Homare Sawa's goal in the final three minutes of the Women's World Cup Final was perhaps the largest of a series of "almost" great moments for US Soccer in 2011.

Neil Blackmon on the year that was in US Soccer.

“There is no other sport like football. It is beautiful and it imitates life because it is a game of failure. Americans have baseball, and it is beautiful and there you have failure too—but football is different because it is epistemological. You can have failure and it’s to scale of course, but the degree of failure is always a question of method. And you can always answer the question why if you look hard enough. And there are a lot of almosts.”

– Johan Cruyff

There’s an old joke that sportswriters have a tremendously self-important job, that they don’t read the papers, they just write for them. It’s a funny joke but it misses the point: writing about sport is cloaked in insecurity because the challenge of the blank page is so daunting. A sportswriter is essentially given a blank page, some peripheral information that includes numbers and letters and trends and the writer is then tasked with making a series or a ballgame out of the whole thing. It’s a powerful, ego-driven thing, the task of making an event or series of events or story that others may not have seen come to life on a page. And it’s true that it’s less so in the age of instant media, but in the end it’s still one that leaves the writer completely exposed. One failed paragraph, one misguided suggestion, one failed letter and an entire moment in time falls flat.

Why mention any of this? Because even in the age of instant media, it’s been my great privilege despite my day job to write stories about soccer, about the US National teams and the Barclays Premier League, and despite my own insecurities in doing so, I get to recreate the smell, the feeling, the texture of a game that matters to people. We leave the television and internet to the sight, or the sound, and try to capture the ineffable moment. And sometimes, when we’re lucky, we almost do. And for those of us, who like me, have a platform for our passion, even (especially?) without profit, that’s almost as good as it gets. My path to soccer writer that practices law as his day job isn’t exactly a vintage American tale of accomplishment, but it is almost. And it’s one that I couldn’t help but think about as I reflected back on the year that was in US Soccer. For if US Soccer, in the total sense of the phrase “US Soccer”, could be given a one word summation in 2011- wouldn’t that word have to be “almost.”

We entered 2011 coming off a World Cup that was almost the greatest in modern Men’s National Team history. The Americans achieved their greatest draw since Bunker Hill, scored almost the most important goal in the history of US Soccer in the 91^st minute, and won a group at the World Cup, and one that included England no less. On this ground alone, you could argue 2010 was the best World Cup for America in the modern era, but to do so you almost have to forget the almost invincible Tim Howard being just off his line on Kevin Prince-Boateng’s early strike, and Carlos Bocanegra almost having enough skill to recover on Jay DeMerit’s blunder leading to the Asamoah Gyan’s extra time winner in the second round.

A heroic performance from Tim Howard was almost enough to beat Argentina in March.

Fast forward three months, and the Yanks almost got the better of one of the globe’s finest sides, Argentina. Sure, it took a Jim Craig in Lake Placid type performance from Tim Howard in the first forty-five, but Bob Bradley made his typical rope-a-dope adjustments in the second half, where he shored up the US liabilities, addressed the oppositions strengths, and switched his formation. It almost worked, and who knows what a better result than a draw would have delivered—but we do know the game offered two revelations in side back Timothy Chandler, who stopped the Argentinian siege of the right flank (a movie we’d see again in the summer, without the German-American, sadly) and Juan Agudelo, whose work rate coupled with a hard-tackling American midfield created space for the Americans creative engines, Landon Donovan and Clint Dempsey. It was almost a result worth savoring, save the first forty-five minutes, full of reservations.

Across the pond, Clint Dempsey was almost the best CONCACAF field player in the Barclay’s Premier League, except that for every splendid, jersey sullied performance from Fulham’s #23, there was one more attention-grabbing and to the constantly insecure American soccer faithful, more ominous from Mexico’s young Javier Hernandez. And when speaking of Hernandez, it’s almost worth a paragraph to stop.

