Wine and Soccer

Last weekend I took a bus from Boston to New York to stay with a friend in Brooklyn. He’d invited me down to watch the New England Revolution play the first leg of the MLS Eastern Conference championship series against New York in Red Bull Arena. My friend’s been a fan of Thierry Henry since Henry’s first days at Arsenal, and he wanted to see the French striker’s last game in New York, maybe one of his last games ever.

Shortly after I arrived on Saturday night, and with zero fanfare, my friend opened a bottle of 1963 Dow port and poured glasses for us and his wife. How he came to have a bottle of 1963 Dow sitting on his kitchen counter is not to be gone into here, but something should be said of the wine itself. The great British critic Jancis Robinson has described the 1963 Dow as “majestic,” and that it is “one of the top four or five vintage ports of the 20th century by anyone's reckoning.” The particular bottle I tasted last Saturday was one of the best wines I’ve ever had, despite its having been stored indifferently on multiple kitchen counters for more than a decade (after, it’s true, three decades of impeccable storage in a London cellar).

Since there can’t be many bottles of 1963 Dow left, it may (just) be worth recording some of my own impressions, which I jotted down on a scrap of paper: “Translucent maroon, you can see through it, like tea. Green apple, pepper, caramel, licorice, asphalt. Not necessarily complex, but perfectly balanced, without a hint of that nasty, vegetal mintiness of table wines that are past their primes.” When I asked my friend for his impressions, he (most would say rightly) winced and said, “I don’t do that.”

My urge to treat the wine as something beyond a mere beverage—to comment on and discuss it—and my friend’s equally strong desire to shun such pretentions and keep his thoughts to himself can be seen as emblematic of how Americans react to wine. Even though wine is enormously popular in the U.S., it has never fully shed its reputation as the drink of snobby, rich aesthetes. The following passage from Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast illustrates how the author could only drink wine naturally in Europe, or anyway outside the U.S., where Americans fetishize the stuff:  “In Europe then we thought of wine as something as healthy and normal . . . Drinking wine was not a snobbism nor a sign of sophistication nor a cult; it was as natural as eating and to me as necessary.”

I thought of some of this last weekend when I drank vintage port and, later, watched the game. I also thought (not for the first time) about the similarities between wine and soccer. Most obviously, fans of each tend to intellectualize their passions, to talk about them in stilted language, though there is nothing inherently intellectual about wine or soccer. Wine critics talk of a wine’s “finesse,” its “lingering finish” and “exquisite balance,” its “masculinity” (or “femininity”) and “nobility.” In short, they use terms and concepts that are typically not applied to other foods or drinks, even beer and spirits. Soccer commentators employ similarly nerdy terms that would sound laughable if they were used to describe almost any other physical activity outside the performing arts. They talk of a player’s “quality” and “current rich vein of form,” of “naive” defensive plays and “educated” left feet, of “brilliant finishes” (that last term neatly overlapping with wine lingo).  All of this contributes to the popular notion that soccer and wine are the provinces of snobs and eggheads, not “normal” people.

I’ve mentioned something of Americans’ uneasy relationship with wine. We have a similarly uneasy relationship with soccer. While growing in popularity, particularly with young Americans and urban liberals, soccer has never been widely accepted here. The documentary Once in a Lifetime: The Extraordinary Story of the New York Cosmos has an illuminating interview with John O’Reilly, the former New York Cosmos promotions director. O’Reilly describes the 1975 press conference that introduced Pele to the New York press after Pele signed with the team. O’Reilly recalls the influential, conservative New York sportswriter Dick Young shouting from the back of the crowded room: “[Young] was just heckling the entire time. ‘Soccer is for foreigners, shouldn’t be played in America!’ Everything negative.” Many American political conservatives continue to carry Young’s torch. Ann Coulter’s June 2014 jeremiad, “America’s Favorite National Pastime: Hating Soccer” is representative. Soccer, she writes, is “foreign” to Americans and is a threat to American values.

So while Americans are watching more soccer than ever—as evidenced by the strong ratings here for the 2014 World Cup and rising MLS attendance—there is still a sizeable contingent of intelligent citizens that regard soccer as un-American. And that contingent makes it nearly impossible for any American to regard watching soccer as Hemingway’s Europeans regarded drinking wine—“as something as healthy and normal.”

Glenn Davis, a former professional soccer player and current soccer radio and TV broadcaster for the Houston Dynamo, is a proselytizer of the game. I listen to his podcasts occasionally, and more than once I’ve heard him urge listeners to come down to Houston’s soccer stadium to enjoy “the company of like-minded individuals.” Every time Davis mentions “like-minded individuals,” I bristle. Because the comment speaks to soccer’s entrenched status in this country as a cult activity to be enjoyed not by all but by an enlightened few. Americans don’t go to NFL or NBA games to be in the company of like-minded individuals. They go to watch the games. And they assume there will be all types of people there—blacks and whites, conservatives and liberals, Budweiser drinkers and wine collectors—not just people like them.

