Last year, I got the opportunity to coach a middle school boys soccer team. Goal number one when starting up a soccer team is to figure out who will play goalkeeper. I had a couple of younger players volunteer to play, but they had yet to hit any sort of growth spurt, and probably would get abused by shots in the air. I did, however, have a beast of an eighth grader with some raw athletic ability, and more importantly, a willingness to be trained and taught the position.

Because of the boy’s size, and also my general coaching philosophy, I worked him pretty hard. Diving, jumping, coming out, dropping back, and taking plenty of hard shots off of his body, I wanted to prepare him for game action as quickly as possible. He never once complained. I heard a lot of “yes sir”s and saw a lot of heart. He was a coach’s dream.

It was only later that his mother explained to me that her son had not been drinking or eating during daylight hours for the past week. This was my first, up-close taste of Ramadan. If the boy didn’t have my respect before, he had surely earned it through his attitude during his fast.

So, when this year’s Ramadan fast rolled around, I asked his mom about the start date, sort of out of the blue. She let me know that it was August 1st, and also asked me if I thought I was man enough to do it. Sure enough, she was reading my mind, and I ended up starting the fast and blogging about it here.

Tonight, the family invited me to join them at the local mosque to break our fasts and celebrate Iftar together. Iftar is a community event, held at the mosque, where two of the evening prayers are separated by sharing a meal together.

Many of the elements of the mosque are separated by gender, so the father gave me a nice tour of the facility. It’s only two years old, and the interior design of the building is quite bright and open. I didn’t take a ton of pictures, as I didn’t want to overstep my bounds as guest of the family.

As soon as the sun officially set, a man walked up to us and offered us both some dates. These are typically the food used to break the fast each night during Ramadan. There were a number of people going around serving dates and handing out bottles of water as well.

Shortly thereafter, it was time for the Maghrib prayer, just after sundown. I removed my shoes and stood by a back wall, watching the men pray on one side, while the women prayed on the other.

It was a surreal moment.

There was definitely something beautiful in watching all of these strong men bow in reverence and submission to God simultaneously. I felt privileged to be a part of it, even if I was just an observer. After about 5 minutes, it was finished.

Then came the congregation to the foyer and the food. The whole scene reminded me of the fellowship hall at a church potluck. For as much as I bang on the church, I have always loved and appreciated the spirit and the experience of potlucks.

Tonight was no exception.

As I stepped up to the food line, I noticed a couple of gentlemen not sure of what to do. When I introduced myself, they made it known that they were visitors as well, so we all hopped into the food line together.

Oh, what a feast it was. There were every sort of Middle Eastern foods that I had ever seen, and a number of foods that I had never seen. I got some of everything on my plate, and I must say that there was nothing on my plate that I didn’t like. I even went back for seconds and loaded up my plate again. So much for self-control!

During the meal, the men sat on one side of the room, with the women on the other. As it was explained to me, this wasn’t about any sort of equality issue, it was more about respect for wives and husbands.

In the picture above, you can’t really see the women, but they are just beyond the men standing up around the tables in the middle.

We had some great conversations about Islam, politics, weather, and other normal conversation pieces. There wasn’t any sort of proselytization going on. It was just people spending time together and enjoying each other’s company.

There wasn’t any sort of “selling” Islam or a registration card to fill out. It was people saying: “This is who we are and what we do. Thank you for being our guest.”

I filled up on about 5 different kinds of desserts, but left before the Isha’a prayer indicating that the sun’s light has completely left the sky.

I was left with a feeling of great appreciation for the hospitality I was shown, and a genuine sense that I would be welcomed back if I were to show up by myself someday.

In fact, I’m planning on coming back on Tuesday to celebrate another feast for Eid ul-Fitr, indicating that the fasting is over.

So one more day of fasting with Muslims around the world, then Eid ul-Fitr, and a final day on Wednesday to make up for my travel day yesterday. Did you catch all that?

I hope so. See you tomorrow.