The rise of Hernandez from Mexican Primera club Chivas– Mexican power but still more or less an outpost on the global map of club importance–was almost antihero role reversal. After all, America is supposed to be the place where a Horatio Alger tale is possible, rise from the one bedroom apartment in some dark corner of Queens or where have you to profit and prominence. Didn’t Herman Cain, one of 2011’s most fascinating figures, suggest that “If you aren’t rich and successful, blame yourself.” There’s still a Calvinist strain connecting prosperity to divine election in the Occupy Wall Street version of America, and isn’t this why we’ve always felt a strong connection to Clint Dempsey of Nacogdoches, Texas? Here’s a guy who came from playing backyard soccer and imitating the ball tricks he saw on public television on Sunday mornings, who was never on the silver spooner American youth developmental radars, who ended up getting a late scholarship to an above-average soccer program, and who has ended up, just this fall, passing the legendary Brian McBride as America’s most successful scorer in the globe’s finest league? Hernandez is antihero precisely for stealing the spotlight in our shadowy little region of the soccer universe from Dempsey, the Horatio Alger tale of American soccer. It would be one thing if Hernandez himself had come from threadbare beginnings, but beyond having a professional soccer player father who thought his son “too small” to make a mark on the game, there’s nothing remarkably compelling about the young man’s life story. Only his game makes for powerful narrative.

A dream start in the Gold Cup Final was almost enough for the US. But Gio Dos Santos and Javier Hernandez have restored Mexico's regional superiority.

This summer brought the Gold Cup, and the story almost had a happy ending. There was a moment in late May at Wembley Stadium where a few of the more optimistic believed Hernandez was mortal. Barcelona’s backline had trapped Hernandez into submission in the Champions League final, and Hernandez wandered around the midfield for the latter portion of the game, pouting and half-chasing the ball. But the cynical knew better. The US backline, with or without the German revelation we met against Argentina in March, is no Barcelona. And despite a second consecutive international tournament where the Pride of Nacogdoches was the States’ finest player, it was Hernandez who was the difference, along with the enigmatic youngster Gio Dos Santos, who plays every bit the role of wimpy Clark Kent at his clubs but climbs into a phone book and dons a green, red, and white cape upon his every return to international play.

After a Gold Cup that saw the Americans almost fail to get out of group play, and The Americans almost had enough that day too—they found a belated Father’s Day goal gift from Michael Bradley, and an under-attack from various media outlets and inconsistent Landon Donovan doubled the lead minutes later, donning his own cape from whatever energy he seems to find when seeing the green, red and white in front of him. It was a 2-0 lead that was almost too good to be true, and when longtime, understated and underappreciated side back Steve Cherundolo’s 32 year old legs could carry him no further after twenty minutes, the slow death of America’s title hopes began. Javier Hernandez’s continual darting runs sliced open a patchwork American back four, and after Clint Dempsey had a rocket shot ricochet off the bar that almost tied the game at 3-3, Gio Dos’ Santos scored the tournament’s most brilliant goal, to put Mexico ahead 4-2 and help El Tri hoist the trophy.

Two years prior to this June’s final in Pasadena, it was almost safe to say that in under the decade since Brian McBride’s header found the back of the net in Korea in 2002, the United States had changed the power structure of CONCACAF for good. In the last World Cup cycle, after all, the Americans had won the qualifying group (again) and a World Cup group. Perhaps Mexico and the rise of Chicarito then were a well-timed reminder that in sport, as in life, things can change very quickly. Mexico won the U-17 World Cup this year and finished second in the U-20 tournament. Top team vs. top team, June’s result made it almost safe to argue El Tri are two goals better on a neutral field. The American players, and their Federation officials, left Pasadena wondering how to narrow the gap.

Late in 2010, a goal from 21 year old Alex Morgan helped the Americans qualify. We learned much more about Baby Horse this past summer.

As fans and journalists alike, there wasn’t much time to stew over Gold Cup defeat. The Women’s World Cup in Germany in late June and early July came as welcome respite, and delivered the proverbial goods. The whole tournament was broadcast in beautiful high-definition by ESPN and as the group stages progressed, the ratings, and the number of American television sets TIVOing matches expanded exponentially. Read that sentence again, and it’s almost beyond the realm. People were locked in and this group of incredible athletes, these women, were more than compelling.

