Welcome to Mateoland | Writing by Matthew Yeomans

The Village Voice - June 28, 1994

It's The Passion Stupid!
By Matthew Yeomans

DETROIT--After about the eighth or ninth request, the bartender at Pat and Mike's, the "authentic" Irish bar in Detroit Metro airport, was growing a little testy. "No," she barked at some poor unsuspecting Swiss supporter as he asked in his deliberate but faltering Germanic English if he could watch the Ireland-Italy game, "we don't have cable, the other bar doesn't have cable, and in fact, no place in this airport has cable. Now, what do you want to drink?!"

"Cable?" mumbled the nonplussed Swiss, to no one in particular. "Can you imagine it, not even showing the game? This would be unthinkable in Europe."

Ever since the 15th mundial kicked off in Chicago last Friday, with Oprah falling off the stage and Diana Ross missing an open goal some 50 feet wide, so providing a good laugh for the opening ceremony crowd and a role model for Thomas Dooley, a lot of things have been going on that would be unthinkable in Europe. Hot dogs and peanuts on sale at the games, for one thing. Flamboyant attacking soccer, for another. But nothing as un-European as the enormous World Cup media and sponsorship campaign based on the tournament's major selling point--its passion.

With more Americans claiming to prefer watching monster truck racing over soccer, the papers and TV realize they can't hype the sport's skill and entertainment--so instead they have been packed with passionate quotes about passionate fans. "They came by the thousands," wrote the Times, describing the 63,000 spectators for the tournament opener in Chicago. "Bolivians blowing whistles and carrying oversized flags, Germans beating drums and dancing in conga lines, Americans trying to plug into this unfamiliar festive celebration."

Sitting inside the stadium and watching those "passionate" Bolivians, along with quite a few Mexican sympathizers, outnumbered 4 to 1 by a vast army of oompah-playing, triumphal-march-from-Ada-humming Germans, it was obvious something was lacking. Sure, Soldier Field was packed, and sure, they all had team shirts and flags, most even having applied their let's-go-to-war ceremonial face paint. But for such a blindly committed army of supporters, they lacked coherency and that sense of unity that turns little pockets of suppporters into the awesome Tartan, Azzuri, or Brazilian golden armies of the past. Like a group of actors being asked to perform together for the first time, this lot had been given no time to rehearse. If passion was on show, it was being packaged and controlled with that same slickness that has been the trademark of World Cup 94.

The only glimpse of hardcore fandom came early on, when the German fans drowned out the Bolivian national anthem with chants of Deutschland! Deutschland! Quite ironic really. But as soon as the game was over, the fan persona seemed to fade and the national identity of the Bolivians and the Germans slipped back into everyday American life.

In the World Cup, this is not meant to happen. The euphoria should continue after the game, enveloping and overpowering the day-to-day life of the host country. It happened in Spain, it happened in Mexico, and it almost finished off Italy. "It's the atmosphere that counts even more than the game," explained Michael Ruddi, a Swiss fan from Zurich just arrived in the States for the games and desperately in search of some fellow Swiss fans, "because you can attend a weak game with a great atmosphere and it turns out to be a great game." Here in Chicago, all passion ceased at the stadium exit.

At least in Detroit, there was a hometown crowd. Some 73,000 fans turned up to see the USA begin its 1994 campaign, and for once, in a Silverdome masquerading as the largest sauna in the world, the U.S. fans actually drowned out a very vocal, cowbell-wielding Swiss contingent. Draped in their customary red and white flags and with face paint suggesting a particulary virulent form of measles, the Swiss had threatened to intimidate the U.S. out of home-fan status, given the fact that most U.S. fans are almost invisible. For unlike any other World Cup nation, the USA's support comes mainly from the PG family crowd. No pretty little soccer chants like You're gonna go home in an ambulance here.

American soccer supporters are not known for their vociferous support, and so as the Silverdome parking lot began filling up with Toyota Spacecruisers and Chevy Luminas, it seemed up to the Swiss to better the near maniacal musings of one Colombian radio journalist, who helped reveille some very groggy journalists on the bus to the Silverdome by singing along to an eclectic mix of blaring merengue while belting out the theme from the Muppets.

Outside the stadium, the moms and pops were staring fairly quizzically at the Swiss, and pondering what this all meant to their sons' and daughters' budding soccer careers. "I think theWorld Cup is a good media event," said Carl Adams, who had come with his son David to watch the game. "People are excited now, but I don't know if it will boost the popularity of soccer." David was less sanguine, "If the American team doesn't do well, then the game has no hope of taking off."

Once in the stadium, a transformation occurred. With the rather limited chanting repertoire of USA! USA!, the home crowd drowned out the Swiss and injected into the Silverdome a cauldron atmosphere that almost matched the temperature. Unfortunately, the American team couldn't live up to their supporters. Defensively flat to begin with, and virtually devoid of ideas all game in midfield and attack, the USA can count themselves lucky that the Swiss' idea of finishing was not finessed at Gstaad. Tony Meola, as always, pulled off impressive-looking saves, but, as Switzerland's precision free-kick goal demonstrated, his acrobatics often mask his very bad positioning.

More disturbing, the USA's star midfield line of Dooley, John Harkes, Mike Sorber, and Tab Ramos seemed unable to communicate with each other. With Harkes working out on the left for much of the game, neither Dooley nor the phantomlike Sorber seemed willing to enforce the midfield or take the game to a dodgy Swiss defense, leading Harkes postmatch to criticize both players. "We didn't really get at them," he told an L.A. Times reporter, "and when we did it was only with one or two players attacking five at the back, and it made it very difficult to score."

As the game ended, though, the U.S. draw seemed a letdown rather than a disaster. That changed as the news of Colombia's defeat arrived and it became clear that come Wednesday, Colombia would be after goals to survive--and to restore a very brittle collective ego. If that isn't daunting enough, there's always Romania on Sunday.

Passion? The Americans will need that, and a lot more, to win the points necessary to advance to the next round.

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