I shook loose one of my dog-piling progeny from my legs, and opened up the hotel’s mini-fridge. And there it was. In between my water and some Powerade, was a tall, ice-cold bottle of Ale 8-1. Next to moonshine, bourbon whiskey, and tobacco juice, Ale 8-1 is the most popular beverage in Kentucky. It was either the 81st recipe of a soda manufacture, or it was just a clever way to refer to what time of day the beverage should be consumed (“a late one”). Either way, it worked for me, as I couldn’t consume it until after dark when I purchased it the day before. I strategically scheduled our trip to have a stop at the Ale 8-1 bottling factory in Winchester, KY. I snapped this picture just after buying it.

I posted this pic onto my Facebook feed, and a number of my friends noticed the large print “ale” and not the small print “soft drink”, and thought that it was a favorite adult beverage. Even my kids asked why Daddy was buying beer if he was driving in the car. While the drink doesn’t technically have an intoxicating effect, it tends to be a pretty powerful elixir for my mood.

So, back to the morning. I grabbed my bottle, twisted off the top, and took a nice, long swig from the forrest green bottle. Oh, that first taste is so good. That sweet, gingery taste goes down so smooth. But after just a few seconds, I experienced something quite strange. I realized all at once that I was a day-drinker again, and I suddenly felt very impure.

Back in college (the very college that I was back at for my alumni soccer game), we took a number of classes on biblical history. I can distinctly remember a lesson on the customary social behaviors of those with leprosy. When moving around and traveling, they would have to call out “Unclean! Unclean!” to warn anyone in their proximity. When my friends and I learned that a woman who was menstruating would sometimes have to call out the same announcement, we had a lot of fun with that around campus. We were obviously very mature.

As soon as my day-drinker status hit me, that phrase kept running through my head. In some way, I must have associated this month-long, day-time fast with a type of ritual purity. Now, I felt gross and impure, even while imbibing my favorite soft drink. It was surreal.

Sometime during the 5-hour drive to Kentucky, I had mentioned to my children that my college had a graveyard located on a hill right next to campus. I even told them that there might be some “Parsons” gravestones in there. You would have thought that I told them that they had put a hotel inside of a Chuck E. Cheese on location at Disneyland.

My wife and I tried to give them a walking tour of the college, pointing out some of my old classrooms, the cafeteria, dorms, and the first apartment that we lived in together, but all they wanted was to go to the graveyard and find the Parsons’ graves.

So, we did.

The Parsons’ bench was a pretty perfect size for a photo opp.

On a side note, my humanist worldview helps me to better understand a number of things, but death is much more powerful in this philosophy. Without a belief in life after death, it’s more than a little sobering.

The alumni soccer game is always very special to me. I love and miss my old teammates dearly, and seeing them again is just like putting on a comfortable pair of shoes. There were hugs, high-fives, and butt-slaps to go around for everyone. I only knew a handful of the guys from my playing days, but we still had a great time trying to keep up with young bucks.

The game began at 1pm, and there was nary a cloud in the sky to hide behind. After playing all 45 minutes of the first half, trying to keep up with 20-year olds, I realized that my fast-breaking was actually quite necessary. We were all drinking water like it was free (and it was), and still not quite able to get fully hydrated. It was a scorcher of an August day.

By the end of the 2nd 45 minutes, my body was still doing remarkably well (for an old guy). I never took a sub, and I was even game for an overtime period or two (the game was tied). Unfortunately, I was one of the only alumni players to feel this way.

While I hadn’t been conditioning my body for soccer like I had in other pre-seasons (regular long-distance running and sprints for weeks), I had been conditioning my body and my mind to function with very little hydration. I have no doubt that the fast helped to contribute to my positive state of body and mind by the end of the game.

Only, it turned out that my body wasn’t feeling as good as the cortisol from my adrenal glands would have me believe. When I sat down to take off my gear, I noticed that my feet were more than a little achey. Once I got my socks off, they were really barking at me.

I must have gotten stepped on during the match. I guess I’ll find out in the next several days if my toenail is going to fall off.

Ok.

Seriously.

Feet

are

gross.

If

you

don’t

like

to

look

at

gross

feet

then

don’t

scroll

any

further.

Did you see that nice little red bubble on the right side of my foot? Here’s a better look.

I had a matching blister on the other side of my foot, but I think that is probably enough pictures for now. The drive home was little more painful that I would have hoped, but the blisters did not burst.

