Here We Go Again

I am back from the dead, roused from all-consuming ennui by yet another new uniform design from US Soccer. For the first time in US soccer history, the men and women will be wearing the same jerseys, they said. Saints be praised, I said. If the nurse uniforms are history, I'm happy, I said, envisioning both Deuce and Baby Horse sporting some sleek, clean, classy threads.

Then they actually released photos, and my brain went *poof* again.







































The one on top is the women's shirt. Leaving aside, for the moment, the facts that (1) no post-adolescent woman willingly puts herself into wide horizontal stripes because (2) they make her look like an overgrown ten-year-old boy unless (3) she's a giant lesbian who says fuck it, I enjoy looking like a growth hormone-addled barber pole (*waving hand* but not for $149, I don't think), I see a big problem here. Look at the two pictures again and see what's different between them, aside from the marginally visible boobs in the one on top.

When two uniforms are slightly different, we look at the unifying elements for the message of what is official US capital-S Soccer. What do they share? Giant hoops, check. US Soccer crest, check. Sublimated sash, che... wait, what? Yes. Both shirts have a faint diagonal sash running from upper right to lower left (although it looks more like a laundry accident on the home shirts, it's boldly black on the away version). The sash, of course, was introduced to the last iteration of the men's kit to commemorate the 1950 US team that managed to beat England 1-0 in a first-round World Cup match, which was the last US World Cup win until 1994 (and its last qualification until 1990).

Okay, that was a big deal, a ragtag group of scruffy Americans beating the Brits at their own game, although it can't help but also be a tale of nearly a half-century of futility. But whatever. Yay 1950, fair enough. So since both teams are wearing the YAY 1950 sash, they surely must both be wearing something to commemorate the women's team's decades of domination, including two World Cup championships and three Olympic gold medals, right? Perhaps the traditional two stars above the crest, one for each World Cup trophy, just like the Brazilian women wear five stars for their men's side's WC championships?

Ah, no. Checking the pictures very carefully, it appears that they do not. So the official design suite for United States soccer is hoops, a crest, a swoosh, and a sash that's a smudge on one shirt and funereal on the other (black in mourning for the U23 men's failure to make it out of CONCACAF and into the Olympics, perhaps) because we need to remember that the men's team won a game once, in 1950. The women can put stars on their own shirts, but the men don't need to be bothered with them. Because if they had stars, someone might think they were wearing the women's jersey, and that would just be wrong.

Stay awesome, US Soccer.

Edited to Add

Thoughts on the Cup will surely be bubbling up to the surface for the next week or so. Kudos to Christie Rampone and Amy LePeilbet. Despite Rampone's unfortunate shaky second or two yesterday, she is a complete fucking rock on the back line, Lyme disease and all. Scooting her over to the left center back position took some heat off LePeilbet and allowed LP to be mostly competent and occasionally nifty as an attacking outside back against both France and Japan. Kudos to Becky Sauerbrunn for stepping in against France and turning in a thoroughly professional job in a semifinal after seeing the field for exactly zero minutes in the previous tournament games. Oh, Ali Krieger. She had a rough game, hitting a couple of uncharacteristically bad passes that stood out mainly because they were so inconsistent with her otherwise completely solid and reliable play throughout the tournament. She also dropped her mark a few times, although nothing untoward came of it. I do not put the first Japan goal on her at all. The ball was blasted at her from six feet away, dead in front of the goal; it hit her foot at a poor position for a one-touch clearance, directly under her hip, and with an onrushing attacker she didn't have time to touch it to a better position to get a full-strength swing at it. Hard luck.

Kudos to Rapinoe, or, as one of my friends kept mangling it during the game, Ra-pony. She may have been slightly more effective in the later games as a supersub coming on with fresh legs to torment tired defenses than as a starter in the opening games, but yesterday she was a solid left midfielder, even if she may have run herself into the ground by the end. I wonder if occasionally switching sides with HAO would have confused the Japan defense a little, a la the switching in the France match, but the team's overall inability to finish probably makes it moot. Kudos to Cheney, playing 44 decent minutes on a torqued ankle. If she hadn't been hurt, maybe the outcome would have been different. Ah, soccer.

Not-kudos to announcers (both ESPN and Fox Soccer) who still don't seem to get that offside is judged on the position of the attacker's body parts with which it is legal to score. The graphic with the line drawn across the field at the defender's feet is a useful start, but if the attacker's head, chest, or ass is forward of the defender's head/chest/ass/knee/anything but the arm, the attacker is offside. And the high and slightly oblique camera shot used for those graphics cannot physically show the relative positions of anything but the feet. In other words, your feet might be even with the defender's, but if you're leaning forward with your upper body or or just your head even a little bit past the defender, you're off. So some of the "controversial" offside calls (Ohno yesterday, Schelin Saturday) may not have looked controversial at all, if the camera were at field level directly in line with the assistant referee. Also, it's "offside." Not "offsides." Kate and Julie, I'm looking at you.

Much more to come, I'm sure.

Oh Noes

As Carli Lloyd walked to the mark, following an exhausted Shannon Boxx's hospital-ball shot to the keeper's foot, I groaned and said she's gonna sky it over the bar. The ref blew the whistle, Lloyd sent the ball roughly two miles over the bar, and that was pretty much that. Tobin Heath's miss became just a footnote at that point.

