My perspective on the US soccer loss

If you're frustrated or disappointed by the US loss to Ghana this weekend, let me tell you a story...

I've been watching the World Cup long enough to remember when it was covered by PBS. Yes, the home of Sesame Street. In 1982, PBS and ESPN provided the first real American coverage of a World Cup, and even though I might've caught several minutes of PBS's Masterpiece Theater, I recorded every game and highlight that I possibly could on the VCR. I was a 12-year-old kid who had fallen in love with soccer, and I watched the drama, tension and goals of 1982 over and over and over on the Betamax recorder that my dad insisted would surpass VHS (for another post).

At the time, ESPN was a fledging sports network that filled its airtime with bowling, lumberjacks throwing trees and slow pitch softball. ESPN had nothing to lose by airing the World Cup, even if the number of Americans watching the games could fit into a bowling alley in Des Moines.

Who could blame them? The US didn't qualify for the '82 Cup; we barely had what you could consider a national team. The US failed to qualify in '86 as well. America was so far away from being competitive in international soccer, it didn't seem remotely worth the effort. This was a country where -- at best -- any potential World Cup appearance seemed to rest upon the superhuman babies of soccer moms or the greatest case of immigration fraud in history.

But the people behind US soccer did not give up, and neither did those of us who thought soccer would eventually find its place in the hearts of American sports fans. Finally in 1990, there was a spark of life. The US qualified for the World Cup in Italy. Sure, we were deservedly dismissed with three embarrassing losses, but it was something.

Then, four years later, when we had a automatic berth because we hosted the World Cup, the US surprised everyone by making it to the Round of 16. We were defeated by eventual champion Brazil 1-0 in an unforgettable game on July 4th. In the moment, to those of us who were so hopeful, it seemed that US soccer had turned a gigantic corner. For the first time, the future looked vaguely bright.

And in some ways, that bright future materialized. The professional league created out of the '94 Cup fever (the MLS) still exists and thrives. The US has qualified for every World Cup since '94, even reaching the quarterfinals in 2002. But the mass media, the casual fans -- they really did not seem to care. The jokes about the lack of goals and the boring nature of the game persisted. The World Cup came and went every four years with barely an acknowledgement in this country. It remained a fringe event in the American sports landscape.

So, despite the dramatic goal against Algeria that lit up YouTube in 2010, I was hardly expecting what I saw when I walked into a bar two hours before Saturday's match with Ghana. The place was teeming with people dressed in red, white and blue. By game time, they spilled onto the street because there was no room to even get a glimpse of the TV. When the game started, the entire bar sang the national anthem in unison. And most surprisingly of all, during the match, these new diehard fans of US soccer did not scoff at the tension-building passes they saw. Their painful, glorious cheers showed that they finally appreciated the game for its exquisite, unique drama.

I thought about all of those Betamax tapes, about all those decades of frustration as the US struggled to prove that it didn't deserve the scorn of the Germanys and Italys and the Brazils. I thought of the many conversations where I argued in vain with American fans that soccer was an amazing game that required their undivided attention, at least once every four years.

I took a deep breath and fought back tears. I felt like I was watching a dream come true, one that started when I was 12 years old. Someday, I promised, this country will care about soccer and all its beauty the way I do. At some moment, even if fleeting, soccer will feel like our national pastime.

As the seconds ticked away, so many thoughts raced through my mind. Yes, we were losing to Ghana, a team that we could've and probably should've beaten. Yes, we were blowing a golden opportunity to advance in a World Cup that had already seen previous finalists Italy and France bow out. And yes, the US had not shown up with the same intensity that had propelled the team to this stage of the tournament. Oh, the sense of frustration that welled up inside of me... it was almost unbearable.

But many hours later, as I had a chance to reflect on the moment, I began to see things in a different light. I had been there since the beginning when there was no US team, when the World Cup highlights might've be interrupted by a pledge drive, when you could've been thrown out of a bar for asking to see a game, when soccer was constantly jeered instead of cheered.

I recalled being in a movie theater in 1981 -- one of the few moments I'd ever seen Americans cheer soccer in numbers -- at the climax of the movie Victory. It remains, to this day, the only time I've ever seen an entire theatre stand up and cheer a movie as if they were watching a live sporting event. Turns out, it was an unheralded film starring Sylvester Stallone and soccer superstar Pele as POWs in a fictional World War II match against the German national team. I thought of that German officer applauding the sheer beauty of Pele's goal, American goalkeeper Stallone making the game-saving stop and fans exploding with joy at a draw in a rigged game with the Germans.

Suddenly, my three hours at the pub didn't seem nearly so frustrating. I relived the explosive cheers, the joyful chants, the excruciating groans, the flags, the people spilling out onto the street, and suddenly I forgot about losing to Ghana.

Suddenly, in a most satisfying fashion, in a way that only three decades of waiting can reveal...

It all felt like Victory to me.