We ended the day by having a nice picnic lunch with my sister, who’s college we were able to stop by on the way back to Indiana.

Altogether told, it was a banner day, with some fun reunions, and some more reminders of my physical limits (or at least approaching those limits). Tomorrow, it’s time to get back on the wagon. No more day-drinking for me.

Actually tomorrow will be a special evening because I will be going to my local mosque to break my fast with some Muslim friends for the first time. I’ll try to take some pictures and have them up here.

Until then…

Keep on rockin’.

Fixing dinner for my kids tonight was quite tempting. They left plenty of scraps on their plates, but none of it ended up in my mouth. Each tempting bite of food or sip of water is weighed against the previous 23 days of fasting. Why would I break this now? I can keep going.

And I did.

Like Bradley Cooper, I’m interested in finding out the limits of human potential.

My indoor soccer game this evening was to test my physical limits some more. The game started at 7:00pm, but sundown wasn’t until 7:31. I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to come out and get a drink on the first line change like on Day 3. Nope, I was going to have to keep on going for 30 minutes, finding out what kind of man I was.

It turned out to be a pretty great game. As many people have mentioned before, my senses were still in a heightened state, and I found that my ability to control the ball was sharper. I scored the first two goals of the game, and barely felt the effects of the fast for the first 15 minutes. But after about that long, I started to feel weaker.

I had found my limit.

Well, it’s possible that I didn’t actually find my limit, but I was closer to it than I have been for the rest of the fast.

While I believe in the power of mind over matter and overcoming limiting beliefs through perseverance, I also believe that we can sabotage and short circuit ourselves from reaching our true potential.

Ramadan and soccer (football) can be good friends, and playing during Ramadan is possible, but the research tends to show that performance during Ramadan is adversely affected.

Did I set myself up to struggle at the end of my fast today? Maybe so. I knew that it would be difficult, and it was. But what if I would have believed it to be easier? What if I would have expected my strength to increase as I played? Would I have cruised through the game, notched a hat-trick, and knocked out some wind-sprints just for good measure?

Who knows?

That’s the trouble with limits, when you discover them, it’s too late. It’s really when we approach our limits that we actually stop ourselves.

You can use the example of John Henry, who’s heart burst as he raced the railroad spike machine.

You can pull on a string until it reaches it’s limit, but you won’t know that you are there until the string breaks.

Is God the same way?

What are the limits of Allah’s love?

Does he love you as long as you are obedient in some way (good deeds, personal relationship, etc.)? Or is his love truly limitless?

In the end, does Love Win?

Or will I just have to find out when it’s too late?

Her soccer career began today with her first practice. She may have loved dressing like a soccer player more than the actual practice, but we’re starting off on a good note, nonetheless.

I wish that I had a better segue for this, but alas, I do not.

Yesterday, a friend of mine asked me about the physical nature of this fast on Google+. He was impressed with my website, but he didn’t think that the fasting was “some great thing”. In his mind, the eating of food every day takes away from the physical benefits of fasting, which can only be achieved after three consecutive days of not eating (drinking water is ok).

According to the wikipedia entry on fasting, it is at about the 3 day mark that the body begins a process called catabolism, where your body burns off fat for fuel. There are other health benefits listed, like a reduced risk of cancer and diabetes, and a slowing of the aging process.

However, that doesn’t mean that fasting past this point is a prescription for increased health and wellness.

There is a Christian woman on YouTube who decided to vblog about a 40 day fast of nothing but water. She starts the fast at a healthy 199 pounds, 6 weeks after having her 7th child. Here is her day one video (about 2:34 minutes long):

Click here to view the embedded video.

By the end of the 40 days, she looks visibly different, with some chapped lips, but weighing in at 149 pounds. Yep, she lost 50 pounds in 40 days. Thanks water diet!

Click here to view the embedded video.

As you may have gathered from her video, she was not going to be satisfied with just a simple (simple?) 40 day fast. Nope. You go big, or you go home. This lady takes a 7 day break to eat some unleavened bread, and then goes right into another 40 day fast.

Here she is on day 81, about to end her second fast. She doesn’t look as healthy now, but she describes having incredible energy as she dropped the pounds. She attributes all of it to the Lord and is thankful for the blessing of the fast. By this point, she has gotten down to 122.8 pounds. Just about 76 pounds less than she weighed less than 3 months earlier.