Soccer is a global village these days in the men’s game, this much we know, but this gamble by ESPN was a societal experiment that almost failed before it even started. The Americans almost failed to qualify long after the television deal had been inked. It took a clutch goal from a 21 year old to help the Americans out of the hole, and in the aftermath, ESPN promptly dubbed young Alex Morgan, who had just graduated from Cal-Berkeley “NEXT” in its annual year-end magazine honoring special young athletes who should and will command our attention in the years to come.

With the country tuned in, the World Cup run almost ended like the men’s did—right when it was becoming magical and people were paying attention. After 120 minutes, the Americans trailed Brazil in the quarterfinals and as the fourth official signaled “three minutes” of stoppage time, hearts had left throats, beginning the descent into pit-of-the-stomach despair. In a flick of the foot of Megan Rapinoe, a short-haired pile of spunk and tenacity, everything changed. The “cross”, as I would call it writing that evening, was perhaps the most remarkable goal in the history of US Soccer. That came two minutes into stoppage time after 120 minutes of play was remarkable enough—that it was a precise cross from twenty-five yards to the head of a late running American legend in Abby Wambach, who was likely playing her final Women’s World Cup was drama of Shakespearian measure.

Rapinoe to Wambach was "the moment" in US Soccer in 2011. Almost forgotten is that the US had to make five penalties to win.

For Rapinoe, the women who made the pass, it meant becoming a household name and an indie heartthrob with her own Portlandia-esque love song, who challenged, if only for a moment, the most zealous Zooey Deschanel adulator for affection. For Wambach, it was vindication of a spectacular career in an unappreciated sport, one that ultimately made her the first women’s soccer player ever to be named the Associated Press’ female athlete of the year.

Almost forgotten in the aftermath of Wambach’s perfect header, in the months that have followed, was that the Americans had to convert five penalties and get an otherworldly save from Hope Solo to win the game, and then they had to win a semifinal before they had a chance to really win anything. They did both of those things of course, and almost won the whole tournament too. Alex Morgan, whose teammates call her “Baby Horse”, scored a goal even more enormous than the one she scored to help the team qualify, netting in the World Cup Final. Again a fourth official signaled “three minutes”, but this time, the Yanks were on the wrong side of riveting. Japan, playing in a tournament with heavy hearts in the aftermath of unspeakable tragedy, found a goal off Homare Sawa’s head. Then it buried all its penalties and the US didn’t. The women almost won the World Cup. In that tournament, we were reminded of how pure and wonderful this game we’re so passionate about can be. But in those three minutes, we were also reminded how gut-wrenching almost can be.

Bob Bradley was let go after the Gold Cup defeat. You could almost argue that he was doomed since he hugged Ricardo Clark after starting him against Ghana last summer.

Speaking of gut-wrenching, how about the way things ended with Bob Bradley, the man who helped an American team win a group at the World Cup and, with a 2-0 win that ultimately denied Spain an international treble, brought the United States within a half of winning a FIFA international tournament? Bob Bradley was always America’s second choice. You don’t get hired on an interim basis amid public longing and contractual breakdown news leaks about Jürgen Klinsmann when that isn’t the case. I’d like to write that Bob Bradley didn’t care about being second-choice in the beginning and second-choice in the end, but the truth is, we just don’t know. What we do know is that he left as the winningest manager in the history of American men’s soccer, with a record of 43-25-12. He worked his rear end off, and he instilled, for a long while, a sense of pride and “can do” into the team that had disappeared in the complacency of the Bruce Arena second World Cup cycle.

Of course, it wasn’t all roses and sunshine. Bradley was tactically limited and, like any manager, had his favorites. Some, like Jon Bornstein, made it hard to forget that he capped more players than any US manager ever. Bradley was fine at in-game adjustments, but his team sheets often left us scratching our heads. And for every decision to start Conor Casey resulting in a brace and road qualifying points there was a Ricardo Clark against Ghana after Maurice Edu and Michael Bradley had bossed the midfield in two games type decision. The Gold Cup might have been the last straw, but the truth is the Bradley era ended when the Americans lost to Ghana, and too many folks forgot that they won the World Cup group. The focus was on what almost happened. A reasonable quarterfinal draw, a path to the final. What almost was in 2010, and another almost in the 2011 Gold Cup Final meant Bob had to go. He was replaced by Jürgen Klinsmann, the man Sunil Gulati almost hired in 2006.