Maybe the most interesting thing about the match was the Rashomon experience of hearing Ian Darke and Julie Foudy praise Boxx and Lloyd up and down while everyone in the room with me wondered aloud what game they were watching. Opinion is similarly divided on the Big Soccer boards, where half the commenters think the pair were an efficient engine that shut down the Japan attack and made the US attack go, and the other half saw them consistently lose the ball, make poor decisions, and waste possession after possession by sending shots into the cheap seats from 40 yards out. Would you care to guess which camp I'm in?

The only consolation I find--other than Japan playing a clean, crisp game dedicated to buoying the heart of their country, of course--is that the loss was a total team effort. The US failed to finish about a thousand good chances in front of the net, had an ineffective central midfield, and showed more than a few moments of ghastly defensive panic. The first Japsn goal came off a quick sequence of Rampone making a terrible decision on a pass, Buehler going to ground and sending a rocket directly across the goalmouth, which unfortunately went only two yards before slamming into Krieger, whose panicked clearance went directly to Miyama, who slammed the ball home, one, two, three. And on the coaching side of things, while the decision to start Cheney over Rodriguez was sound, the decision to bring on speedy and tricksy but undisciplined Heath at the end of a tight match that demanded possession and protection of a fragile one-goal lead was baffling and, ultimately, costly. Heath promptly turned the ball over by dribbling into three defenders, and shortly thereafter turned it over again, leading to the fatal Japan corner. Meanwhile, Lori Lindsey languished on the bench and Lloyd stayed in. Japan never quit, and they won, and the world rightly cheered for them.

Well, the other consolation is that the US barely squeaked into the tournament in the first place, and was never favored to win it once they were in, and somehow made it to the championship match anyway. They gave us the gift of the Brazil game, which will go down as one of the two finest team efforts in US history in any sport, right up there with the 1980 hockey team beating the Russians. And Abby Wambach and Hope Solo were perfect pictures of grace and sportsmanship in defeat. Wambach got a goal, Solo saved a penalty, the the team went down, and both said exactly the right things in the postgame interviews.

So close, so tantalizingly, agonizingly close.

The Olympics are coming. We have some work to do.

Game. Day.

I went to bed early last night. Yes, to make today come faster. Just like a ten-year-old on Christmas Eve. And instead of carols in my head it's been that fucking glorious but maddening Megan Rapinoe song on a constant loop, there when I drifted off and oh yeah, riiiiight there when I woke up. Can't get it out.

Forthwith.

You already have my starting lineup wish list, and much like the Christmas wish list that always includes a jetpack, I don't expect a 4-3-3 with no extra Lloyds to be waiting under the tree. Given the inviolable 4-3-Lloyd-2, I'm just hoping that the central midfield either has an uncharacteristically solid game against Japan's precision possession, or that Pia concedes and subs in the midfield we finished with against France, but before they get dissected too bad.

Things I did not expect:

1. Wambach's sudden resurgence. It couldn't have happened at a better time. But if the group game strategy of shooting from 30 yards out is simply going to morph back into vintage 2009 fling-it-up-and-hope-Abby-gets-it, that won't be so great. Be that as it may, the winning goal will come off her noggin. It just can't end any other way now.

2. A-Rod's disappearance. I thought last season's move away from Boston and DiCicco had finally unlocked her confidence and let her turn into the forward we thought she'd be. But this entire Cup has been spent running very fast and then losing the ball or winging it closer to the cheap seats than to the goal. Balls finally quit coming her way. When it's apparent that the team doesn't trust one of the two strike options with a pass, it's time to change.

3. Ali Krieger. Damn. Just damn. Krieger has been the most consistent and dependable person on the field for the entire tournament. Her decision to spend an entire season out of contract in order to work on her game and land a spot with the nats looks brilliant now, for her and for us.

4. The Wambach-Solo lovefest. If those two can roll around on the grass and then walk off with their arms around each other, it's way past time for everyone to stop talking about 2007. The photo of the two of them post-Brazil is the new Webster's picture accompanying the entry for Getting Over It.

5. ESPN. Fucking killer coverage, guys. This was not an afterthought grudgingly produced with interns and stashed away on Classic or U. Flagship channels, actual analysis, and a blessed bare minimum of human interest stories--and even those have a soccer angle first rather than treacle. It's all about the football.

6. Germany. Before the Cup started, I had read that nobody really cared about it there, at least not to anything remotely approaching the extent of the passion surrounding the men's Cup they hosted. But the stadiums have been pleasantly full, TV ratings are sky-high (even after Germany was eliminated), and everything I have read since reports outstanding enthusiasm across the country. A lot of people watching for the first time are impressed by the level of play. Shit, I'm blown away by the overall quality and I'm one of the die-hards.

My prediction for today? US 3-1.

Addendum: Glad Sweden took third. I liked watching both teams play, but Bompy's crap move to provoke Oqvist into a red card tipped it for me.

ome

Turn and Burn the Defender and Hit a Solid Cross Out to the Far Stick

Science is melting my brain this afternoon, as it often does when I'm on the cusp of finally figuring out a long-term problem. So yay for that, but a body needs occasional breaks to churn out words that are not related to the adoption of projectile point design canons over large geographic spaces 2500 years ago.