But guess what, she’s not done yet.

After a 4 day hiatus, she decides to try another 40 day fast.

For real.

Check her out on the last day of the third fast:

Click here to view the embedded video.

I don’t believe that she mentions her final weight in this video, but she does not look good.

I came up with a few creative descriptions of her appearance, but felt so bad that I deleted them. I just feel terrible for this woman.

What are your thoughts?

As a Muslim?

As a Christian?

As an agnostic?

How do you think God views such a fast?

Tonight, I had the opportunity to end my fast on a soccer field. It was only ten minutes before sunset, so I got to run my body ragged for a few, and then duck out and grab some water. Thanks to sunrise sunset.com, I am able to know the precise minute of official sundown.

I sat on the bench staring at my iPhone as it screamed at me 7:58!!! for at least 200 seconds. I popped the lid off of my water bottle, willing my phone clock to turn with a harsh stare. Finally, when that lovely 8 lost one of it’s curves, I took a deep, long swig.

I could feel my saliva changing. Instead of serving the role of softening my food, during my fast, it has become my internal water fountain. I know that sounds gross, but I’ve been experiencing some real psychological nourishment from my salivary glands. While I expected to be dry-mouthed during this fast, I have been surprised to discover that its more of a thickening of my saliva than a straight drying out.

My breath isn’t peachy during the fast, but during Ramadan, this is seen as a blessing to God.

“The change in the breath of the mouth of him who fasts is better in Allah’s estimation than the smell of musk.”

I’m not a big fan of musk, but the point is well taken.

I went out during the next shift and promptly scored the first goal of the game. Despite the mental strength that this fast is bestowing upon me, I’m gonna go ahead and thank H20 for that one.

10% of the fast is completed. Tomorrow is another day.

I can do this.

After years of deriding, dismissing, and mostly ignoring the highest level of women’s soccer, I now count myself as an aficionado of the female version of the beautiful game. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been supportive of my sister and my friends in their soccer matches, but that was more about personal involvement or school spirit than captivating entertainment. These last few games of the 2011 Women’s World Cup have absolutely hogtied and roped me onto the women’s soccer bandwagon.

As a soccer fan in general, I was aware of a few of the key players from the USWNT (United States Women’s National Team) over the years; Mia Hamm, Brandi Chastain, Julie Foudy, and Abby Wambach. However, one new participant on the world stage absolutely demanded to be paid attention to this year. Megan Rapinoe, the platinum-haired pixie, has quickly become my favorite women’s footballer.

My first impression was being a little put off by the brash, “look at me” nature of Rapinoe and her unmistakeable hairstyle on the pitch. But after watching her deftly control the ball in the midfield, it seemed that her flair and panache were worthy of hairstyle to match it. I mean, if there is ever a time to go Super Saiyan, it’s at the World Cup, right?

But this girl has the game to back up the confidence that positively drips from every choice she makes. I referred to her as a pixie earlier. That’s not quite right. She’s more like Peter effing Pan, thumbing her nose at those who might question her brashness, without ever really going to the effort of acknowledging those folks.

She’s appropriately expects her touches to have the right weight. She confuses defenders by taking more risks than they would expect. Like a seasoned chef, she tries to add a dash of nutmeg to a number of recipes.

Too bad she doesn’t start.

Inexplicably, she has been cast as a super sub, despite being of the ilk of a super star.

In a lot of ways, she reminds me of USMNT player Stu Holden.

Even with skills that can clearly pay the bills, both players haven’t been able to consistently crack the starting line up (to be fair, Holden’s nasty injury prevented him from playing at all as of late). However, with what they have shown in their limited opportunities, they have both impressed me as indispensably valuable players.

To boot, they both seem to be world class teammates. It seems as if they are always first in their teammates arms to celebrate someone else’s goal.

Rapinoe sings Bruce Springstein into the field mic after a goal, and personally invites President Obama to come watch the final on Sunday. It’s a bit crude, but I mean it as the highest compliment: This chick’s got balls. That’s often what it takes.

