Sales on Sounders

Sounder 'til I die

Soccer is such an intense sport.  The ref checks his watch and blows his whistle to start a match.  The next moment to take a breath and relax is after the ref blows his whistle for halftime.  After a 15 minute break, the ref again plays his whistle to begin a second 45 minutes of wild short breathing.  One team, or sometimes both press intensely just to draw even.  One team may cast breathless prayers to endure a slim lead and win.  While the other scrapes, bleeds, and fights to avoid the despair of a narrow loss.  Every game reaches the end of full-time when 90 minutes is played.  Yet soccer refuses to end so politely.  Each match is followed by 2-5 suffocating and cardiac pulsating minutes of stoppage time.  So unless you have a manual defibrillator, it’s good to have someone around you to watch a full match.  Soccer should have a disclaimer:  “Please, what ever you do, don’t watch this alone”.  If someone says, “yah, I’m just gonna go home and watch the match alone.”   You should instantly jump into action, take their keys, grab a scarf, and let them know, “it’s all right, I’m here to support you and watch with you.”  Because when the refs final whistle sounds, it is either pure survivalist jubilation, or complete lifelessness.

I made a critical mistake for Round six vs Toronto FC, I chose to watch the match at home, alone.

The match started at the soccer early hour of 11:00 a.m., due to its being located North of the border in Ontario’s Maple Leafs country.  Crazy east coast time.   In all fairness to Toronto, arguably the hockey capital of the world, their soccer supporters consistently sellout matches and have a season ticket holder waiting list of almost 17,000.  Apart from Sounders FC, they are the most impressive fan supported MLS club.  For that reason, Toronto was awarded the 2010 MLS Cup Final similarly to Seattle receiving the championship bid last year as recognition for its tremendous fan support.

Toronto FC, "Reds"

At the squeal of the refs whistle, signaling a halftime breather, the score was nil-nil.  Seattle played its best half of football in their young 2010 season.  Yet, once again they were not rewarded with a deserved goal.  Fast, precise passing, mixed with quick attacking buildup resulting in multiple chances on goal.  The frustrating and all too common problem, was finishing.  If real-estate is “location, location, location”, then soccer is finishing, finishing, finishing.  I should have watched with family or friends, or someone else, anyone else, because a well-played game + no goals x passionate fan watching alone = problem, problem, problem.

The ref tweeted again starting the second half.  Again, the ball continued to land at the doorstep of Toronto’s goal, with no result.  As the beautiful game is often viewed as a delicate balance between total-oops and heavenly perfection, it would be the Sounders sure-footed star, Osvaldo Alonso who would miss a simple clearance that would bop and hop to the foot of Toronto’s marksmen, Dwayne de Rosario, who simply and brilliantly curled a shot past Keller to the right side of net.  Like all faithful Sounders fans, I still felt there was hope.  There was time and breath left in the refs whistle for Seattle to earn a draw.  But I wasn’t thinking clearly, because I was watching alone.  Tyrone Marshall let a pass get away, which led to an instant Toronto FC counter attack, that all too easily led to a second goal.  Still not thinking clearly, and at a much more angered and fevered pace, I grabbed the remote control.  I was finished watching.  I tried to change channels and ditch the game, even before the ref blew his final whistle.  I wanted to Star Trek out of the intensity of losing a soccer match.  Effectively committing the very worst type of sports watching foul.  Angry and alone TV surfing.

The whole time this frustrating match was going on, my wife laid quietly relaxing on the couch.  Relaxing, Facebooking, and allowing me to “enjoy” some soccer time.  She was there for moral support, but not involved in the game.  She checks in occasionally asking if goals have been scored or any nasty fouls.  She’s there for me as the good spouse.  My much better half.  But she is not there for the match.  For that, I’ve left myself all alone.  In desperation, and clouded aloneness, I mistakenly think she’s the one to turn to for help to escape this losing match.  Deep down inside, I know this is a red card offense.  Nonetheless, I try to trick honesty, and slyly turn innocently to my wife for a station suggestion.  ”Hey hun, what would you like to watch?”  All I need is her simple and usual suggested channel to turn to and escape my teams fatal match in Toronto.  She’s slightly caught off guard, “huh?”  In being caught off guard she gives me one last chance for redemption.  A moment to pause before turning and stay with my team to the end.  Instead, I force the lonely decision and insist she give me a channel to run away to.  “Hey hun, what’s that show you like?”  I’m trying with sweaty handed desperation to change channels.  Like some sort of bad karma loop, I only continue to find Sounders vs Toronto FC.  I’m waiting on bated breath for her channel suggestion.  She’s usually so happy to watch almost anything other than soccer.  I’m ready for her to give rapid-fire suggestions for home improvement, gardening, cooking, travel, reading with Sarah Palin, something, anything! . . . . . Nothing.

As a husband, I believe my wife in a polite but amused manner, enjoyed watching me sit there in growing frustration with the remote and my teams impending outcome.  Finally, after several minutes of furious but unsuccessful channel changing, the soccer gods took solace on me and the remote finally accepted one of my angry channel requests.  The match for me was over.  The referee had not puffed the final whistle.  Instead I chose to call the match myself.

The channel changing exercise was designed to make me feel better.  Instead, I sat there alone watching another station.  My wife still happily and quietly surfing the internet on the couch.  What I wanted was someone to recognize my Sounders frustration with me, and say, “it’s OK, Ryan.  The season is young.  We played better than they did, and simply gave the game away in the end.  We can correct that in the weeks ahead.  Overall we had the majority of the game and actually it was our best passing game”  O to muse alone.

Then comes the voice.  No, not Sigi, not Keller, and not my wife, of all people, the voice of reason came from Ljungberg.  Freddie Ljungberg, is as smart an élite team-sport athlete as you will find in the world.  You may not always agree with his choices, but he brings a great deal of poise and maturity to all his decisions.  He knows he is good.  He knows he is élite.  He also never plays for anyone other than his team.  He is nothing if not all about team.  Win or lose.  At the end of the game he said, “so now we know hot to play like this and so we will win next time”.  That was not a coaches answer that was a players answer.  That was Ljungberg’s answer.  Everything he does on the pitch, every bump, fall, pass, shot, foul, shout at the ref, dive, or assist he gives is all for the team.  Someday soccer will be taught the way he plays.

So, as I started to sulk away from the Sounders in Toronto, Ljungberg talked me back.  “Ryan, this is your team.  You never turn away, you never walk alone”.  Especially in anger.  That only gets you carded by your remote.  You stand and support your team from the day it drops to its lowest low, to the day it rises to heavenly brilliance in its glowing heights of confetti, banners, and cups.  This is Sounders FC.  This is the marriage of franchise and fan.  This is stay until the end.  The full 90.  That is exactly what Ljungberg said to me, privately, watching alone.