My favorite uncle has gone on some super-cleansy diet ordered by his endocrinologist, or something, and for four more weeks must eschew caffeine, alcohol, pork (a Muslin endocrinologist? I do not know), grains, salt, black pepper (whuh??), sugar, nuts, and anything refined or otherwise flavorful. I would have to be thisclose to death for that to sound like a good option. What's that you say? I need to eat unseasoned steamed kale and chicken for the next month? And drink herbal tea? Do you have any unprocessed, gluten-free bullets I might be able to eat? Because that sounds seriously fucking intolerable. He's lost 16 pounds in two weeks, which wouldn't hurt me one bit, except that the daily rage index would probably push my blood pressure into such dangerously high elevations as to outweigh the health benefits of swearing off chocolate chips, coffee, and hoppy hoppy IPAs.

Here's something happier than that:



And with the Megan Rapinoe Song playing in my head nonstop, it's back to the science.

Current Events

In ths final run-up to the World Cup championship match on Sunday, one more thing that I've been thinking to myself since this whole thing started.

We need to collectively forget about 1999. The best thing that can happen for the WNT is for everyone to stop talking about 1999, stop flashing back to 1999, stop introducing Brandi Chastain as the winning goal-scorer and bra-flasher, stop replaying The Kick, stop wistfully saying you miss Mia, stop comparing the two teams, all of it. That team did great things, and no one who watched that match will ever forget it. Okay, done. This is 2011, and it's a completely different world in women's soccer now.

Go out and win in 2011. The end.

Notes

A couple of things heading into the semifinal tomorrow.

1. Ian Darke tweeted yesterday that the US team is still on cloud nine, but needs to come down now and focus. Come to think of it, I probably need to come down and focus. The game is already the stuff of legends--the US Soccer online store put all their replica jerseys on sale yesterday for 122 minutes--and was so emotionally wringing and cathartic and totally fucking triumphant that it felt like the championship. The team are the darlings of the US again and a large portion of Germany, but there is still a game left to play, and hopefully one more after that. When the semifinal feels like the denouement instead of the penultimate chapter, well, that could be a harder hurdle than Marta to overcome.

2. Speaking of the Twitter, or, as my fellow Wonketteers are wont to call it, the Twatter, it's an indispensable tool for following the Cup. Subtle nuances, blaring in your face statements, fun tidbits and photos you won't get from the official coverage, all in 140 characters. It's where I first heard about Hope Powell losing the plot, as they say, along with the astonished and indignant reactions from players around the world.

3. Speaking of Hope Powell, O_o. Granted, I have never played or coached at any level remotely approaching international soccer, but I have played for most of my life (including college and high-level club) and done a fair amount of coaching, and there's no way you go into the World Cup knockout round with a KFTM plan that involves asking for volunteers 60 seconds before the kicks start. And then, when you end up losing, you don't turn away from players who finished the match on one good leg and the fumes of poor substitution decisions and call them cowards. You just don't. And she wants to be technical director for the entire FA? Yowza.

4. I hear Sauerbrunn will be starting for Buehler. I've always liked her, but worry about the zero minutes she's logged so far in the finals. Maybe sliding LePeilbet over to her natural center back position and starting Cox on the left wing would be better? Or Boxx at center back, with Lindsey in the middle? Whatever, they're gonna need some wheels to deal with Thiney and Thomis.

5. World Cup breakfast again tomorrow. Please please please soccer gods, let there be one more this weekend.

No Words

I am on my back, on the living room floor, pounding the hardwood with my fists, tears running down my face, and I am laughing. The US has just beaten Brazil in the most wrenching, draining, tornado-in-the heart rollercoaster wreck with bombs thrown in soccer match you will ever see.

The web is full of recaps, so I won't reinvent the wheel here. Jesus Christ. I was completely with Sundhage and Wambach at the end there. There truly were no words. Just laughing and howling and being drenched with tears and sweat and disbelief and joy, the outcome still so improbable and tenuous even after the fact that I was afraid to watch the replays for fear that somehow it might turn out differently the second or third time through. There were no words.

But I do have three words now, plus a followup. The three words are: thank you, Erika.

Thank you for your ever-so-artful dive, with an added technical merit score given for walking away from play and furtively checking over your shoulder to make sure the ball was safely out of bounds before crumpling to the ground like you'd been hit with an elephant dart. Thank you for rolling around and twitching for a full two and half minutes before being stretchered off, because that was conveniently ten full seconds more than the US needed to score the tying goal. And thank you for definitively proving that such odious cheating theatrics not only lose you the respect of your opponents and every person watching from the stands, but also lose you the match as well.

Fuck off, Brazil. You have the most technically and physically gifted player on the planet and a supporting cast that can dribble circles around most of the US defense, but instead of beating us with your superior skills and instincts, you chose to bring the most repellant aspect of the men's game into your own and tried to cheat your way to a victory. That is not "gamesmanship." It is cowardice. The only person among the 26,000 in attendance who fell for your bullshit diving and screaming was the referee, so it almost worked. But in the end it didn't matter. You lost. Try playing straight-up football next time, because you're actually quite good at that.

