CONFESSIONS OF AN ORIGINAL SOCCER DAD: by David Rusk

I am an original soccer dad.

Yes, the U.S. Open Cup has been contested for over a century, but organized youth soccer didn’t come to Albuquerque, New Mexico until the spring of 1973. Our two sons, Gregory (age ten) and Patrick (age seven) began that fall season. Barely 400 boys and girls of all ages had signed up for the Albuquerque Youth Soccer Association (AYSO). Soccer was not played in any of the area’s high schools.

I had never played soccer. Rugby was my sport – 13 seasons with Cal-Berkeley, Washington Rugby Football Club, American University (a club team), and the immortal Turkey Thicket Rugby Football Club.

I wasn’t a complete stranger to the world of soccer. The first match I had ever seen was the Superclásico between River Plate and Boca Juniors at El Monumental in Buenos Aires in 1961. (How’s that for beginning at the top!) And with an Argentine mother, our three children inherited the soccer gene. Delcia and I and Gregory, Patrick and Monica were regular fans at Washington Darts matches played at Catholic University’s erstwhile football stadium in the late 1960s.

In fact, in late summer 1970, these two worlds merged. As captain of Turkey Thicket, I stepped on the grass of RFK to put on a rugby exhibition just before Santos played the Darts. Pele performed his usual magic but the Darts’ striker, Gerry Browne, caught fire and scored four goals; Santos walked away with only a 7-4 victory.

Being a Good Soccer Dad

But when our two sons signed up, I didn’t presume to know anything about the sport. Neither did Delcia (though, as an Argentine, she may have been faking her ignorance).

And, in retrospect, that was a great benefit for our boys and their teammates. We never succumbed to what has been judicially labeled "the Little League Parent Syndrome." We were never screaming instructions from the sidelines or berating our sons, their teammates, opponents, or referees during matches or buttonholing their coaches before or after practices and matches with "suggestions" and complaints.

Yet we were always on the sidelines or in the stands, providing positive encouragement. (Some years later, as a high school coach, Gregory urged a roomful of parents to attend games, saying "you have no idea how much pride it gives your son to play before his parents.")

Our parental support and conduct contributed to our boys’ love of soccer, especially Gregory. Both went on to join Albuquerque’s earliest "competitive" soccer clubs, competing in many regional tournaments. They were the first generation of varsity high school players. Gregory went on to play collegiate soccer, indoor soccer, and professionally with the New Mexico Chiles in the pre-MLS American Professional Soccer Association against the likes of Marcelo Balboa and Eric Wynalda. After hanging up his cleats, he has coached for 25 years at youth, high school, and collegiate levels and holds a USSF "A" coaching license.

So Delcia and I have attended a lot of soccer matches through the years in which our sons (and now grandsons) played or coached. Plus, of course, over 400 DC United and Washington Freedom matches. All told, we must have attended over 1,500 soccer matches plus watched hundreds more on TV.

Yet I still don’t claim much expertise in the sport. Though I am a regular member of the Black & Red United Commentariat, my observations are rarely about tactics or individual player’s skills (e.g. "Lucho’s defensive skills are underrated.")

"B&RU Commentariat Syndrome"

I’m a constant reader of Black & Red United; in particular, monitoring the current "Buzzard Point – Legend" contest, I read everything. And I am struck by how quickly many commenters can turn negative.

I recognize that an honored adage of the American professional sports scene is that with the price of a ticket you’re buying the right to boo. And I appreciate the analysis of those with clearly a profound knowledge of the sport. (For example, I stand in awe of B&RU co-editor Jason Anderson.)

But, in my view, too many of the Commentariat conduct themselves like parents succumbing to the "Little League Parents Syndrome." Let’s re-label it "the B&RU Commentariat Syndrome."

And, though I am a donkey and not an elephant, I do have a long memory. I can recall how many of us (as I did) expressed great confidence with DC United’s roster coming into the ill-fated 2017 season – with the high-scoring lineup of 2016’s second half intact, having purchased Lucho Acosta from Boca Juniors and having signed Ian Harkes, the #1 collegiate player. And I watched as many Commentariat turned quickly against players, coach, and general manager during the unraveling of that miserable season.

(Want a truly frustrating MLS season? Try 2000, when with most of the MLS Cup 1999 champs returning [Agoos, Etcheverry, Llamosa, Moreno, Olsen, Pope, Williams et al.] DC United didn’t even make the eight-team playoffs in a twelve club league!)

Perhaps critical Commentariatistas should turn for inspiration to Thomas Paine’s The Crisis (1776) when many faint-hearted members of the Continental Congress were debating replacing General George Washington with British-turncoat General Charles Lee as commander of the Continental Army, for heaven’s sake.

"THESE are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman."

Well, I’m a winter soldier and a stormy-day patriot for DC United. Perhaps, rather than Thomas Paine, my attitude is better expressed by Julie Jordan, who sings in Rogers and Hammerstein’s musical Carousel (which also gave birth to Liverpool’s anthem "You’ll Never Walk Alone").

What's the use of wond’rin’ if he's good or if he's bad
or if you like the way he wears his hat.
Ooh, what's the use of wond’rin’ if he's good or if he's bad.
He's your fella and you love him.
That's all there is to that.

Common sense may tell you that the ending will be sad
and now's the time to break and run away.
But what's the use of wond’rin’ if the ending will be sad.
He's your fella and you love him.

There's nothing more to say.