Thierry Henry's arrival in New York City this past week evoked a lot of memories. It also made me think of the state of Major League Soccer, and T. S. Eliot.
***
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
Visions of the 1970s' American soccer landscape shooting through my head this week. I hear the echoes of Carlos Alberto, Franz Beckenbauer, Giorgio Chinaglia, Johan Neeskens, Johan Cruyff, Gerd Mueller, Eusebio, Gordon Banks. I can see Pele in a New York Cosmos uniform. All of them washed onto these shores to finish what they had started elsewhere. Or, was it that they were finished before they washed ashore? Nevermind, for they were the enduring legacy of the North American Soccer League (NASL) - that and its dramatic failure in 1984 fueled by unfulfillable ambition, like all past empires.
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience.
Henry's career had been made at Monaco in the French Ligue Un in the 1990s by Arsene Wenger who signed the young prodigy at age 17. It was Wenger who later saved Henry's career by bringing him to Arsenal after Thierry had been marginalized at the giant Italian club Juventus where he landed following his leave of Monaco for greener pastures. Wenger was revolutionizing English football in North London. Henry was the piece needed to make that revolution historic. Along with a certain level of arrogant confidence, he had the perfect package of speed, skill, strength, stamina, and smarts to do anything he wanted. He became the star of the old club in London, giving it an air of sublime elegance with his supreme performances. Arsenal won two league titles and three FA Cups while Henry was setting the club's record for goals scored, totaling more than 200, and leading the Premier League in scoring four times. He had also given the league a style that still endures.
I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down.
Visions of the 1994 World Cup in America come and go in my mind, just like the circus that it was - came and went. Time for the NASL's step-grandchild: Major League Soccer (MLS). More foreign players wash up. But this time, they aren't the stars at the party. They are met at the door by the bouncer of restrictive wage structure. The Mexican Jorge Campos and the German Lothar Matthaus stay only a few matches. Bye! Meanwhile, a new phenomenon is manifesting: a rejuvenated USA national team, with its future core, Landon Donovan, going to Germany.
Hurry up please it's time
Hurry up please it's time.
Thierry Henry's last season with Arsenal is memorable for many things, including his petulant behavior, as he found himself surrounded by Wenger's youth project. He also had a long list of ailments that season - sciatica, hamstring, foot, stomach, and groin. Frustration boiled. The siren song heard that summer from Catalunia was too much: the once-great Thierry Henry headed south to play for Barcelona. Barca had great success while Henry was on the squad; but Thierry was getting older by the month, starting just 15 matches his third and final season. There was still time for one last bit of greatness: Henry would lead his French nation in the 2010 World Cup. He was old enough to know better than to let what happened happen - a disgrace that will reverberate for a generation. What better time to escape to New York City?
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'
The nightmare that is David Beckham's arrival in America is still living. Measures to save itself from NASL-type ambition, the strict salary cap structure of the MLS made it impossible to attract the best talent, or anything close. So, emulate the ways of old - create the Designated Player rule to make an end-run around the restrictions and create an asymmetric salary structure. Enter David Beckham in 2007 with the LA Galaxy. Racked with injuries and a one-dimensional game, and perhaps realizing the mediocre level of competition with which he'd found himself, the media mega-star finagled a transfer to AC Milan, and then another, followed by a massive backlash from the fans.
That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
Beckham had entered a waste land: a league left wanting for its best national players - they were now plying their wares in Europe - and one beginning to once again become populated with the second-coming of European ex-giants bent on collecting their final paychecks from owners in need of publicity but not receiving much else. Beckham's lead was Henry's to follow. Riches to gain with so little to give.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is a shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
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