Heavens to Betsy

What a fuck of a match. The solution is simple, of course, because I'm not the actual US manager. Play a 4-3-3 with Cox starting at left back, a midfield of Rapinoe-Cheney-O'Reilly (or Cheney-Lindsey-Rapinoe if HAO's still injured), and a front line of Rodriguez-Wambach-Morgan. Done and done. As opposed to one and done, which the US will be against Brazil if Pia insists on sticking with the tried-and-true 4-4-2 built around a dual smart but aging/young but stupid central midfield.

Fuck.

This is shaping up to be the torch-passing World Cup. Germany, England, and the US have watched, distressed, as their long-term marquee stars have shown their age and faded back into the woodwork. Birgit Prinz, Germany's all-time goals leader, now moving slowly and then being unceremoniously benched in the 54th two games ago and left there for the last one. Kelly Smith, England's best player ever, exhibiting a downward effectiveness curve culminating in being pulled in the 63rd in England's last squeaker. Abby Wambach, top scorer by a mile among currently active US players, nagged by a bad Achilles and failing to finish in just about every way imaginable short of a sniper atop the stands picking off the ball on its way to goal (finally managing to be in the right spot for the ball to carom off a defender's head onto Wombat's shoulder and thence into the goal, allowing the US to lose by only one instead of two). Time is relentless and cruel.

Meanwhile, Ali Krieger is my MVP for being far and away the most consistent player on the field for the US. Player most likely to crawl into a hole and never come out? At this point, Kelly O'Hara, poor child. God, what a debut. Fun to watch? Anonma from Equatorial Guinea for flash, Lisa De Vanna for incredible bursts of speed and the delicious suspense of wondering when she's going to finally punch somebody. Easy on the eyes? Krieger wins that all day long.

Two days off for recovery now. Bring on current events, I suppose.

Can the US Play With Two Keepers Now?

Two things. First, kudos to Equatorial Guinea for that revolutionary two-keeper alignment. And here we all wondered why the actual keeper came out in a kit that was only one hue removed from the field players. Were I Hungarian referee Gyonegyi Gaal, I would have dispensed with the curt "sorry, y'all" apology and simply walked off the pitch at halftime, leaving my reffy clothes in a sad pile on the touchline, never to call a game and quite possibly never to watch a game again. It was just that bad.



Tomorrow is a rest day, which unfortunately coincides with the one day I could actually sit at home and watch four matches. But no. That happens on Tuesday and Wednesday, so I get to write archaeology stuff at the same time now.

Second, squeeeeeeeee.




















Nespresso Pixie. Dear god, I did not need this, but now that I have it, I cannot live without it.

In other news, it was 118 in Phoenix yesterday, so Sheriff Joe grudgingly allowed the tent city inmates to have ice bags to sit on and possibly bury themselves under so that five-to-ten for marijuana possession doesn't become a capital crime.

It's fucking hot here.

Sorry, Peeps. It's World Cup for the Next Two Weeks

Did you watch the mugging yesterday in Frankfurt? The referee unfortunately lost control of the Germany-Nigeria match roughly ten minutes in, and it was downhill from there. Germany were lucky to escape with a one-goal win and no serious injuries. Nigeria were lucky to escape with only one yellow and not the several yellows and straight red that were warranted. Birgit Prinz had no fun at all in her hometown stadium and finally found the bench after an hour of having the holy hell beaten out of her. Does Lira Bajramaj possibly start in her place against France?

Christine Sinclair must really be looking forward to Canada's date with the hackiest straight girls on the planet. Speaking of Sinclair, well, holy shit, Sinclair. Canada never found their rhythm against France and the ball eventually and inevitably found Sinclair's already broken face, a blast from two yards away sending her to the ground with a bloodied forehead. She managed some lovely combination play very late in the match, but Canada never threatened. On the Bleu side of the ball, Sex Machine Abily shook off the opening-match blahs and showed her usual fine form. France overall played a lovely technical game and earned the big goal differential reward. Germany's back line may have trouble contending with France's speed, particularly if supersub Elodie Thomis sees significant minutes, and the Deutsche midfield needs to find somebody who can connect on passes into the attacking third reliably. Damn Barbie was just off against Nigeria, leaving Germany without much of a threat from the wing, and Garefrekes was almost as invisible. Somewhere in a German hotel room, Sonia Bompastor is licking her chops. Allez Bompy!

In US news, the grand Boxx experience may be mercifully drawing to a close. I love Boxx, I love Notre Dame women. But at 33, she doesn't have the wheels or gas tank to be a World Cup holding midfielder any more, and was a liability on the field rather than an asset. Bring on Lori Lindsay and hope she rekindles some of the old magic with Wambach. Also, NEEDS MOAR ALEX MORGAN.

In real US news, fucking hell. Abortion is history in Kansas, Ohio's going nuts, and the DSK maid is being run through the grinder. I am going back to soccer.

