Thoughts From the Manchester City/Chelsea Game

This will most likely be in The Journal-News in Center & Guard form. It's just some thoughts from last Thursday's Manchester City/Chelsea friendly at Busch Stadium. As a bonus, here are ten important tidbits that didn't make it into the column

1. Flying Saucer is apparently the family friendliest bar this side of Chuckie Cheese. 
2. Alexi Lalas and Taylor Twellman begged to have their picture taken with me. 
3. Man City goalie Joe Hart and I could be brothers. Or at least third cousins.
4. The name "Man City" makes me giggle.
5. The guy sitting in front of us was like a combination of Joe Pesci and the cast of Jersey Shore, with about as much soccer knowledge. I do admire his enthusiasm though as he almost wet himself after the game winning goal.
6. Nothing makes you look tougher than whipping your scarf around your neck before you confront the guy that just backed into your Mercedes.
7. It would be ironic if Chelsea keeper Jamal Blackman was white. He's not and I don't know what the antonym of ironic is.
8. I highly recommend the chicken stir fry at Busch Stadium. Chop sticks, not so much.
9. I applaud St. Louis fans on not wearing Cardinal jerseys to a soccer game. I only one the entire day and that was at the bar before the game, not in the stadium.
10. I'm fluent in Bosnian. And by fluent, I mean I can say "glass", "fork", "knife" and "what's up".

Center & Guard: (Something Moderately Clever That I Will Hopefully Come Up With By Monday)

I had more than my share of guilt on Thursday night as I entered Busch Stadium. After all, I am a bit of a soccer novice and here I was at arguably the biggest soccer event to hit St. Louis in a long time, one that sold out in less than 20 minutes. More than 48,000 people, the biggest crowd to ever see a sporting event at the new Busch, flooded the stands for a friendly (exhibition) between Chelsea and Manchester City of England’s Premier League, a unique opportunity for midwest soccer fans to see some of the world’s best in action.

I know a little bit about soccer. I watch the US Men’s National Team when I can and followed the last World Cup with a fervor that I usually reserve for the Major League Baseball postseason, but for the most part, my knowledge of sport is far from complete. Going into the game, I knew a little bit about both of the teams, but couldn’t name anyone on the roster with 100 percent certainty. I fully expected that the majority of the crowd would be in the same boat I was. I was certain that the stereotypical ‘Murica nature would come shining through at the game, complete with “USA” chants, schmucks wearing baseball jerseys at a soccer game, and possibly even an appearance by the dreaded wave, the scourge of sporting events across the nation.

What I found on Thursday was very little of that. I’m not going to say that it wasn’t there, but it was definitely not as prevalent as I expected. For the most part, the crowd seemed both fairly knowledgeable about not only the sport, but the teams on the field, and overwhelmingly passionate. Fans decked out in blue jerseys, whether they be royal (Chelsea) or sky (Manchester City), congregated in clusters both inside and outside the stadium, singing songs and chants that both lauded the accomplishments of their chosen team and disparaged their opponents. Conversations centered throughout the stadium not only centered around the play on the field, but also what was going on with the sport across the world. It was the same kind of knowledge and passion that you might find at a Cards/Cubs game at Busch on any other day during the summer, but just in a different form.

As for the game itself, the result was almost taylor made for the occasion. Improbably, Chelsea held a 3-0 lead just minutes into the second half, despite Manchester City dominating possession throughout the first half. Both teams would make wholesale changes to their lineups at halftime and the substitutions continued in the second half, with Chelsea pulling their goalie Petr Chech at the 61 minute mark to give 19-year-old back-up Jamal Blackman some playing time. If he would have known what would happen over the next 30 minutes, Blackman may have preferred to just stay on the sideline for the Blues. In one of the oddest sequences I’ve ever seen in sport, Javi Garcia put a shot into the back of the net just 14 seconds after Blackman took the field. My brother Daniel, a former goalie at North Central College and one of the five people I went to the game with, visibly cringed at the goal, which has to be every keeper’s worst nightmare.

And it didn’t get much better for Blackman after that. Edin Dzeko would score just a minute later off a long ball from James Milner. While much of the crowd seemed to be supporting Chelsea, Dzeko jerseys dotted the landscape in St. Louis, which has a large Bosnian population. The Sarajevo-born striker would give the fans from his native country more reasons to celebrate when he netted the equalizer with five minutes left in the game and completed the Man City comeback.

Despite my relative inexperience with European soccer, I knew that it was highly likely that the game was going to end in a tie. In a league game, the two teams would most likely just try to hang on and grab whatever points they could, rather than risk a tally in the loss column. Fortunately for the crowd, Thursday’s game was an exhibition and the offensive pressure continued. Just a few seconds into the two-minute stoppage time, Garcia headed a ball to the far post, where Micah Richards lunged forward to get a foot on the game winner.

