MLS draft) and Nick Theslof was another senior I remember, a forward who scored a few goals. Don't even remember what the team did that year (some sort of disappointing tournament loss, no doubt), but I do remember going to an off-season scrimmage against the Galaxy in which my newfound crossword puzzle buddy Jimmy Conrad, a skinny walk-on who would probably have to start the following year after Jakins' departure, had to mark the enormous Hurtado. Dude held his own, which more than impressed me (not that I was much of an evaluator of talent), and I'm not saying I foresaw his international career, but there was something cool going on with that guy that day. Thinking UCLA might be joining me there, I had purchased tickets to NCAA soccer's Final Four in Richmond, and had a fun couple of days with your father, experiencing D.C. and Monticello and all of that before taking in a St. John's-Florida International final (Tyrone Marshall and Ignace Moleka were the losing strike tandem, don't remember much about St. John's, but they did win).
The summer of '97 included several more Galaxy games (I successfully campaigned the church youth group to get an outing there), and we'd always sit in the south end zone, with the drummers and the face painters and the real fans. Lothar's squad slipped to second that year (I know Hartman was drafted, but I don't recall too many of the comings and goings in '97), but the most important thing to me at this point was the UCLA squad. Adding another stellar recruiting class (they do this every year, I've finally figured out) that included McKinley Tennyson, Jr. (a huge forward from Indiana who spurned his in-state Hoosiers--I hate no collegiate athletic program as much as I hate Indiana soccer, by the way), Carlos Bocanegra (outscored Andrei Shevchenko in the Prem this season), Nick Rimando (an incredibly athletic 'keeper who's had an up-and-down MLS career) and Ryan Lee (athlete supreme--brother Rodney was a receiver on the UCLA football team), they had an amazing season, and I got to witness most of it. My friend Lori was still dating Mr. Paneno at the time (and she had a car), so any road games I wanted to attend were nice and easy, and the home games were a one-minute walk, so no problems there either. They played 24 games that season (went 22-2, not bad) and I probably attended 20 of them. I missed out on a trip to St. Louis (lost to UAB, beat SLU out there) and a NoCal trip (beat USF, destroyed Sac State), but was otherwise omnipresent. Specific games I recall include the season's other loss, at Cal State Fullerton (they seemed to own us, for some reason--come to think of it, I think they actually beat us in the tournament the previous year) that inspired a lot of muttering that Matt Reis shouldn't be the starting keeper any longer (since Rimando was so talented and breathing down his neck), a victorious performance in the UCLA Classic (easy 3-1 drubbing of UMass and then a highly-entertaining 4-2 defeat of Duke, which included my boys Josh and Gaston as well as Heaps, Ali Curtis, Troy Garner, Robbie Russell and Evan Whitfield), a 6-1 thrashing of UCSB in which Martin Bruno scored four goals, and then the post-season. Wow. A great 1-0 win over Stanford in the MPSF (Mountain Pacific Sports Federation--weird, I know) championship, then a 3-0 trouncing of Joe Cannon and Santa Clara (friends Kevin and Lars heckled poor Joe like nobody I've ever seen, and the guy ran over and shook all of our hands after the game--class act, always), a nail-biting 1-0 win over U-Dub, and then a rain-soaked 2-1 victory over Clemson (featuring the nation's leading scorer, Wojtek Krakowiak)--game-winner scored by the legendary Martin Bruno. So it was off to the championship weekend again in Richmond (this time I won tickets from Soccer America or something) and I got to spend some time in Virginia with my friend Brandon (and two of his work crew friends), then root on those gutty little Bruins in an epic final four. Amazing weekend. We upset No. 1 (and undefeated) Indiana in double-OT and then Reis stood on his head (a hockey term, I believe, but it applies) and we beat Virginia (Ben Olsen, Chris Albright, Brian West & Co.) 2-0 (both scored by Seth George, I believe. Fun times all around.
Spent much of the spring playing FIFA '98 at the "soccer house" (beat going to class, that's for sure), learning about Thierry Henry's ridiculous skills, and talking soccer with my roommate Matt, who had a bit of English blood in him, and journeyed over there to buy me a Shearer #9 Newcastle jersey (one which I still treasure)--that's not the reason he traveled, mind you, it was something about a grandmother, I believe--which was quite nice. Also by this time, MLSM had been upgraded to WoSoMan (short for "World Soccer Manager"), which allowed the heretofore confined-to-MLS manager to attempt world glory at Newcastle or Man United (I opted for the former, obviously, but the Red Devils were certainly growing on me as well, especially since they were on TV far more often).