On We Go

Since life insists on marching resolutely on, despite the dog-sized hole in my heart, we got up for the start of the World Cup yesterday shortly after sunrise. In the first match I pulled mightily for France, since no self-respecting lesbian shitass can cheer in good conscience for Nigeria in anything, ever again. France dominated possession on the wings but was surprisingly toothless in the box, partly due to Camille "Sex Machine" Abily having a sub-par match, to put it mildly. Les Bleus also showed vulnerability to the counter. Nigeria's inability to put away a couple of wide-open chances preserved France's 1-0 win.

The second match, between Canada and host Germany, was far more entertaining. The Germans ended up on top 2-1, although missed chances on both ends meant the score could have been more on the lines of 5-2. What hurts more today, Christine Sinclair? Skying the ball over the bar on a wide-open net, or having your nose rearranged by a Deutsche elbow? Germany's ball movement and running off the ball are impeccable, and that Damn Barbie is a force.

I'm DVRing the matches this morning, so don't tell me who won England-Mexico; I'm hoping for a big game from Casa Boltgirl favorite Kelly Smith. We will be watching tomorrow's brace live with a giant breakfast and hoping the US performance doesn't make us want to puke up all those lovely eggs and biscuits.

Soccer Prep Guide

Welcome, soccer fans and "abby wambach girlfriend" and "abby wambach boyfriend" googlers. The World Cup starts on Saturday, and you still have a few things you need to do in preparation.

1. The absolute number one requirement is to zip over to The Equalizer and buy the WWC preview they put together with All White Kit. At 82 lovely searchable PDF pages, it's a bargain at 5.95. Both sites are daily must-reads even when the Cup isn't just around the corner, particularly if a big portion of your regular entertainment intake comes from following the trainwreck that is magicJack.

2. Next, march down to your local purveyor of fermented beverages and plead for some Four Peaks Hop Knot IPA. This might be easier if you live in Arizona. Yes, Arizona. Hop Knot is one of the things that makes life in the state of John "Illegals are Pyros" McCain not only tolerable, but downright magical at times. Lay in a stock; it only comes in 12-packs of cans.

3. Got a spare couple of minutes? Go read about brilliant England manager Hope Powell.

4. Lay in the bacon, eggs, and potatoes. Live games in Germany mean breakfast start times here in the Pacific Time Zone. Suggested opening game breakfast bakey thing:

Rinse three or four leeks and thinly slice the white and pale green parts. Caramelize these in a pan with a healthy pinch of salt, deglazing the pan from time to time with broth. While the leeks are cooking, simmer a cup of broth with a bit of garlic and rosemary. Thinly slice some potatoes into rounds. Layer the potatoes in a baking pan with the leeks and some sliced cheese (gruyere is lovely), topping each layer with a sprinkle of salt and a few grinds of pepper. Add sliced ham to each layer if you're a meat person. Strain the broth and pour enough over to make it a bit soupy on the bottom. Beat a couple of eggs with a touch of milk, salt, and pepper, and pour over. Top with one more layer of potatoes and cheese. Cover and bake at 375 for 45 minutes or so, then uncover and bake long enough to brown up the cheese. Remove from oven and let rest a bit, then shovel it out onto plates and NOM.

5. Ali Krieger. 'Nuff said.

More Footy

More soccer notes, just because. In no particular order:

1. Joanna Lohmann was not in the US player pool, but the current Philadephia Cheesesteak has been one of the better writer-athletes on my radar for a while now. She blogs occasionally here. She is also paired up with Lianne Sanderson, who has the most interesting hair in the England national player pool; unless I’m completely misreading all those tweets, they’re the most uncloseted couple in the WPS.

2. Hope Solo is a profoundly angry person.

3. Given that, Fake Hope Solo was probably inevitable.

4. I don’t mind Kelley O’Hara being left off the World Cup roster. She hasn’t particularly impressed so far in the couple of WPS games I’ve seen, and she would have had next to no chance of breaking into the ironclad Sundhage midfield anyway. Plus, this way she’ll get to drink beer while watching the matches, with the benefit of instant replay—neither of which are amenities she would have on the US bench, even in Germany.

5. Speaking of Solo, how has she been playing after surgery and rehab? I have no idea, and the dozens of people who have actually been to a magicJackass game aren’t talking. Whether that’s by choice or by being Borislowed, I cannot say. Barney isn’t as good with her feet, but she is preternaturally calm, and that might be the most important attribute any US keeper could have at this Cup with the back line we’re looking at. How many matches or minutes does Solo get if she looks rusty or significantly diminished in the pre-Cup friendlies? How will that go if she sits?

6. Speaking of surgery and rehab, my knees are still objecting to being used for much more than walking or rocking out on an elliptical machine. League play begins again at the first of June. I have to be able to get just one good game in; my son is finally old enough to join up with the adult team, and I want to play with him one time before hanging up the boots for good and for real. Maybe slotting a perfect ball for him to run onto and blast through the back of the net. One game!

It's that Time Again

Sure as the swallows returning to Capistrano and the olds from Iowa, Minnesota, and Canada returning to their northern homelands, the steady stream of visitors ushered here today by the magic Google phrase "abby wambach girlfriend" signals that the Next Big Thing for the US Women's National soccer team is on the horizon, that being the World Cup in Germany in about six weeks' time.