For soccer to be widely accepted in this country, it doesn’t need more like-minded individuals. It doesn’t need more people who frequent Portland coffee houses and Brooklyn pubs. In other words, it doesn’t need more people like me. It needs more people who want to kick my Obama-voting, wine-note-taking ass. I may not want those people sitting next to me at MLS or U.S. national team games, but until there’s the strong possibility that they will be sitting next to me, soccer will continue to be, as Men in Blazers’ Roger Bennett and Michael Davies say, “America’s Sport of the Future. As it has been since 1972.”

Revolution at New York Red Bulls, 4.28.12

Thierry Henry scored the lone goal in this game, in the seventh minute, on a breakaway. He ran hard down the left side of the field, outmuscling physical New England center back Stephen McCarthy. Henry created just enough space to get the outside of his right foot on the ball, sending it over a helpless-looking Matt Reis, who was caught off his line.

The goal was typical of Henry’s MLS goals so far this year, a product of strength, skill and guile that few players in the world, let alone MLS, possess. It was also, of course, a valuable goal, particularly so since Henry would fall to the ground untouched less than fifteen minutes later with a strained hamstring and have to leave the game. (He’s apparently out for three to four weeks.) Without Henry on the field, New York instantly became less dangerous and alluring; in fact New England was on the front foot for most of the last hour of the game.

The aftermath of Henry’s goal against New England was also consistent with some of his other MLS goals this year. Henry jogged to the end line, barely acknowledging the fans, took an angry-looking kick at the corner flag, then trotted up the sideline, his teammates hugging and patting him as if they were ineffectual ghosts who couldn’t penetrate his reality. Given his long history playing for Arsenal and Barcelona, it must be very tough for Henry to get excited about scoring against the likes of the New England Revolution. But the contrast between his reaction to the goal against the Revolution and his goal for Arsenal in January against Leeds in the FA Cup (when he ran over to Arsene Wenger to give him a hug) is remarkable nonetheless.

But I know: it’s a little hard on a guy to criticize him for not celebrating with enough alacrity when he’s playing so well. The goal against New England was Henry’s ninth of the young season, which leads MLS. And anyone who cares about the quality of play in this league will join me in wishing him a quick recovery. As for one of New York’s other DPs, Rafa Marquez, I think the MLS disciplinary committee should have suspended him for more than three games for tackling and kicking Shea Salinas. In any case, I don’t miss Marquez’s uninspired play one bit.

And as for the Revolution, they looked mostly punchless after their long layoff, failing to score a goal against a rookie goalkeeper with no prior clean sheets and a back line with eleven MLS starts between them. It was the Revolution’s third straight loss, and they remain stuck on six points after seven games played. Clyde Simms and Kelyn Rowe had uncharacteristically ineffectual games. And Benny Feilhaber—who came on for Rowe to begin the second half—found himself all alone in front of the goal and on the end of a perfect Shalrie Joseph cross in the 77^th minute. But he sent his header virtually the only place he could to ensure that the ball wouldn’t hit the back of the net—directly to New York keeper Ryan Meara. That miss, an exceptionally bad free kick in the 62^nd minute, and getting stripped of the ball two (or three?) times by Dax McCarty combined to make this game one that Feilhaber will want to quickly forget.

Feilhaber nearly redeemed himself in the 88^th minute, creating space for himself at the edge of the box, getting the ball onto his much-preferred right foot, and ripping a shot on goal. Meara made a good save, but New York got lucky when the rebound narrowly missed falling to the feet of A.J. Soares, who’d pressed forward from his center back position. Soares, by the way, had an excellent game for the Revolution, consistently beating Kenny Cooper in the air. And speaking of goal-scoring opportunities, Saer Sene had his best and most consistent game yet for the Revolution, hustling, tracking back and nearly scoring shortly before the half on a composed, skillful run through the defense. His shot on that sequence hit the post. He had others.

So the Revolution created some chances, and they held the ball considerably more than New York after Henry left the game, but I hope the New England players don’t kid themselves into thinking they got cosmically jobbed. This was a depleted Red Bulls team full of rookies and fill-ins, a team that should not have held a rested New England team to zero goals. In other words, the game made last year’s dismal season seem horribly fresh and this season’s early, promising victory over the Galaxy seem distant.

Revolution at New York Red Bulls, 6.10.11

I knew the outcome of this game before I had a chance to watch it. Given the Revolution’s recent slide down the standings, I wasn’t surprised to hear they lost 2-1. When I finally did settle down to watch the game, however, I was surprised and delighted by the quality of New England’s play. This was a genuinely good and exciting match, with some of MLS’s best players and characteristics on display: Thierry Henry, Shalrie Joseph, some crisp passing by both teams, lots of opportunities to score, and box-to-box physical play. True, some of the worst aspects of the league were also laid bare, including at least two inexcusably botched finishes by players from both sides. But after the last half dozen or so excruciatingly constipated matches involving the Revolution, this one felt like a gleeful rollercoaster ride on a sunny day.