Somewhere along the line I've left out what ranks as likely my most significant soccer-playing-and-watching friend, Eric Irvine. I got to know Eric on a ski trip when he was in seventh grade (and was about half as tall as me), and started watching his club (and school) soccer games sometime soon thereafter. We also played a little bit of FIFA and watched champions league matches (I'd even tape random games and give them to him, like a 5-0 win by Rangers in which some guy named Negri scored all five goals), so it was nice to have somebody else with whom to share my excitement for the game (the vast majority of my friends still don't get it).
More to come on all topics, but my goodness, this is getting unwieldy. I suppose a third tiempo will have to come sometime soon...

Smile

Happy, I'm happy
But that ain't good enough for you
Happy, I'm happy
--Happy, Sister Hazel

I was sitting outside Moe's Cafe on the campus of the 20th Century Fox lot Friday afternoon, enjoying a meal (well, I was actually just enjoying a bottle of water, since I had consumed my self-produced sandwich about an hour prior) with my four best co-worker friends (they all fit both titles equally--"friend" and "co-worker"), laughing and eating and enjoying the sunshine, and it occurred to me that if I were to design the ideal work/lunch combination (and I'm not sure why I'd ever have cause to do such a thing), these four dudes and this sunny location would all likely be involved. So it got me thinking about combinations of places and people that really serve to make me happy, from the recent or not-too-recent past. In the interests of keeping this blog as PG-13 as possible, these will be pretty dude-centric (I can assure you that this has nothing to do with my, um, preference; I can certainly recall combinations of female persons and place that were rather, um, happy, but that's not what this is about). So without Freddy Adu, an seven-deep list of happiness-inducing places and people (in no particular order, but you can consider Moe's with Joel, Hughes, Schnider and Zeus number eight):
- Playing NCAA Football at my mom's house with both brothers (with Dave and Tim as alternates for the fourth spot). A tradition at Christmas time (and anytime the three of us are together), we create ourselves (you know, so we're "in the game") and dominate opposing offenses on the way to multiple national championships (and maybe even a Heisman Trophy or two).
- At a Sister Hazel concert with Charlie and Joel (Kim). The last show I went to with Charlie necessitated a phone call to include Joel, but the times we've been together have been overjoyous. The greater number of company the better, and I think we usually roll at least 15 deep, dominating the front center and having way too much fun singing along to everything.
- Speaking of concerts, at a Collective Soul show with Tim, Mike B, Michael, Kevin and Phil (this actually happened, in Vegas, so it's an easy list to compose). We got there early enough to hear the warm-up, sat through a decent opening band called Pound (the cover of "Pink Houses" was their highlight) enjoyed the heck out of the show. The road trip element added to the enjoyment factor, I think, driving the B's suburban there and back same day.
- Another specific event inspired this one: watching UCLA basketball with the Riddell family men. The last time I saw my grandfather (he died last year) was during the '06 Final Four, when my dad (his son), my brothers and I went over to his house and watched UCLA dominate LSU en route to the title game (we won't mention what happened there). The possible range of last memories to have with a loved one before there passing is so broad, and we're incredibly fortunate to have something to wonderful on which to look back.
- Shooting craps with the amazing bunch of guys who attended little bro's "bachelor party" in Spokane. After pizza and stix from the Pipeline, we headed to Northern Quest Casino and (three of us) made a bunch of money on the craps table, thanks to two red-hot rollers in particular, one of whom went by the name Matthew Shupper. So necessary attendees in this happy scenario would be both bros, Langford, Dave, Tim (who wasn't with us, but went back with a group after his late-night arrival), and Shupe, to roll and make us all the money.
- This one's a little older and has a few permutations, but it includes a) playing NBA Jam, b) eating at In-N-Out (back when I actually did that), and c) playing NBA 2K, and it involves B, Side and Ev. I've thoroughly enjoyed all of the above with all of the above, even though none of the above have occurred in approximately five years. I even wrote a song one time (I think Ev still has the lyrics) that included something about a particular trip to I-n-I in a rented Mustang. But now, one is married (and lives in Orange County), one is engaged (and lives in Santa Barbara), one lives in China, and one doesn't really eat burgers anymore. Oh well, it was all nice while it lasted.