US Soccer announced the final roster for the Cup this morning, so let's get right to it. No surprises here, except maybe the very mildly possibly unexpected inclusion of Lindsay Tarpley over Yael Averbuch in the midfield (depending on who you talk to) and Jill Loyden over Ashlyn Harris for the third and thus hopefully purely ceremonial keeper spot. Actually, my biggest surprise is that Pia Sundhage didn't find a way to simply list Carli Lloyd in every roster slot and call it a day. Maybe she'll pleasantly surprise me. Maybe the whole team will pleasantly surprise me. But we're shaping up for another invisible central midfield, given the inevitability of a Lloyd-Boxx tandem in the middle given this roster. Which leaves the backs to keep whanging the ball up as far as they can in the hopes that one of those boomballs will find Wambach's head, and the rest of us to hope that the side can just keep the score close until Sundhage grudgingly puts Alex Morgan on the field in the last ten minutes and she scores a couple of stunning goals, the memories of which will carry her through the first 80 minutes of the next match while she's sitting on the bench yet again.

I was voted Most Optimistic my senior year of high school.

No, not really. Again, maybe they'll surprise me. Maybe O'Reilly will turn her undeniable energy into something worthwhile. Maybe Rapinoe will find some consistency in both play and attitude across an entire match (the new hair can't do anything but help). Maybe Morgan will get a few starts or at least more quality minutes. Maybe A-Rod will find the back of the net. Maybe Lloyd will look like an actual center mid. I will happily eat my words if she brings home the Golden Boot. And I won't even talk about the hideous uniforms.

Until then, I'm nervous. Three friendlies in the next three weeks will either make me feel better or send me into full howling mode, particularly the sendoff match against Mexico. We will see.

What Fresh Hell

Okay. We have established that the US Women’s National Soccer team is in a bit of disarray, playing stale football, led by a coach who displays an increasingly baffling allegiance to tactics, formations, and personnel that simply do not work. The World Cup looms on the horizon. We are getting jittery. Then the new Eurosport catalog landed in our mailbox yesterday and helped us discover new levels of despair.

What the fuck, exactly, is this?

Open a little wider, good. Now turn and.... rinse and spit.

The hell? What the holy hell is this, and who thought it was a good idea? Remember the jersey before this one? The plain one with the badge and wide stripes across the shoulders? The gold version was a little over the top, but otherwise it was a simple, elegant design that was cut for a woman’s shape but prioritized being a soccer jersey.

Shirt for a soccer player.

Then we got this one.

Hi, hon, are you here today for a color or just a cut?

So maybe it is simply part of the natural progression of what passes for US Soccer logic that a player should step off the field, remember she’s a woman, and get on with real woman activities, such as "go to the salon" and then "go back to work as a dental hygienist." Maybe I’m wrong about that last one. Maybe it’s really "go back to work in sickbay on the Enterprise." Whichever the correct interpretation may be, "be a soccer player" ain’t it.

How do you tell the difference between, say, a male Norwegian national uniform and a female Norwegian national uniform? By the gender of the player wearing it. How should you be able to tell the difference between the US women’s kit and the men’s kit? By the two stars the women get to wear above their badge. That should be it. England puts their men and women into the same kit. Germany used to, but now, just when the Germans have the most awesome away jersey in the history of away jerseys—and right before Germany hosts the World Cup--they’ve stuck their women’s side into something they apparently stole from the rhythmic gymnastics team warmups.

Man jersey. Rawr.

Woman jersey. Uh, flowing ribbons!

Please, US Soccer. We’ve been round and round about this sort of thing before. If Brazil, Argentina, and Mexico can deign to allow their women’s teams to wear the same designs as their precious men’s teams, can the US not come up with a single clean design that both our sides can wear? Not one that harks back to the glory of a single game the men won in 1950, not one that might as well be plastered with giant type reading O HAI WERE JUST GURLZ WHATS SOCCUR, just a simple kit that says we are the USA and we are here to kick your ass.

I will stick with my men’s jersey for this World Cup, though the idea makes me sad. And I wouldn’t buy the Dr. Crusher uniform even if I could stuff my shoulders into it, which I most assuredly cannot. At least they’re not trimmed in pink. Yet.

England 2, US 1

And now, a soccer interlude. The US Women’s National Team played a friendly against England yesterday afternoon and came away with a loss for the first time in a friendly in six and a half years. Six. And a half. YEARS. 50-something matches.

What, exactly, is the problem? Would you like a metaphor? Fine.

Brianna Scurry.

Too obvious and easy? Yes, and this is why. If you paid much attention to sports during the summer of ’07, you probably remember the World Cup kerfuffle that erupted after undefeated starting goalkeeper Hope Solo was benched in favor of Scurry for a crucial match against Brazil. Solo had been shaky at times during the previous two matches, but was still the undisputed best keeper in the world. Scurry, a long-term veteran who stopped the last penalty kick against China to secure the 1999 World Cup, hadn’t played a complete match in the three months prior to the ’07 Cup, but had a very good career record against Brazil, so bumbling US coach Greg Ryan opted for history and wishful thinking over the established hot hand. Brazil humiliated the US 4-0, and Solo gave one of the epically worst postgame interviews in the history of postgame interviews, essentially saying I can guarantee I would have stopped all those shots, you fucktard (well, exactly saying that, with fucktard merely strongly implied). A significant faction of the team went Mean Girls in response, Solo was blackballed, and Scurry went through a few repeated and increasingly futile attempts to stay on the US roster and then to hang on in the WPS, before finally staggering off into retirement.