Sometimes players train hard, practice their craft, visualize their performance, and achieve success. We know that the best players in the world do this consistently. However, sometimes a player comes along that just draws you in and reminds you about how much fun it can be to perform at the highest level. I’m sure having a lot of fun watching her do her thing.

This is how I feel after crushing a PK in the World Cup.

“…the ball fell to me, and time kinda stopped…”

These words were Landon Donovan’s response just minutes after scoring the most clutch goal in United States Men’s National Team soccer history at the 2010 World Cup.  Donovan’s last minute goal against Algeria was the difference between his team going home, or going on.  It turn out to be one of the most important moments in the history of American soccer.

For the last four years, Donovan has had plenty to prove.  The overwhelming joy of the team’s astonishing quarterfinals appearance in the 2002 World Cup was all but forgotten after an utterly dismal encore performance at the 2006 World Cup, where they didn’t win a single match.  Being the face of the team is great when times are good.  But when crap hits the fan, it’s not much fun to be holding the bag.

Before each game, Donovan is militantly serious.  He’s the guy who barely blinks during the national anthem, choosing not to sing or even bow his eyes.  He gazes straight ahead, with his focus only on the filmstrip in his mind, mentally rehearsing the competition upcoming.  Each pass finds its way.  Each dribble is balanced and true.  Each shot off of his boot finds its way to the target.  Even with hundreds of millions of people watching, the man is a statue.

After this particular game, the mood was much different.  Donovan was different.  It was no longer time to prepare, it was time to reflect.  No more need to “Write the Future“, just to swim in the immediacy of now.

The live ESPN post-match coverage showed an interview with Donovan about five seconds after the camera started rolling.  Here’s that same interview, with the first five seconds in tact:

It’s incredible how quickly he gains his composure in this interview.  He knew this part would come.  As the face of American soccer since 2002, he’s given thousands of interviews.  This was his moment at the top of the mountain.  Time to share with the world how it had all gotten to this point.

He thanked his teammates, talked about the hard work he had put into everything, and compared the whole experience to a journey.  It was all true, and exactly the type of answer that everyone would expect.  He played the part just like the leader that he is expected to be.

I heard somebody somewhere say that “leadership leaks”.  The idea is that the influence that a leader has come less from conscious, deliberate methods or actions, but more from what leaks or spills out in an accidental or subconscious way.  The most important details of who we are often leak out the sides of what we are trying hardest to portray to others.

When a guy cries like that, he’s got a lot more than a soccer match on his mind.  What or who was on his mind leaked out at the end of the video, which was cut out of the ESPN feed above, but can be found in the last second of this clip on Youtube here:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Bianca Kajlich is Donovan’s ex-wife.  You can read online about their three-year marriage and eventual divorce.  Who blows a kiss to their ex-wife?  Even though the terms were reportedly amicable, a divorce is usually not something that anyone wants to celebrate.

In a great article about his growth from the failed 2006 experience and his failed marriage, Donovan talks about how much he has grown from it all.  From the time that you choose to get a divorce, to when it is finalized, there is a part of you that is happy to have a scapegoat for so many of your problems, struggles, and issues.  When the divorce is finally real, that scapegoat is gone.

“Bianca taught me a lot more about myself than I knew.”

The picture that I get from Donovan is that his ex-wife was a type of mirror for him.  She tended to show him his warts, and nobody really wants to stare at those.  You can argue with a mirror all you want, but it just reflects back to you what is truly there.

Once he realized that he was responsible for his failures on the field, and the ones in his marriage, it empowered him to make some changes.

“There are expectations from people and that’s a good thing, but what is most important to me is what I expect from myself.”

Redemption can be either be salvation from something you have done, or a return of something valuable that has been lost.  However his relationship with Bianca moves forward, or however his team finishes this 2010 World Cup, Landon Donovan’s time of redemption is at hand.

Let’s start with the titular moment of my list.

The crying North Korean player

Not much is known about what goes on in land of North Korea.  Because of government restrictions on just about everything, even less is known about what goes on in the hearts and minds of North Koreans.  Even the North Korean supporters in the stadium who were not hand picked Chinese fans for hire seem reticent to discuss anything, for fear of punishment from their government.  Secrecy, seclusion, and suppression are the modus operandi for this country.

