A sad end to the Sol

This is kinda new to me.

I've been a sports nut pretty much my entire life. For me, life didn't begin when I was born. It began when my dad bought me this oversized, cartoonish-looking blue wiffleball bat when I was 6 years old. We were vacationing on the Cape and I guess I wasn't allowed to bring the 30 odd Tonka Trucks I had at home along with me. We had a small Buick Skylark back then. It was a small station wagon. So my dad, in his infinite wisdom, must've decided that, hey, let me bring a big, blue wiffleball bat and ball and see if my son stays distracted enough to not cry and complain the entire time. My dad. The Genius.

Since then, my life has been undeniably enriched by that simple gesture. Baseball was my first love. Then came football, and hockey followed a few years later. I flirted with soccer during USA '94 - hey, the kids at the park were talking about it, so why not - and again during the US Women’s National Team's triumphant World Cup victory five years later. Eventually, the flirting got serious. A blog was born.

I can't tell you how many teams I've watched over the past 20 or so years, however, I’m pretty sure I’ve never witnessed a complete team. I mean, I was born much, much after the 1927 Yankees - the best baseball team ever, according to many. I missed the Celtics run at NBA domination in the 50s and 60s. Brazil's wizardry in the late-60s and early 70s was still a good ten years before I was born. So I had never witnessed a complete team before my eyes.

Until last year.

Fast forward: So, I was having a decent day yesterday. A good day, even. At least it was until I around 3pm, when I learned that the Los Angeles Sol had ceased operations for 2010.

Wait a minute? What?

The news came from a facebook post. The AP it is not, of course, so I naturally googled the news. Lo and behold, it was true: the league juggernaut was closing shop for the season, if not, permanently.

It felt eerie. Not the type of eeriness you experience when you stumble across a tragic coincidence. But rather, an outer-worldly eeriness. As if this was taking place in a dream. Or an alternate reality. Sliders stuff.I could understand if it were a different team. L.A. was supposed to be WPS’s crown jewel. Marta was there. She's the female Pele, for crying out loud. Kobe was there too, pimping the club at various media events. The Sol was the North Star. It was what other WPS clubs looked up at, and said to themselves, "we need to follow them.”

And it wasn't just the packaging or the glossy mix of soccer and stardom. The team was better than good. They were great. Like Brazil circa 1982 great. Yes, this was the team all clubs - not just WPS clubs - should look at when developing a professional soccer club.

When the Sol came to Boston last year back in May, I had read about them. At the time, they hadn't even given up a goal yet. Karina LaBlanc was a freaking wall. Marta was setting the pitches on fire. Boxxy and Aya Miyama set up shop and played keep away with other teams for much of the summer. People like to talk about being a complete team. To me, the Sol was about as complete as they come.

Not only were they great, but they also played stylishly. They adhered to Ruud Gullitt's gospel: sexy football. The way the ball slid from player to player, the crosses, the elegance of it all was just about the prettiest thing I've ever seen at soccer stadium – well, besides a dark-haired Rev Girl. And the ball became an accomplice. I wasn't around for Brazil squad of the 70s, but imagine that the way they played was very similar to the Sol last season.

Which, of course, is why I'm having such a hard time with it. It was a rare time in which some of the best football was regularly played on American soil. The world's best female players came here. They traveled across countries, continents, and oceans to play here. This country was the epicenter of women's football. And the Sol were, arguably, the best club in the world.

I know, I know. They lost the WPS title to Sky Blue. Many might disqualify their greatness on that alone. Although it was the most important match of the season, it was only one match. A hiccup. Granted, a HUGE hiccup. But they went 12-3-5 on the season. They wrapped up the first seed just after the Fourth of July – with an entire month of the season remaining. For them, it was a summer of domination.

And it was because they were a complete team, top to bottom. Their players were supremely talented, sure, but the collective was pure soccer, which was something rare, and very, very new to me.

It's a damn shame it only lasted a year.

What the Hall?

I don't know about you, but to me, there's something really, really depressing about the National Soccer Hall of Fame shutting its doors to the public. And I think that almost anyone who's been there would probably agree. The Hall has some pretty cool stuff - not to mention some of the greenest soccer fields I've ever seen.

But what depresses me even more is that this is taking place today. Today as in 2009, a year in which the US National Team beat the number one team in the world, reached its first FIFA final like ever, and came within a Bob Bradley brain fart of beating Brazil for the Confederations Cup. A year in which the Women's National Team sits atop the women's rankings, not to mention a year in which cities like Vancouver, Portland, St. Louis and Montreal all tripped over themselves clamoring for top-flight football.

And, it could be argued, that even more importantly, 2009 is a year in which the U.S. is making a massive bid for either the 2018 or 2022 World Cup.

So how the heck did we get to the point where we can't even keep the door open on our own Hall of Fame?

People have whispered that it has everything to do with politics, and as a poli sci major, I'm inclined to agree. If I believe what I'm told - which I do far too often than I'd like to admit - the U.S. Soccer Federation has enough money to run a third world economy. They have Scrooge McDuck money.

And it seems obvious that in a situation similar to this one, alot of that money is being either misappropriated. I mean, sure, some of it should go to youth development. I don't disagree with that premise entirely.* Some of it should be poured into referee training (has anyone actually witnessed a well-officiated MLS match? If so, please send visual evidence.). And of course, the yearlong pep rally that is the 2018/2022 bid should probably get a good chunk of change as well.
(*With the exception of money being spent on coaches who teach our kids to become non-thinking soccer robots. But that's an argument I'll save for a few rainy days next April.)

Which leaves me with the question: what about the Hall?

Take away the negatives associated with the Hall. It's out in the middle of nowhere (True). It doesn't promote itself (True). It's outdated (True - just look at The Hall at Patriot Place - a Hall dedicated to a single team - for comparison). Yet despite its shortcomings, the undeniable truth is that the Hall is the only national tribute to the game's past. And now it's closed to the public.

I understand that the world's economy isn't at its liveliest. I get that. And I know at some level, it affected the Hall's viability to remain open. Oneonta isn't exactly the most convenient locale in the country, nevermind in the State of New York.

The more I think about it, the more it strikes me that this very likely could've been avoided. It should've been avoided. The Hall was essentially run on grant money from USSF and other organizations. You're not going to cover basic expenses on admission sales and tournament fees alone. No way, not in Oneonta at least.*

(*The argument that the Baseball Hall of Fame, which sits about 25 miles away in another sleepy town - Cooperstown - survives in its surroundings is pretty moot because the cash that MLB alots it through grants is pretty well-apportioned.)

I won't pretend to know what the exact thought processes of those who make such decisions. I haven't learned to read minds yet. But I gather that ALOT of people dropped the ball to get to where we are today with the Hall. And if this is indeed the case, it's pretty depressing to know that the very people in charge of promoting soccer here are bored by its past.