The choice to hire Klinsmann was remarkably consistent with the American fear of regretting choices we never make. Gulati had to know, much like the killer in Dirty Harry had to know if Callahan had a bullet left in the gun. It was also a question of method, as the Cruyff quote that precedes the piece notes. The US had tried things Bruce’s way, and done things Bob’s. Perhaps it was time for a different method. And yes, if in the larger context, Bob Bradley’s fate reads like a down-on-his-luck figure in a Fitzgerald novel, that’s because he is. And maybe letting Bradley go early in his second-term is a good thing. As Fitzgerald wrote, “there are no second acts in American lives.”

Klinsmann’s term almost got off to a storybook start, but the Americans couldn’t muster a winner against a Chicharito-less Mexico side. Since then, there’s been the usual pendulum, just one reoriented towards a new manager: cynics who feel Klinsmann is the classic great player, inept-manager—a void who will be exposed as such without Joachim Low playing the role of wizard behind the curtain, and those who think his infusion of German-American and Latin-American talent will help the Yanks forge a desperately needed offensive spark and identity—one that is essential if they are to maintain any semblance of regional primacy. In my view, the jury’s still out. But the great news is that World Cup qualifying starts in 2012, and by next holiday season, we’ll almost know.

Happy New Year’s to all The Shin Guardian readers. All the best in 2012. And remember, it’s almost time for another Olympics, and another chance to see US Soccer do something quite special.

His story and affiliation with US Soccer and MLS is deep; you can check it out here.

His story and affiliation with US Soccer and MLS is deep; you can check it out here.

So if you’re on Twitter and like Matt’s work, do a solid and RT this: http://twitter.com/#!/shinguardian/status/103493511625719809

Please say no to Middle East or bust.

Update: With news that Bob Bradley is set to be confirmed for the Egypt national team manager role, we re-issue this editorial below.

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Late Sunday, the news came across the wire–Twitter, that is–that Bob Bradley was one of three finalists for the Egypt national team job.

Monday, Bradley’s candidacy assumed pole position as MLS Soccer’s Greg Seltzer clarified and corroborated the interest. Bradley, the frontrunner.

Tuesday, TSG says, “Bob, please pass on this.”

Now truth be told, TSG has not spoken to Bob Bradley (attempts to reach Bob Bradley through agent Ron Waxman via email went unanswered), however if we had, we’d nudge the former US skipper to seek out a few more opportunities.

It’s not that Egypt is a poor role.

While winning the African Cup of Nations is a more difficult challenge than say CONCACAF, Bradley would still be taking over a program that hovers around the same “Tier 2″ status as the United States.

For as bunk as the FiFA rankings are, the United States sits at #30 while Egypt is on its bumper at #34.

The Pharaohs could do worse--a lot worse--than lining up with Bradley

Egypt is a new challenge, but in business this is called a lateral move.

But further, what could, would Bradley prove to himself or others?

On the contrary, there is more clean logic that Bradley should continue to email his resume around starting with clubs in Europe and South America.

First and foremost, game reps.

Just like players, managers need to practice. They need to try new things. In the five years of helming the US, Bradley scratched his way to a record of 43-25-12.

That’s a total of 80 matches. That’s it.

Five years; eighty matches. To put that in perspective, Manchester United skipper Alex Ferguson notched 72 matches into his post in just the last 13 months!

If that isn’t reason enough to gain more practice, there’s a more, shall we say, mature answer.

On national team duty, the opportunity to experiment and organically institute new tactics–and even players to some extent–was elusive. On a team thin in talent, two key players (Davies and Onyewu or Holden and Chandler) seemed to be missing ad nauseum.

Combine that with shortened camps because of international travel and Bradley’s game plans–though maligned by the fans–were probably smart. His match strategy, simple and practical.

