There were 36,218 people in a stadium East Hartford, Connecticut on May 25th, 2010. It was impossible to park, as thousands arrived with hours to spare before game time. Inside the stadium, almost everyone in attendance was wearing some form of official apparel. Jerseys, t-shirts, scarves, and goofy Uncle Sam hats attired the crowd to look something like a Memorial Day cook-out on Long Island. And when the first goal went in, off a corner kick in the 17th minute, there was no mistaking the deafening chant of an eager fanbase shouting USA! USA! USA!
This is what international soccer has become in the United States. Just four years ago, writing my second assignment for the Mercury, I traveled around Newport asking if bars, cafes, and restaurants intended to broadcast the upcoming World Cup tournament. Many of them told me no. Several mentioned that they would show the games only if there was not something else on: something like the Red Sox, or College Baseball. As a concession, some bartenders told me they would show the final.
Four years before that, I was in eighth grade. The tournament was being hosted by Korea and Japan meaning game time was only a bleary eyed 2 am. To make matters worse, few American channels were willing to broadcast the games. So I got up, at 2 am, and watched the World Cup on Telemundo and Univision, loosely improving my Spanish while watching the United States advance further than it had ever gone before. I could not afford a jersey, and even if I could, there was no one to purchase one. Falling asleep in class, my teachers demanded an explanation. When I told them I was up late watching the World Cup they either laughed in disbelief or asked what it was. Out of patronage, I printed a US Soccer shield and laminated it at a hardware store. I pinned it to my t-shirt every morning exhausted from watching soccer all night.
Eight years later, and the long promised enthusiasm for soccer has finally arrived in America. ESPN has promised unprecedented American coverage of the tournament, and I have countless chances to buy a US National Team Jersey. I bought their blue Away kit, the handsomest Jersey the team has ever worn, and wore it to East Hartford on May 25th.
I was not alone.
The first sport my parents ever let me play was soccer. Baseball happened two years later. Basketball happened a year after that. Like millions of my peers, soccer is neither odd nor foreign, but refreshingly familiar. On the US Men’s National Team, Jay DeMerit, Landon Donovan, and Clint Dempsey are all men of my generation. They have all played in Europe, where the competition is highest, but unlike previous generations they do not believe that soccer in America is an oxymoron.
And why should they?
When they scored in East Hartford on May 25th, a full stadium rose to salute them.
Shouting the name of the nation, these fans let the world hear that America has come to play soccer.
