Category: Uncategorized

As promised last week: 4,000 words on my little brother, Scott Milanovich, Paris Hilton, Mao Zedong and Odessa Permian high school football. I guarantee that those words have never been put together in a sentence before.

Sorry for the slow week of blogging here at danoshinsky.com. I’m working on a big piece that has to with the photo above — and this book. Should be up later in the week.

The blog has relocated to, well, the exact same address. But it looks different. And the font is a little bigger, which my parents will immediately assume is a backhanded way of me reminding them that their vision is decaying due to old age.

To which I say: I could’ve made a balding joke instead, pops.

I’ll now return you to your irregularly scheduled blogging.

(H/T to Omid Tavallai for the photo of the sign at right, which translates roughly as ‘Pardon Our Dust’ in Japanese. Anyone else a bit weirded out about the cartoon man’s belt-over-the-suit-jacket combination?)

I saw something at the gas station today that I didn’t even know still existed: the early edition of the Sunday paper.

On Fridays, the San Antonio Express-News prints an advance copy of their Sunday paper. It’s almost all feature stories, plus the fluffy stuff that stays evergreen: comics, crossword puzzles and coupons.

But as much flack as newspapers get for their printed edition — even my dad’s started to realize that by the time you’ve opened the paper at 8 a.m., that news is a day old — the early Sunday edition seems even more dated.

Here’s proof: this week’s lead story in the Express News‘ early Sunday edition is about the continued success of the ‘cash for clunkers’ program, which — in the time it took to print that Sunday edition — ran out of money and went back to a vote before the House to get extra financing.

So here’s to you, early Sunday edition of the paper: thanks for making the daily printed edition seem so fresh.

Dear American Soccer TV Commentator,

I’ve been seeing a lot of you lately. This isn’t really a surprise; I happen to love soccer, and there’s been some great soccer on TV of late, from the Confederations Cup to the World Football Challenge.

But I’m noticing a familiar trend in these games: you keep asking, “Has soccer made it in the U.S.?”

Now, I understand that you’re just trying to sell soccer to the archetypal non-soccer fan in this country.

All I’m asking is that you stop.

Stop, because it’s about time that you started really selling the game, because that’s what real pitchmen do. And what are you selling? There’s a national team that’s experienced some considerable success this decade, including a few highs this summer. There’s a soccer league that’s coming into its own. There’s actual controversy around the game, thanks to Beckham, which is bringing soccer into the national sports conversation. And, most importantly, there’s the massive growth of soccer on TV.

Thanks to HD, soccer not only watchable — it’s also beautiful. Let the moving pictures sell the game for you.

And just wait until August 12, when the U.S. heads down to Mexico City to play Mexico at Estadio Azteca. Here’s the craziest part: there’s no major English language feed for the game, which means there’s actually going to be backlash from the public. Just imagine; people are going to complain because soccer isn’t on TV!

No, soccer isn’t where it could be in this country, but it is reaching critical mass. Next year, when the World Cup arrives, it has the chance to move beyond that.

We’ve been here before, after the World Cup in ’94 and the U.S. team’s run in ’02, with soccer on the brink of mainstream acceptance. But finally, the game has caught up to the hype. It’s being watched — in person and on TV — en masse, and it’s being played at a high level in this country. As a soccer fan, I couldn’t be happier about the state of U.S. soccer today.

So, to you, American soccer commentator, I ask: stopping selling yourself as the little guy. The truth is, you’re not anymore.

Thanks,
Dan

Out in the suburbs, past the Beltway and the high-rises, out where the Thai and the Vietnamese restaurants make way for Red Robin drive-thrus, you’ll see them on Saturday mornings like today: young children, five or six years old, playing a game that vaguely resembles soccer.

It wasn’t so long ago that I was one of them, toe poking my way through Maryland’s famed MSI recreational soccer league. (Famous MSI alumni: AC Milan’s Oguchi Onyewu and President Obama’s daughters.)

I still have a few of my MSI jerseys tucked away in a corner of my closet back in D.C., and I was reminded of one of those jerseys last night. It’s a red jersey with MSI’s regionally-famed soccer ball logo swooping across the front. And on the left side are three patches sewn haphazardly to the sleeve.

Back in my first year of MSI, the league held mini-clinics for its youngest players. So my team, hand-picked from the first grade class at Wood Acres Elementary School, ventured out to the fields of some middle school in a far off place, potentially several exits north on I-270. There, MSI had set up what seemed liked thousands of miniature soccer fields for kids my age. It is no surprise that the Good Humor man and the shaved ice vendor always seemed to know where these weekend clinics were being held.

These clinics were held throughout the spring and the fall, and MSI coaches would teach us soccer mites the ways of the game. There were four such clinics during the season, and at each, we learned a key skill. Some 45 minutes later, an MSI coach awarded us a patch to certify that we had mastered that respective skill.

I have three such patches on my red MSI jersey, one each for passing, dribbling and shooting. I do not know where I was for the fourth clinic; I think I was sick the day they taught proper technique for eating orange slices at halftime.

Regardless, that season began a childhood of meaningless reward for quasi-success. I played MSI soccer — at either the recreational or slightly-more-competitve-than-recreational level — for the next 11 years, and each year, I received a trophy, no matter how well or how poorly my team did that season. (At the end of several seasons, my teammates and I were awarded a second trophy for sportsmanship, probably because we were the only third graders who didn’t talk trash during the post-game handshake.)

But I don’t think my experience in MSI was abnormal. I believe that for more than a decade, across America, we’ve been rewarding our youth for minimal achievement.

Which brings me to the shirt you see below.

Last night, at the team store for the San Antonio Missions — the Class AA minor league affiliate for the San Diego Padres — I noticed this collectible hanging in the window.

Now, I’m all for celebrating the potential of mankind. I just don’t think a $16 ‘Mid-Season Champs!” shirt is the way to do it.

H/T to George Campbell for the image of kids playing soccer.