Any discussion involving the Red Bulls should start with Thierry Henry. Though he’s past his prime, he’s still quietly brilliant on the ball and lends credibility to the league. (And let me add that anyone who doesn’t enjoy watching him play is not welcome to my MLS All-Star Game barbecue next month.) Henry scored what turned out to be the game-winning goal early in the second half. With the Red Bulls up 1-0, he dribbled the ball down the left side of the field and surged ahead of the defense. He then actually came to a stop to let Revs’ center back Ryan Cochrane get between him and the goal, presumably the better to toy with Cochrane. When the defender eventually did get between him and the goal, the striker quickly cut the ball back, causing Cochrane to lunge ineffectually. Henry then put the ball on to his left foot and knifed a shot between Matt Reis and Didier Domi, the ball settling into the side netting of the far post.

Henry used the side of his foot when striking the ball, as he so often does when taking shots. Some diligent soccer statistician ought to go through every one of Henry’s goals—from his national team appearances to Arsenal to Barcelona to the Red Bulls—and determine how many of them were scored off his laces. My guess is that number would be under twenty percent. Henry’s goals are calculated sniper shots, not cannon blasts.

Henry more or less scored the Red Bulls’ first goal as well, when he struck a low cross into the box and Cochrane inadvertently deflected it past Reis for an own goal. Henry was also robbed of a seemingly certain assist in the 77^th minute. He passed the ball to wide-open teammate Mehdi Ballouchy, who was waiting in front of the exposed goal like hominid in before a monolith. Ballouchy somehow missed the delivered-on-a-platter goal, his shot glancing pathetically off his foot and wide of the post. I can only imagine Henry’s anguished reaction, unfortunately not captured by the camera.

As for the Revolution, they probably should have won the game or at least notched a tie. They created a great opportunity in the 33^rd minute when Domi made a stellar pass to Chris Tierney, who was running down the left sideline. Tierney crossed the ball to Rajko Lekic in the middle, but Lekic was brought to the ground before the ball reached him. The foul resulted in a Shalrie Joseph penalty kick, which, in keeping with this frustrating season, was saved by Greg Sutton.

Speaking of good passes from French nationals, Ousmane Dabo played a tantalizing 19-minute stretch before aggravating a left hamstring injury and leaving the game. That brief span was long enough for him to make two excellent, dangerous long passes—one to Tierney in the 11^th minute and one to Domi in the 14^th—and enough to make all Revolution fans close their eyes and shake their heads in disappointment when Dabo signaled to the coaches that he needed to come off. Dabo has played only 148 minutes so far this season. You can only imagine how much better the Revs would be with him on the field for significant minutes.

But let’s move on for once to the unequivocally positive. The Revolution’s lone goal against New York was a thing of beauty. It came early in the second half, just three or four minutes after Henry’s goal put New York up 2-0. During a season in which the Revs seemingly can’t string together three passes, this goal came off a series of nine consecutive passes involving seven different Revs’ players. The build-up started from the back with Stephen McCarthy and Cochrane and featured a characteristically good pass from Domi and a deadly left-footed cross from Tierney. Tierney’s out-swinging ball sailed across the goal mouth to Zak Boggs, who was waiting at the far post about six yards out. He trapped the ball with his thigh and rammed home a right-footed volley. After so many games of failing to produce chances, the Revs worked to produce a good one and effectively finished.

The game opened up considerably when Lekic was joined up top by Kenny Mansally, who came on in the 56^th minute for Pat Phelan. As virtually everyone who has watched the Revolution this year has observed, Lekic has been all alone in the final third of the field in the Revs’ 4-5-1 formation. If this game is any indication, the Revs may move to a 4-4-2 for the remainder of the season. Mansally nearly—and should have—equalized in the 71^st minute when the Red Bulls’ normally reliable right back Jan Gunnar Solli played a slow, lazy ball back to his keeper. Mansally streaked in to intercept the pass, only to push the ball wide with a truly horrendous shot that foreshadowed the Ballouchy miss described above.

The last ten or fifteen minutes of the game were full of scoring opportunities for both teams, but it was clear the Revolution had more left in the tank than the Red Bulls. In the 85^th minute, the Revolution popped up three moon-ball headers in New York’s penalty box before an inexplicably wide-open Mansally struck a dangerous volley over the crossbar. A minute or two later, Lekic snuck a header between Sutton and the near post for the apparent equalizer. But Lekic had been flagged offside. While he and his teammates and coaches were understandably outraged, the replay showed the linesman made the right call. 

Wayne Rooney’s brother John came on for the Red Bulls in the 84^th minute. Unless I missed something, he didn’t have the slightest impact on the game, but it was mildly interesting nonetheless, like seeing Frank Sinatra, Jr.