- Last but not least, playing music with Elliott, Charlie and Joel, and (the only female to make this list) Vanessa singing. The thing I miss the absolute most about not working at the church is the music (and more importantly, the musicians). I have so many fond memories of practice, of recording, leading musical worship for the youth, for the whole congregation, all kinds of stuff.
Now here's the thing: as great as all of these place/people combos are, several of them can't really be recaptured, and even the ones that can be done again won't necessarily be the same, right? So it's not about wishing for what once was (because I'm really good at that)--it's about being thankful for the great things I've been able to do and the great people I've been able to know, and then building newer and better things, so there are more things to add to this list in the future. Easy to say, easier to write, tough to do.

In the Beginning...

Here I am again, back where I began
Try as I may I can't get away from you
And all of these roads lead me to roam, bring me back home
Here I am again, back where I began
--Where I Began, Caedmon's Call

Inspired by Cardillo at That's On Point, I've decided to remember the path to football fandom that I've traveled over the last decade-plus, and the varying factors that have brought about what is now complete obsession. Since I never played anything but basketball growing up (with the exception of three-par golf and the occasional game of billiards at B's house), soccer took a backseat to pretty much every other sport, kickball and handball included. Evidently, your father attended a match at the Coliseum during the '84 Olympics, but I was completely unaware.
The first time I ever even noticed the sport was my junior year of high school, when two important things happened, both of which (I think) were inspired by the middle brother. He somehow obtained a copy of a computer game entitled "1-0" (or "One-Nil"), which changed my computing life forever. It was a text-based management game allowing the user to manage any club in English football, from the Premiership down to a collection of non-league teams, and encouraging eternal addiction. I don't know that I caught the bug right away, but it didn't take too long before I was guiding Blackburn Rovers to the top of the Prem (and eventually into the Super League) year after year. Granted, they were by default the top team in the league, so winning shouldn't have been all that hard, but to keep a team atop the table for several years running did take a little bit of foresight (to sell all the old players and buy young ones--Ryan Giggs, Alessandro Del Piero, etc.) and skill (or at least I'd like to think so).
One-Nil had a profound impact on all of La Canada, I'd like to think, culminating in one glorious night at LCPC where more than ten of us sat, spread throughout the offices (and illegally using the computers of various church employees), managing our respective squads to championships. I'm not sure, but I think Craig Baldi may have even been involved somehow. This was the night that we also pulled the piano out of hiding to perform a little bit of a late-night concert, forgot to return it to its safer (and dryer) home, and consequently removed the privilege of spending the night at LCPC (theoretically to watch the audio equipment through the life of the Pops concert, and allowing youth to raise money for camps and whatnot) from future generations. Needless to say, small price to pay for world (soccer) domination.
The main benefit of playing this game non-stop (besides an addiction that survives to this day) was gaining a thorough knowledge of teams and players, something I had easily developed for MLB, NBA and NFL teams, but had no means or motivation to do in soccer until that point. I think I can still name the entire starting lineup for Blackburn--actually, let's see:
G Tim Flowers, CB Colin Hendry, CB LB Graeme LeSaux, RB Henning Berg, DM Mike Atkins, CM Tim Sherwood (or DM David Batty), LW Joshua Wilcox, RW Stuart Ripley (those two wingers might actually be switched), CF Mike Newell, and last but certainly not least, Striker Alan Shearer. Ah, Alan Shearer. He's deserving of a post by himself, those he wasn't even accurately named until a few months into his entry into my life. Because the game simply abbreviated first names, we were left to wonder what the A in A.Shearer stood for, and for some reason settled on "Andrew," which lasted until the next of Michael's contributions, World Soccer magazine (I have no idea why he got this) told us otherwise. In addition to learning about English clubs (Man United had Beckham, Neville, Schmeichel, Cantona, Ince and many others; Kasey Keller was in Leicester, Roy Wegerle and Cobi Jones at Coventry, etc.), the Super League allowed us to meet other great clubs from around the world, most notably Barcelona (Romario, et al) and AC Milan (Maldini and Weah). I ended up buying a George Weah poster that summer (and I still have it), so I was sufficiently motivated.