The book on Bradley was rote. It usually led with defending the fort and concluded with trying to counter to win through the feet or Donovan or Dempsey. A scripted midfield substitution toed the touchline like clockwork when the 65th minute struck.

If player was injured, others could step in and easily understand and assimilate into the eleven and what was needed on the pitch.

In short, Bradley had little time to fail, was expected to impress, and needed to be spot-on nearly every time out. That’s not only pressure; that’s impractical.

Edu: Great experiment. Needed time. Maybe it would have worked? (photo credit: Matt Mathai)

The effects of Bradley’s attempt to finally experiment “failed” in unspectacular fashion over the past year. First it was an attempt to try Maurice Edu at centerback in a positional switch designed to play a chaser or stopper further up the pitch from the backline. Next was an aborted attempt at a 4-3-3 against lowly Colombia on low-attendance day outside of Philly.

The Egypt (ironic?) friendly was canceled in February amid unrest leading to a batten-the-hatches true-bunkering effort against Argentina followed by an attempt to dictate play against stoic-in-its-own-right Paraguay that saw the US on the wrong side of a 1-0 score.

All this led into the Gold Cup and if you paid hyper attention to the Gold Cup, what you may have seen from Bradley was shocking: a different game plan and set of starters every game except one. (Skip the next three paragraphs if you’re a face-painting fan, because it’s quick tactical history of said Gold Cup.)

Against Canada–a desire to get off on a good foot–it was the pitch ahead on the right flank to Landon Donovan and some Dempsey magic.

Against Panama,… actually let’s put the Panama game in our back pocked for a second. We’ll come right back.

Against Guadeloupe it was Chris Wondolowski asked to check back to the ball from a forward position. Against Jamaica it was a 5-man midfield with a roving Sacha Kljestan. Against Mexico, yet another configuration and set of personnel.

Getting back to the Panama coupling, game one saw Bradley attempt to take the game to a disciplined DelyVasquez side that was stout in defense. The strategy failed, less because of the personnel (Tim Ream) as was suggested and more because the US wasn’t well schooled as a group in pressing up the pitch and keeping the ball. They leaked forward on attacks and the midfield was overrun on many occassion.

So what did the now mercurial Bradley do in a do-or-die tournament match? He went back to what worked. He told his team to commit to keeping defensive shape and when Panama flinched he stole a win.

All stop!

None of the aforementioned is to indict Bradley under the same charges that were leveled a year early at the World Cup; chiefly of attempting to circulate players in the critical position of central midfield under the highest duress.

Bradley attempted to change after the World Cup. He attempted to investigate new styles and new tactics, but how much lattitude is allowed when the onus is to both win games and investigate new players and implement new tactics all typically in three-to-six-day windows?

And especially when your boss doesn’t have your back?

Again, not practical.

TSG guest columnist Kyle Martino echoes the point, but disagrees with the assessment in tweet earlier this week:

Workaholics shouldn’t take National Team jobs. Time between games builds anxiety that results in over-coaching. #readbetweenlines

Now Bradley sits at the precipice of disrupting the status quo in the Middle East. While I’m sure the coach himself would tell you he learned on the national team job, he hasn’t had the opportunity since 2006 to put a system in place, to insert and remove pieces, to shake his head “no” at the system and replace it.

Opportunities–important opportunities–to fail, fail again, and fail again, but learn and tweak haven’t been there.

So TSG says Bob, “Head northward or simply eastward if you’re still in the States.”

Develop your game further. Watch your new strategies and tactics fail, but then germinate and bloom with the proper fermentation over the course of a season.

And lest we forget, Jurgen Klinsmann’s coached even fewer games since 2006. Oh boy.

———-

Addendums:

» Shame on you Sunil Gulati. You have a coach who is building for a new four year cycle and you schedule Brazil, Argentina, Paraguay and Spain to churn the turnstiles! And Spain game a few days before the Gold Cup no less!

Not the best environment to test out new philosophies. Klinsmann’s got it right, Belgium and Costa Rica–solid but beatable squads to practice on.

» Do we think Bradley will accept the job if offered? Yes, yes we do.

» Where would we like to see Bradley? A top team in the Championship where we can learn the competition and the play and then progress from there.