Anyway. Fast forward to yesterday afternoon, and Scurry is sitting in the ESPN studio between Bob Ley and Tony DiCicco, trying her hand at being a studio analyst. The match had revealed several glaring US weaknesses; the bafflingly static US lineup of long-term veterans was out-played and out-finessed by a young England side until the last 15 minutes of the match, when US coach Pia Sundhage mercifully subbed out ailing forward Abby Wambach and ineffective Amy Rodriguez and Megan Rapinoe for zippy youngsters Lauren Cheney, Alex Morgan, and Tobin Heath. Until they came in, the US lacked possession and any semblance of linkage, let alone creativity, between the midfielders and forwards. So when Bob Ley posed the obvious question, the softball lobbed to give Scurry an easy opening to pounce on, her assessment of what the US needed was…

To get Abby Wambach more involved in the offense.

Jesus God. 32-year-old Wambach was working with one good leg and a serious fitness deficit, and aside from two more of the hacky fouls that have very unfortunately become her hallmark in recent years, posed little threat to the England defense. Nobody in the midfield could hold the ball long enough to make a pass, and when they did, it was more often a pointless long ball over the top that Wambach couldn’t have gotten to even if she were ten years younger and uninjured. The team was utterly without a spark until the young kids came in, and then we instantly saw crisp ball movement and even more crisp player movement off the ball. Had Morgan, Cheney, and Heath had more than 15 minuted to get their legs under them and synched with the rhythm of the game, the outcome would have been different.

And the poster child for all the ills caused by coaches hanging on to players who are past their prime (and players who push to extend their careers long past their sell-by date) could only see the need to get the third-oldest and most-injured player on the roster more involved in the offense.

The World Cup starts in June. That is not a lot of time for Sundhage to have the come-to-Jesus moment she needs, assuming Jesus has the same ideas about lineups and formations that I do. Many, many great players have done great things for the US on the field. But they can’t play forever. I understand the hunger, truly, and I have nothing but respect for Brianna Scurry's career. She was great in her day. And Wambach was great in her day, but she's been struggling for some time now, and every minute she struggles on the field is a minute Alex Morgan sits on the bench. There are boatloads of hungry young players coming up that need to get their own days going. Now.

Where I'm From and Where I am Now

Where I'm from? Well, that didn't take long.

A secretly funded political group aligned with Rahm Emanuel has donated more than $445,000 to aldermanic candidates to help the mayor-elect in a high-stakes battle over control of City Hall.

Whatever. Just fix the CTA, Mr. Mayor, if you please.

Where I am now? Just another version of Crazypantsland. It's getting to the point that daily updates are clearly needed to keep track of the insane shit spewing out of Maricopa County. Let's see, so far this we we have had:

* State Senate President Russell Pearce (R-White Power) decreed that the public will be barred from media briefings in the senate building because, as four people were arrested for disruptive behavior, allowing the public in clearly creates a safety hazard. I'm not sure why he's so worried, since he decided last month to let legislators carry guns into the building and onto the floor, because, as he said, "Guns save lives."

* In fact, guns save so many lives in Arizona that the senate decided people should be able to carry them into any government building they want. No more "no weapons allowed' stickers on the DMV door! The only way for agencies to prohibit people from carrying guns into their facilities now will be to install metal detectors and hire armed security, and the state sure has money to burn on that. What could possibly go wrong?

Interestingly, the Arizona House and Senate buildings do not currently have metal detectors. Which probably explains why Pearce doesn't want the newly armed rabble to be able to come in.

* On the culture war front, the House passed a bill eliminating public funding for abortion. That's swell enough on its face, but, as with so many other bits of legislative dumbfuckery in this state, it comes with extra consequences.

HB 2384, which gained preliminary House approval earlier this week, would make it illegal to use public funds to train medical professionals to perform abortions.

But the language goes beyond direct tax dollars. It also forbids the use of any federal funds that pass through the state treasury or even through other levels of government.

And even tuition or fees paid to a state university of community college would be off limits for the costs of the training.

See the super awesome part at the end there? The University of Arizona has a decent medical school, or had one, anyway. HB 2384 means that students in the OB/GYN department may no longer be able to get training on how to perform an abortion, even the only kind that's sometimes moral, you know, depending on who you ask (perhaps the ethics department can start teaching that woman = incubator, which should clear that little problem right up).

* I posted some time ago about a proposed bill that would prioritize married people over singles and unmarried couples for adoption, and that's now steaming right on forward. "The best interest of the child" had been the previous guiding principle in placement for adoption. Under the new law, that would still be a consideration, but the state has essentially made the decision a priori that a married couple is always in the best interest of the child. Whee. I report, you decide.

* Is there any good news? Yes. Red Bulls and Sporting Kansas City are coming this weekend for an MLS preseason tournament with two eminently shreddable Arizona semi-pro teams. I'll be the one in the Sounders jersey and Red Stars (*sob*) scarf.