But, on June 15th, 2010, the human heart betrayed all of that.  While the team has isolated itself from the other countries by holing up in it’s hotel, avoiding as much contact as possible with the media and other teams, it is impossible to do such at game time.  At the prelude to the kick-off, in front of tens of thousands of people, each team must face the crowd, and listen while their country’s national anthem is played.  Some players sing along, some look straight ahead with faces of stone, and in the case of Jong Tae-Se, the significance of the moment broke the hold that the fear had over him.  See it yourself:

Click here to view the embedded video.

For whatever faults the North Korean government has (and they are numerous), they were not able to break this man’s spirit.  Truly a touching moment.

Drogba getting subbed in with a broken arm

After breaking his arm in a vicious challenge less than two weeks prior:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Didier Drogba stepped on to the pitch, showing little effect of the injury.  You could see the determination in his face throughout the first half as he watched the game from the bench.  No real danger from him in the few minutes he played, but it’s amazing that he was able to play at all.  Looking forward to seeing him back in form.

Georgie Welcome

Honduras has a player named Georgie Welcome

Forget Kaka, Herculez, or even Tshabalala.  My favorite name of a player in this year’s World Cup has got to be Georgie Welcome.  It just sounds so wonderfully ridiculous.  I love the idea of a star-struck fan meeting this player and saying “You’re Welcome?”  ”Thank you, I am.” would be his response, for sure.  I love it.

I’m also bemused by the thought of teammates greeting him on the field with a smiling “Welcome, Georgie!”

Odd thing to be entertained by, I know.  But so be it.

Not much can keep the Danes from being happy

When Denmark’s Simon Paulsen broke a 0-0 tie with his head, he could hardly contain his ear to ear grin.  After all, Denmark is purported to be the happiest country on earth, so why wouldn’t he be smiling?

Well, Paulsen happened to put the ball in the back of his own net, as you can see here:

Click here to view the embedded video.

I love the look on his face at :15.  To be fair, he’s probably more incredulous than anything.  But still, sometimes you just have to smile when the ball bounces like that.

Americans actually do give a crap about soccer!

If your Facebook and Twitter feed hasn’t been disrupted by passionate soccer fans this past week, you may just find yourself in the minority.  In fact, the 17 million people who tuned in to the USA v. ENG draw was more than each of the first four games of the NBA finals.  The Celtics and the Lakers are arguably the best teams that the NBA could hope for in drawing viewers in, and still the lowly sport of soccer won out.

Now, it should also be noted that a substantial number of people hated that the game ended in a tie, and many especially despised the sound of the vuvuzelas throughout every second of the match.  But hate is a step above indifference, and that is a step that most soccer fans are willing to accept, even with an awkward sense of satisfaction.

I’m deliriously happy with the World Cup.  I’m almost intoxicated with joy for this month and I’m sure that I’ve left a few things out.  Any favorite moments that I missed?

BT – I don’t know if it’s because I’m a devoted fan or because I’ve got precious little of value happening in my own life, but I’ve put in several hours over the last month soaking up all of the info I could find to prep myself for the next few weeks in South Africa.

Throughout all of what I will loosely term “my research,” I was surprised to find that one thing kept occurring to me: Landon Donovan is an A-Hole. In every interview, whether it was video or print, he comes off as smug, arrogant, and irritated that people are interested in talking to him. Not exactly what Team USA wants from their most famous player. Thoughts?

ZP – Alright Benny, I can’t argue that Donovan is an A-hole. Everything that you have read and seen is probably right on the money. I have to concede that number 10 isn’t going to win any congeniality competitions.

But, with that being said, isn’t that what you want from a competitor? Look at the second greatest French footballer ever, Eric Cantona. He set new heights (lows?) with his disdainful attitude and behavior. He drop kicked a fan in the middle of a game!

Click here to view the embedded video.

Manchester United’s captain in the 90’s was a bit over the top in his A-holeness, but I would argue that you need something like that from a team leader. He’s not playing the game to make friends, he’s there to prevail over his opponents.

People hate Kobe for the same reason, but that cold blood is exactly what makes him such a lethal killer. There is no way to argue that Kobe doesn’t have those the self-worshiping, douche-bag qualities in spades. But he wins, and this covers a multitude of sins.

