The Banner Yet Waves

There was a time in my life when US Soccer saved it. Nearly a decade later, the 

hope survives.

The US Men's National Team at the 2010 World Cup in South Africa kept me alive. They don't know it - they probably never will. And most members of that roster no longer officially don the red, white, and blue on the pitch - they're the old guard now. But last night as I watched a new generation of USMNT put on a surgical clinic of sorts, I was certain they were holding my heart in their hands, and they rescued me once again.

This blog's very existence - the title, the cover image, the tagline if that's the right name for it - is an homage to what the USMNT has done for me. It started in a psychiatrist's waiting room reading a Sports Illustrated feature on Tim Howard and Tourette syndrome. I don't foresee it ending. But sometimes in the throes of a busy life, the memory of what the USMNT - and subsequently football - has meant to me can wane. This in spite of some incredible moments along the way:

• Landon Donovan's Algeria goal, Ian Darke's sensational call (which would serve as my ringtone and alarm for the next year), and the tears that followed

• The World's Reaction to Landon Donovan's Game Winning Goal - The emotions depicted in the video were diametrically opposed to everything I felt in every other moment as a clinically depressed person. But I somehow experienced that incomprehensible joy alongside everyone else during that 91st minute, and Landon Donovan is the one who gave it to me. 

• The 2010 World Cup album - I ran for my life on the treadmill while watching the 2010 World Cup to ease my depression symptoms. It wasn't a cure, but it did help, as did simultaneously listening to a dreamer's confidence in a better "One Day," along with traditional South African melodies overlaid with Nelson Mandela's thoughts on hope.

• A missed flight to ITALY and the candid feeling of relief because now I could dedicate myself to watching my boys in the 2011 Gold Cup (Update: still haven't made it to Italy)

• Discovery of Clint Dempsey's own remarkable journey and the gift of his jersey, which Jurgen Klinsmann would later sign for me at an open practice that Dempsey also attended

• An encounter with Tim Howard in person at RFK Stadium and his instructions to hold the jersey tighter so he could sign it while I was shaking from being starstruck for the first time ever

• An Emirates Stadium tour in London with my family

• A pick-up match observed in Paris (below)

• A pick-up match played with youth facing juvenile detention (not pictured)

• My face's (double) cameo on the USMNT's 2014 World Cup Gatorade bottles, which I applied for while en route to Ghana after only ever dreaming of visiting the African continent for years prior, a dream that began with the 2010 World Cup

• The ESPN Magazine World Cup special edition, which I read also en route to Ghana to distract myself from my then-fear of flying, which had been one of my biggest hangups about going

• Watch parties for the majority of the 2014 World Cup in Kumasi and Accra, Ghana, including the USMNT-Ghana match (a storied rivalry already) that included the infamous John Brooks header

• Purchase of an authentic Black Stars jersey in Accra

• Visit to a Black Stars stadium

• A father-daughter date to view the legendary USA-Belgium match at an outdoor watch party in downtown Indy 

• Attendance at Copa America Centenario with friends and the American Outlaws in Philly, along with numerous other USMNT and USMNT-adjacent matches, including one with my mom and one with with Graham Zusi ;)

• A trip to South Africa, including seeing one of the 2010 World Cup stadiums 
  

And the list goes on.

In recalling all of these moments, it's hard to believe I ever forget. After all, though I am perhaps embarrassed to admit that it took severe depression for me to truly recognize - for the first time ever - the existence of a world outside of myself, the USMNT played a crucial role in shaping that perspective.

It's almost as if what I was witnessing in 2010 was a similitude of my own experience - Tim Howard's own health struggles were indeed what initially caught my attention. To see these players with their uniquely remarkable stories take the field and give it all for each other and their country - a country that largely didn't care and largely still doesn't - was to perceive a caliber of love and sacrifice that I had yet to personally achieve. But it was something to strive for. It gave purpose to what for me felt in that deeply dark time to be a purposeless life. And in the interim, as I began setting those goals for myself, I could watch these mere mortals apply those aspirations in real time. I could root for them, and in turn I would be rooting for myself. The investment I made in the USMNT that summer, and thus in myself, was new and overwhelming.

Nevertheless, life happens. I forget. My depression symptoms have gotten better, but the depression is never fully gone. Sometimes, even when those dark moments come, I still don't remember.

But then gifts like last night's match bring it all back (a match that had inherent meaning already being against Trinidad and Tobago, who tragically showed us the door from the 2018 World Cup before it even began). In fact, Mo Edu - another member of the 2010 roster - and Landon Donovan were both providing analysis in the studio last night.

I don't yet know the stories of many of the new USMNT players, though I've caught a few glimpses - after a particularly difficult loss just a few weeks ago, anonymous Instagram followers left hateful messages on Zack Steffen's posts. He "liked" them. Uses it as fuel, you might say. In many ways it's different, but I can't help but think that I too know that feeling, even if those cruel comments for me came from less public inner demons. (Steffen had a great performance last night by the way.)

But for whatever it's worth - and for me it's worth a lot - especially as I'm mostly just sending this into the void with little chance that any players ever actually see it, I just wanted to say 'thank you.' To Tim, to Mo, to Landon, to Clint, to Jurgen, to John, to Ian, to Bob, to Steve, to Carlos, to all of the players who have since retired for giving me that reason for living so many years ago. To Zack, to Weston, to Christian, to Gregg, to Gyasi, to Aaron, to Michael, to Jozy, to all of the new guys and veterans who carry on the legacy. Thanks for your failures, thanks for your triumphs, thanks for stepping on the pitch and bringing it all back for me last night. You don't know me, but you've changed me. Last night was a moment I didn't know I needed until I had it.

Some people will say sports don't matter. For me, they have been the reason I am breathing. Last night I inhaled deeply. It felt amazing.  

*Update: Thanks to a tweet from Tim Howard himself, shortly after publishing this post I realized that today is exactly nine years to the day since the Algeria goal. "You could not write a script like this."