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| What we all want, and not so deep down. |
This post has exactly one through-line: everything relates to Major League Soccer. Now, let’s throw some shit at the wall.
I want to start with a wee celebration on the occasion of Sacha Kljestan’s retirement – and I’d like to begin those notes by admitting I haven’t done this kind of thing nearly enough. Players exit the league all the time, of course – not a few of them go on to better things, some become Alexi Lalas, aka, a guy doing a never-ending, insufferable bit – and they go out with nothing more than a few hundred tweets thanking them for their service. More of them deserve better than get it, basically, and Kljestan’s definitely one of those guys.
People who have followed MLS long enough probably remember the zeitgeisty phrasing that talked about it in terms of versions – i.e., MLS 2.0, 3.0, maybe with a 2.3 or 2.6 thrown in for those hung up on finer distinctions. Real old timers remember when the league contracted in 2002, cutting two Florida teams with very Florida names, the Miami Fusion and the (league OG) Tampa Bay Mutiny. While it didn’t take long for MLS to begin what looks like inexorable expansion in hindsight – starting with Real Salt Lake and Chivas USA in ’05 – it is important, for the purposes of this exercise, to try to imagine watching a tiny league that forever seemed on the verge of collapse.
Chivas USA drafted a young Sacha Kljestan in 2006 as a Gen Adidas player. While neither they nor RSL hit the ground running, Chivas USA turned things around first, topping the West in 2007 – and even pushing DC United for the Supporters’ Shield that same season. I barely remember Chivas' roster from that era – though much like New York City FC, they borrowed talent from their parent team, Chivas de Guadalajara – but Kljestan quickly stood out as a star player. And I mean that in the sense that he could play soccer: he had the skill, brains and technique to do good and interesting things on the field. Moreover, he joined an ever-growing collection of American players who fit the same description. Some of those careers in the league started before Kljestan’s (e.g., Clint Mathis, Clint Dempsey during his New England Revolution days), some became direct rivals for a time (e.g., Landon Donovan), and they all added their own piece to the idea that the United States of America could produce credible soccer talent. I’m not sure I can adequately describe what that felt like to anyone who didn’t watch MLS in the 1990s, but it was nice to feel something brighter than a nagging sense of doom.
I want to start with a wee celebration on the occasion of Sacha Kljestan’s retirement – and I’d like to begin those notes by admitting I haven’t done this kind of thing nearly enough. Players exit the league all the time, of course – not a few of them go on to better things, some become Alexi Lalas, aka, a guy doing a never-ending, insufferable bit – and they go out with nothing more than a few hundred tweets thanking them for their service. More of them deserve better than get it, basically, and Kljestan’s definitely one of those guys.
People who have followed MLS long enough probably remember the zeitgeisty phrasing that talked about it in terms of versions – i.e., MLS 2.0, 3.0, maybe with a 2.3 or 2.6 thrown in for those hung up on finer distinctions. Real old timers remember when the league contracted in 2002, cutting two Florida teams with very Florida names, the Miami Fusion and the (league OG) Tampa Bay Mutiny. While it didn’t take long for MLS to begin what looks like inexorable expansion in hindsight – starting with Real Salt Lake and Chivas USA in ’05 – it is important, for the purposes of this exercise, to try to imagine watching a tiny league that forever seemed on the verge of collapse.
Chivas USA drafted a young Sacha Kljestan in 2006 as a Gen Adidas player. While neither they nor RSL hit the ground running, Chivas USA turned things around first, topping the West in 2007 – and even pushing DC United for the Supporters’ Shield that same season. I barely remember Chivas' roster from that era – though much like New York City FC, they borrowed talent from their parent team, Chivas de Guadalajara – but Kljestan quickly stood out as a star player. And I mean that in the sense that he could play soccer: he had the skill, brains and technique to do good and interesting things on the field. Moreover, he joined an ever-growing collection of American players who fit the same description. Some of those careers in the league started before Kljestan’s (e.g., Clint Mathis, Clint Dempsey during his New England Revolution days), some became direct rivals for a time (e.g., Landon Donovan), and they all added their own piece to the idea that the United States of America could produce credible soccer talent. I’m not sure I can adequately describe what that felt like to anyone who didn’t watch MLS in the 1990s, but it was nice to feel something brighter than a nagging sense of doom.