WCQ Wrapup

Nothing like an unexpected loss to propel a match previously considered a gimme to the primetime spotlight on ESPN2. The surest indicator that people were suddenly thinking about the US women's national soccer team, or at least one part of it? This blog got triple its usual number of daily "abby wambach girlfriend" hits in the three hours leading up to kickoff time. go figure.

Anyhoo, the... Mollies? Does anyone remember when the US supporters made a tentative attempt at getting that nickname to stick, in honor of Molly Pitcher? Would've been so cool, even without the bared bosom. Whatever we want to call them, the US women won last night on the strength of three goals, all in the first half, two by Sarah Huffman's girlfriend. Lauren Cheney got the other.

What did we learn? Mostly, that the US is indeed able to move the ball smartly around the field when they are largely unopposed. The precise passing game was lovely to watch for the first 25 minutes, until I remembered that Costa Rica is ranked 46 spots below the US in the FIFA rankings, and noticed that right there around minute 25--perhaps out of frustration at the decided lack of an avalanche of goals--the US reverted back to long balls flung into the box from 40 yards away, hoping to find Wambach's head. The goals came when they settled down after another 10 minutes or so, but the final one came on a counter after a Costa Rican forward broke free down the middle and screamed in alone on goal, only to put the ball wide when Barnhart came out to challenge. Six inches to the left and it might have been a very different dynamic at the end of the half.

And Amy Rodriguez came in as an early second-half sub to play on the wing. Interesting! And with that, having waited to start watching the DVRed game until 9:00, I promptly passed out on the couch. So I have no idea how that worked out, although the score didn't change. I like Cheney up top with Abby, and still hope we see a three-front on the chance they make it to Germany this summer.

So it's on to Italy, then Chicago. We will see.

New Year in the Women's Soccer Calendar Cycle

Wow. It's so hard to get worked up for writing a lather-filled screed about a game that was a giant pile of meh, so let's have a gallon or two of coffee and try to ramp up gradually here.

The US-Mexico Women's World Cup qualifying match exposed the same US weaknesses we have fretted about since 2007 (lack of speed, lack of technical precision, snooze-inducing tactics, over-reliance on Route 1 to Abby's head), but did so in a way that we hope is horrifyingly novel enough to have gotten somebody's attention. You know, somebody else who might be able to do something about the situation.

The 4-4-2 is over. Time for a 4-3-3, a 4-2-3-1, something to beef up the attack. Something with options besides Wambach, who can find the back of the net with her head like no other and is demonstrably tougher than nails (say what you will about her occasionally limited game and questionable past leadership; nobody could watch her standing there with blood pouring from her head and being stapled--stapled!--up on the sideline and not bust out with a well fuck all, go America!). Keep her up there in the middle as an aerial option, but please, please, please, start Alex Morgan and Lauren Cheney up there with her as more mobile, slashing, versatile attackers. Amy Rodriguez is very fast, very very fast, but until the goals are expanded (see: barn, broad side of), she isn't a realistic scoring threat on the international level.

Speaking of scoring threat, any level, Carli Lloyd? Really? Still on the roster at all, let alone starting? Really? Pia, honey, we can put that long-overdue discussion about the merits of wearing a bra on the back burner for now, because we really need to talk about some of your personnel decisions. Lloyd sucks. Trust me on this; I'm a Red Stars fan. Boxx? Oh god. I love Boxxy. But at 33 she's lost a step, and holding mids (remember that position?) need a step. She is perhaps emblematic of a problem where many players appear to be on the roster because, well, they made the roster at some point in the past and you're reluctant to discard people that are past their shelf lives. You can afford one long-long-long-term savvy veteran on the field, if you surround that player with a bunch of young legs, so sure, keep Lil parked in the midfield. Everyone else, though, needs to perform or lose their spots.

Krieger? Nogueira? Averbuch? Rapinoe? Until Heath is healthy again, I do not know where the answer lies in the midfield. Back line? Brrrr. LePeilbet is fine. Rampone, I suppose, can still get it done but needs to have some real afterburner speed next to her. Mitts? Not so much. Cox? Maybe.

Keeper? Until Solo is back and demonstrably her old self, what the hell, throw Loyden in there and see what happens. Or Ashlyn Harris, who has demonstrated the ability to stand on her head and pirouette and tap dance all at the same time if it keeps the ball out of the net.

Just change it up, Pia. Jesus. Please. What you've been doing does not work. Player combinations that first fielded ten years ago do not work now. The baffling lack of a short passing/creative runs control game really does not work. Just running full out worked fifteen years ago, but now the rest of the planet has caught up, and we no longer have the monopoly on good athletes who can run circles around everyone else well into their thirties. Now we need great young athletes and tactical superiority just to keep up with Germany, and Norway, and... Mexico.

One and done territory, kids. Lose and the US does not go to the World Cup, which is on the level of the Yankees being mathematically eliminated on May 15. Win and the prize is a two-leg play-in game against Italy, with the last leg on November 27. In Chicago. Fucking hell. Catch the carnage on ESPN2 at 6pm EST tonight.