I can vividly remember Donovan being interviewed about the U.S. National Team’s burgeoning rivalry with Mexico in 2002. He was so matter of fact about how it wasn’t much of a rivalry because of the way the U.S. had dominated them so thoroughly in their last several contests.  He even used the phrase “kicked their ass”.  It was a classic, “Put up, or shut up” type of comment, directed right at our neighbors to the south. It was also classic A-hole, and I loved it.

What would you attribute his captainship to?

BT – Important to note that Donovan is not the captain of Team USA. Carlos Bocanegra is the player-voted captain. When Bocanegra isn’t on the field, and Donovan often inherits the armband, I would imagine that it is out of seniority as much as anything else.

Keep in mind, I’m not condemning Donovan as a soccer player. I believe Landon Donovan is a victim of circumstance. A huge responsibility was placed on Donovan’s shoulders, a responsibility that he cannot possibly live up to. US Soccer presented Donovan as its messiah, giving fans the impression that he would dominate games from end line to end line. This is simply not the type of player that Landon Donovan is.

But what Landon does, he does very well: He gets the ball into the finishing third of the field, and makes smart decisions and crisp passes once he gets there. You rarely see Landon blast one fifteen rows into the seats, and numbers don’t lie: USA’s top-dog all time in goals and assists.

Like him or not, Landon Donovan is to US soccer what Kobayashi is to hot dog eating contests, or what beer is to, well, anything. That may attribute to his pseudo-captainship. Who else is there really to challenge him for the crown?

ZP – Alright, I can buy the “victim of circumstance” argument. Although, if you remember DeMarcus Beasley had a similar amount of expectation as America’s new golden boy in 2002, but he crumbled with the pressure. Tip of the cap to Donovan for standing strong thus far.

As far as a challenger to the U.S. Soccer crown, maybe we should differentiate between the best player and the rightful wearer of the captain’s armband.

With as much sense as it makes to designate a man who’s name means “black mouth” to be your communicatory ambassador to the referee, Bocanegra is probably the best choice. Claudio Reyna seemed to give the U.S. less than nothing on the pitch each time out, but the players steadfastly preferred him as captain during his tenure. Boca seems to have the same level of respect.

As far as the best player argument goes, how about your boy Clint Dempsey? I don’t follow the Premiership as closely as I should, but this Fulham chant speaks volumes about his reputation across the pond:

“He scores with his left, He scores with his riiiiight, That boy Clint Dempsey, Makes Drogba look shite!”

Make an argument for Deuce, I’m all ears.

BT – One of the most overused terms in soccer analysis is “creativity.” Analysts throw it into their critique of every midfielder that steps on the field. It’s frustrating because it cheapens what truly creative players, like Dempsey, do so well.

Due to the lack of breaks in action, soccer is very much a game of rhythm, not unlike ping pong or Barrel of Monkeys. As such it is easy for players and teams to fall into a lull of predictable repetition which is easy to defend. Creative players like Dempsey change games by taking chances on risky plays and passes, not always to see direct dividends, but more often just to keep the defense from getting too comfortable. (Oddly, this was also my original strategy when I burst onto the semi-professional monkey-stacking scene in the mid-80s.) Dempsey is the first truly creative player I’ve seen in a US jersey. This creativity speaks to his incredible skill and swagger, and is invaluable to a US program that is very average in most areas.

I think that Dempsey is probably the most talented player on the US roster, but in terms of achieving results, talent can only take you so far (see Portugal, which basically runs out a roster full of Dempseys every time they play). While I’d certainly prefer to get into a dialogue about Dempsey’s fabulous beard stubble, I instead will ask you this: Would saddling him with the captaincy interfere with his wildcard mentality, and keep Deuce from being Deuce?

ZP – I agree with you regarding Demsey’s talent, swagger, impact on the game, and even his attractive beard stubble. I’m not sure if I would call him a creative player, but I like the picture you present of him being a disruptive force to another team’s equilibrium.

As far as being captain goes, I do think that it would be a bad idea for Clint and his fragile emotions. He plays on a tight-wire of tension, aggression, and PMS quality emotional rawness.