The next release from heavenly Wizard Games was a national team manager centered around the '94 World Cup, and I was obviously quick on board for this one as well, though it didn't captivate quite as much, and with the exception of an LCHS version of the German national team dominating the competition for years (Josh Henderson = Jurgen Klinsmann, Chris Sawicki = Lothar Matthaus) I remained wed to One-Nil. Even future versions of 1-0 didn't quite make the same splash, updated rosters and everything. For some reason, they just never beat the original (much like NHL '94, I must say, though recent encounters with Dave, Tim, Shupe, Suss and the '06 version have caused me to rethink that one just a bit).
Now, speaking of LCHS, this would have to be stage three in the development, so I'll jump in with stage two real quickly before getting back there.
Having the World Cup in the U.S. in '94 came about a year too early for me, because I was just barely getting to know what was going on. I did watch the U.S. games (I knew enough to appreciate Wynalda's free kick goal against the Swiss at the Meadowlands), and watched in awe with the rest of America as we made it to the quarterfinals against Romario, Bebeto and the heavily-favored Brazilians on the 4th of July. A bunch of friends spent the day down at the beach (somebody's beach house? I honestly don't remember), and somebody else (Charlie Petit, I believe) had the foresight to bring a portable TV, so I (and my pale skin) spent a couple hours underneath the lifeguard tower (reducing the glare--I used to be smart) watching our boys fight valiantly in a 1-0 (appropriate) defeat. I have a picture in some album of me, Charlie, Ray Lee and Tony Rosa crowded around that little TV. Good times.
So after World Cup came and went (and I realized, much too late, that I should have gone to a game or two), we started school and I met a dude by the name of Josh Henderson (you might remember him from three paragraphs back), who had moved out to LC (along with four or five other, um, "out-of-towners") to play club soccer for the Flyers and high school soccer for La Canada. LC's soccer program was already one of the best in the area, and with this infusion of talent, it became the best in the entire country--just ask USA Today, which ranked Lou Bilo's Spartans No. 1 in the country in both 1994-95 and '95-'96 (I couldn't find the old USA Today polls, but I found a couple of things:
...a StudentSports article listing the historical #1 teams in the country (we were winter, and/or spring it seems)...
...the old champions list from the Dallas Cup, the best club soccer tournament in the country, which included the Flyers victories in U17 '95 and U16 '94...
...and the SoccerTimes article that listed them as the Boys' U-17 national champions in 1995 (holders of the Don Greer cup).
Something like 10 guys from that team played Division I soccer (I'm sure I'll forget somebody, but: Cardis, Sawicki, Dyslin, Paneno, Haupert, Sweeney, Cropley, Henderson, Cuellar, , which is absurd, and the goals for and against numbers from both of those seasons were criminal (like 136-7 and 141-5 or something like that). Without going into too much detail (these teams, like Alan Shearer before them, are worthy of an entire post), having the chance to watch these guys play (and I didn't always get that chance during league, because we'd play at the same place, usually later) made me appreciate "the beautiful game" that much more. Seeing guys I knew just destroy other guys our age, mixing in all kinds of pretty tricks (Gaston was the master of the pointless back heel, an early forerunner to the pre-2006 Cristiano Ronaldo) gave me a higher level of understanding of the sport and how it could be played at its highest level. Josh was worth the price of admission himself, scoring goals at a record rate and rarely staying in for the second half (once he got his hat trick, Louie would sub him out). He's the best I've ever seen among people my own age playing the sport at which they excelled, if that makes sense. Without fail, whenever I think about these guys, I want to remember to ask Lou for a copy of the season highlight tape, something I've never done for some reason. It could be the greatest soccer highlight video ever assembled.
So needless to say, these guys went on to capture the CIF title our senior year (and again the year after), and I was able to watch every playoff game (since we, uh, lost to Franny in the basketball version), including a ridiculous 5-goal, 2-assist effort from Josh in one early-round match. The semi-finals happened to be against league rival San Marino (including defender Nate Decker, who I ended up working with at Abercrombie, and who was a real solid dude, but I'm sure that I was disparaging him on this day), and the finals against future Mexican national teamer (and APU standout) Carlos Ochoa, and Carlito knocked one past Cardis for the losers' lone goal. I could obviously write about these guys all day, but I won't.
There are numerous other stops along the way, but once I left for college, I was sold. UCLA allowed for a similar appreciation of the top level of the sport (traveling to Virginia in '97 to watch my boys upset Indiana--thanks Key--and Virginia--Matty Reis standing on his head--to win the title was awesome), and the fact that several of the guys on the team became good friends didn't hurt either. Work beckons, another day without soccer on our show...