Showdown In Chinatown: The Return of Spectator

The dreams and nightmares of Spectator all rolled into one image as Rossi bears down on goal.

Hello there! Been a long time, thanks to the day job, and all. But the UF Bat Signal went up looking for someone to cover the Showdown in Chinatown, and, well, I just had to answer the call for old time’s sake.

Wednesday was a typical June day in New York: warm, sticky, humid, with the weather report calling for storms. Even with the rain clouds gathering, I was happy for a short reprieve from work duties as I set off for the Sara D. Roosevelt Park (named after FDR’s mother, in case you were wondering). This was the third Showdown event in which I’ve pretended to be an ace sports reporter and photog.

The first Showdown, in 2008, is probably my most vivid memory, because it was just so totally unexpected. The image I remember most clearly are the kids hanging off the tops of the chain-linked fence to get a better view, echoing the classic photos of Dr. J at Rucker Park. The 2009 event was special because the U.S. had beaten Spain in the Confederations Cup right beforehand. I remember sitting at the bar with the UF crew as Dempsey put in the second goal for the United States, in disbelief that the U.S. actually beat the best team in the world. And, for completeness sake, I had to skip last year, but the teams were depleted thanks to the World Cup, so I guess I didn’t miss much anyway.

Unlike in past years, when I borrowed my Dad’s telephoto lens, I just had my regular cheapo zoom lens and camera, so you’ll notice that most of my photos are wide shots. But, there is always something amusing about parking myself next to proper news photographers when I have my cheap camera. I always want to compare notes with them: “Oh yeah, that’s a nice camera you’ve got there, but the guy at 42nd Street Photo threw in a free UV filter with mine.”

Nom, nom, nom…These microphones sure taste swell.

So, on Wednesday, after picking up press passes (credit to Steve Nash’s PR firm for letting in us bloggers), it was on to the scrum of reporters and players and kids and hangers-on(ers?) and friendly mayhem that marks these events. I first spotted Steve Nash, surrounded by reporters, asking him about the morning’s trade rumors. Then I saw Marcin Gortat, hard to miss at seven feet tall, kitted out in a goalkeeper uni. Wandering around, there were the NBA players Grant Hill, Tony Parker, and Raja Bell. Then I said hi to friend-of-UF Marc Stein, the admitted luckiest guy on Earth for the fourth year running. Near Stein was Giuseppe Rossi, also surrounded by reporters. It was tempting to say something snide about playing for Italy, but more on that later. I wandered over to Patrick Vieira who, for his reputation as a combative midfielder, was actually genial and warm talking football to a group of school kids. I always imagine that it’s a thrill for a player like Vieira to come to the U.S. and be recognized, but not in the obscene sort of way if he were over in Europe.

Eventually, the powers that be cleared the field and it was a warmup session. We parked ourselves near the white team, which included Claudio Reyna, Vieira, Demba Ba, Grant Hill, Tony Parker, Jared Dudley, late addition Youri Djorkaeff, Stein, and Gortat in goal. The blue team had Nash, Rossi, Raja Bell, Leandro Barbosa, and Nash’s father and brother, who were both quite good, showing that talent runs in the family.

Fantasy soccer game in reality.

Once the game started, Rossi had a nice little Italian cheering section, as did Gortat with some Polish cheers. The most annoying part of the game was the dolt doing in-game, crowd commentary. You know the kind: “Heeeeeeeeeey give it up for my man Jared Dudley! He’s single, ladieeeeeeeessss! … Oh hey, how you are? Why are you at this game?” etc. The implication was that a soccer game couldn’t hold the attention of a crowd for more than 15 minutes. We, as Americans and soccer fans, deserve a little bit more credit.

If he stops too quickly on artificial turf, his knees and ankles will explode.

As for the match itself, and similar to past years, it was a friendly game played at a relatively competitive pace, with loads of goals and half-hearted defending. Demba Ba scored the first two goals for the white team, but for the most part Nash’s team dominated. Jared Dudley poached a goal, pulled off his shirt, and did a slide on the pitch. Vieira looked really old and creaky, suggesting that he might be ready to pack it in (although he would still be good enough for the Red Bulls).

Steve Nash is on the case.

Barbosa, Parker and Hill didn’t have great technical skills, but as in the past, they showed that an athlete is an athlete, no matter what sport he is playing. The most amusing part of the game was when Steve Nash, ever the competitor, fired a shot strait at Gortat’s, um, midsection. That’s the danger of being a seven-foot goalie, I suppose. (Stupid in-game announcer: “I hope he’s weeeeeeearing a cup!”)

Sadly, the player I couldn’t stop watching was Rossi, who (even at 50% effort) was by far the best player on the field. The years in Spain have clearly honed his technique, because he was happy retaining possession and setting up teammates, something he could do easily. By the end of the first half, he decided to start scoring, something he could do pretty much at will. It was also his quickness and balance that stood out. No surprise then that Barcelona were supposedly interested this summer, and probably just a matter of time before a bigger club poaches Rossi away from Villareal.

What could have been.

And, of course, the saddest reality was that he really should be playing for the U.S. Men’s National Team. On reflection, or at least at the moment, I can’t blame Rossi, especially given the most recent performance. It was his dream to play for Italy, and he grabbed the chance. Of course, that means that the blame lies with Sunil and U.S. Soccer. The pitch to Rossi needed to be: “Sure, you could go play for Italy, but you’ll just be another player. If you play for the U.S., you will not only start every game for the next 15 years, but we will build the team around you, and you will be a superstar and the most recognizable soccer player that this country has ever produced. You will have huge Nike sponsorships. In fact, I just spoke to Phil Knight, and he is ready to hand over a check as long as you commit to the U.S. national team.”

Or something like that.

With these thoughts on my mind, the first half ended, and the skies started to darken. I said to my friends, “It is about the start pissing rain. Let’s get ready to run.” Sure enough, just as the second half started, the skies opened up and the rain came pouring down, and we made a mad dash to a local bar for a beer or two. I know that ace reporters never leave their stories, but you will surely forgive me for an excuse to drink, right?

Later I met up with the Likely Lad, kissing the badge of my Arsenal kit as I walked into the bar, to catch the U.S. versus Panama game. The bar erupted with laughter when Freddy Adu was on the sideline warming up, and yet Huh Bob’s gamble somehow paid off (blind dumb luck as usual). Meanwhile, as the U.S. reverted to a 4-6-0, thoughts of Rossi came back to my mind. For both him and Adu, the thoughts were about what might have, and what could have been. But I cheered with everyone else when Adu set up the winning goal of a 1-0 over a team ranked 67 in the world.

Finally, since I never said a proper goodbye, I just wanted to say it was a pleasure being a part of UF, and nice to meet some of you in person, and many of you online. If you feel like keeping up with my bleatings, I’m on the Twitter (http://www.twitter.com/spectatorr).