When I first saw Clint Dempsey crying at the end of the Confederation’s Cup final last year, I was encouraged by it. Maybe he was exhausted after the effort that he had put forth and simply didn’t have enough strength to control his tear ducts. Perhaps he was reflecting on the death of his sister as a child, and the subsequent opportunities that had given him the opportunity of that moment. In my view, I believed that he understood the historical impact of the result that his country had just earned. I believed that he was devastated by falling short of his personal goal. By all accounts, I was right.

But here is my problem.

When Michael Jordan won the NBA title, he embraced the Larry O’Brien trophy, and cried like a baby. Adam Morrison and Tim Tebow wet their collars while the clock ticked down to a loss. When Steve Nash finally swept the Spurs in the playoffs this year, he went into the locker room and bawled his eyes out. When the Lakers finished the Suns within a fortnight, not a tear was shed.

Winners cry when they win.

Who cries when they lose?

I’ll give you the last word.

BT – I feel as though I’ve seen many players cry when they lose, though no examples immediately pop into my brain. That is probably because the losing team gets fewer articles written about them and as such their tears are significantly less publicized. Everything you said about Dempsey being an emotional player is spot on, and I agree that being saddled with any resposibility other than being a wildcard would severely cramp his style.

That said, if Clint Dempsey is not a creative player then I don’t know if I’ve ever seen one. I mean, seriously:

Click here to view the embedded video.

If this is the last word then I suppose a verdict must be rendered: Who is better for US Soccer, Donovan or Dempsey?

In this World Cup? Donovan. This team is going to give up some goals, and they need him to play and play well in order to get those goals back on the offensive end. It’s very possible that Dempsey could finish with more points than Donovan, but the threat of Donovan’s speed on one of the wings is crucial to open up space for the rest of the team to operate.

For the long run? Dempsey. If the US is going to make an impact when they hopefully host the Cup in 2018 or 2022, that means that America’s next generation of superstars are in junior high and high school right now. It’s important for those kids to know that you don’t have to be from South America or Europe to have world class soccer skill, and important for them to see a player who is truly unintimidated by the traditional powerhouse soccer countries. Dempsey is the player who shows displays these attributes most clearly.

Plus, Landon Donovan is an A-Hole…

In the fall of 2003, at the age of fourteen, Freddy Adu became the youngest athlete to sign an American professional sports contract in over a century.  Along with his MLS contract, a very lucrative deal with Nike had thrust the Ghana-born US citizen into the spotlight.  The hype surrounding his signing with Major League Soccer had caused quite a stir.  Was it possible that the best young soccer player in the world was actually right here in the shadows of our nation’s capital, and would one day lead the red, white, and blue to international glory on the pitch?  Major League Soccer certainly thought so.

Freddy gets a kiss from Pele

Adu was signed to DC United and made his first appearances with them in 2004.  The pundits were skeptical.  Some feared for the boy’s safety, while others claimed that if he were as good as they claimed that he should be sent to one of the top youth academies overseas.  Other players were skeptical as well.  Just because a kid is quick and skilled does not mean that he should be competing at the professional level.  However the US soccer program had already dubbed him as their white knight, and there would be no turning back.

When I heard about Freddy Adu, and saw the approach that was being taken to groom him for stardom, I laughed.  This was going to be a disaster.  My logic was simple:  If you are grooming somebody to be a dominant athlete, the worst possible thing you can do is make them a role player.  Freddy Adu had been taken from playing against high school kids, where he could learn to take over games and dominate competition, to playing against men twice his age, where he would be relegated to coming off the bench and playing on the outside midfield.

Then, a rare thing happened:  I turned out to be right.  In the seven years since, Adu has had a journeyman career.  He has played for six clubs in the last five years, and was not even invited to US National Team camp last month.  He is currently plying his trade in Greece, and no more than an afterthought on the American soccer landscape.  A disappointing, though not surprising, result of the path that was set for him seven years ago.

All hope is not lost for Freddy.   At age 21, he will still have two more chances to perform on the world’s biggest stage.  While his current situation can be attributed to decisions that were made for him as a fourteen year old, Freddy still has the opportunity to look inside himself (or, at least into his reflection in a bottle of legally purchased beer) and set his own course for the next decade.