While it may have been slightly atypical of your normal Premier League match, the exhibition was a perfect showcase for the support in America, giving the fans a fast-paced contest that had more than its share of drama, despite the fact that nothing but pride was at stake. It also gave the city of St. Louis the opportunity to showcase itself to Major League Soccer, which has passed over the several times for expansion teams, most recently two days before the exhibition game, when it was announced that Manchester City and the New York Yankees had joined forces to bring New York City FC to the Big Apple at a $100 million price tag.

That last number is one of the major stumbling blocks for soccer fans in the Gateway City hoping for an MLS team. St. Louis businessman Jeff Cooper tried unsuccessfully twice to bring a team to the Metro-East, but concerns with funding caused the MLS to reject the bids. While some have pointed to Rams owner Stan Kroenke, who also owns the Colorado Rapids of the MLS, as a possible owner, no one has really stepped up to put out a competitive bid for a team in St. Louis. The one thing that MLS doesn’t seem to have to worry about is fan support in the city. While there is a big difference between drawing 48,000 people to a one time event and consistently drawing 15 to 20,000 people throughout a season, the passion for the sport seems to be alive an well in St. Louis.

And while I’m not sure that I’ll ever be able to list every member of a Premier League team or repeat the La Liga standings from the top of my head, my appreciation for that caliber of soccer has definitely increased after Thursday night’s experience. Hopefully it won’t be my last.

When Nothing Is Owed Or Deserved Or Expected; And Your Life Doesn't Change By The Man That's Elected...

Having the opportunity to see dozens of high school games each year, I have the privilege to see some of the things that make sports great. Milestones reached. Davids knocking off Goliaths. Come from behind victories that nearly leave you breathless. And while all of those things are awesome, this job also gives me the opportunity to see the less pleasant side of sports as well, namely referee abuse.

I’m the first to admit that there are some bad officials out there, but the times when these officials actually result in a team winning or losing are probably few and far between. Unfortunately, this opinion isn’t shared by a pretty vocal percentage of the fan base of almost every school in our area, and I’m sure well beyond it. It seems like regardless of the call, or non-call in some cases, someone, either a fan or a coach or a player, is always there to disagree with it, usually in a way that would make sailor blush.

Granted, I do take a small level of personal enjoyment from these individuals. Some of my fondest memories of high school were attending games with my buddies and mimicking the random guy that used to call for “THREE SECONDS” and “DOUBLE DIBBLE” every thirty seconds. We’re still not entirely sure what “dibble” means, but he seemed like he knew what he was talking about.

Most of the time, I just find it kind of sad. A lot of these people have kids either on the team or sitting with them at the games, meaning that they are the shining example of how to act. I could totally be off base about this, but it seems like the behavior of fans over the last few years has gotten progressively worse. Assuming that today’s fans learned how to act from the previous generation, things are only going to get worse before they get better.

That’s why moments like the one I witnessed last Thursday give me hope for high school sports. During the girls basketball game between Litchfield and Greenville, Greenville’s Kassidy Alderman drove to the basket, drawing a pretty significant amount of contact along the way. The referees’ whistles would remain silent on the play and Alderman’s shot missed its mark.

The no-call drew the ire of Greenville’s coach, who had been pretty unhappy with the officiating throughout the game as it was. In his defense, the officiating wasn’t particularly good (on either side of the ball) and I can see his hopes of influencing a few calls to go his way.

What really impressed me was Alderman’s reaction to the play. Rather than question the call or get mad about any kind of perceived injustice, Alderman got back on defense and said three little words to her coach that gave me hope for the next generation – “It’s okay coach.” It wasn’t disrespectful. It wasn’t forceful. It was just a quiet little statement that showed me that at least someone in the gym could put the play into perspective. After all Greenville was down by quite a few at the time (late in the fourth quarter) and complaining would probably not help the Lady Comets shake off a cold snap from the field.

Now, I don’t know Alderman, but her actions made me a fan during that game. It gives me hope that those who keep their attitudes and emotions in check will at least even out, if not overtake, those who can’t do so at high school sporting events. I know that’s a lot of pressure to put on a 16 or 17-year-old shooting guard, but it’s the idea that if there is one, there are probably more out there that act in a similar way.

Whether this is the case or not, who knows. Regardless, I’m sure that moment will stick with me the next time I hear the dulcet tones of “THREE SECONDS” echoing through the gym.

The Road Goes On Forever... And The Party Never Ends

On Saturday, Dec. 29, I watched my final day of basketball for the 2012 calendar year. As it turns out, it was also one of the more intriguing sports days of the year as well. The day before I decided to attempt a triple-header of sorts, planning to hit the Hillsboro girls game in Jerseyville at 3:30 p.m., followed by the girls and boys championship double dip at the Carlinville Holiday Classic, starting at 6:30 p.m. That meant that there was a pretty long day of driving and basketball in my future, but figured I'm young(ish) and it beat sitting at home by myself.

So at 2:30 p.m., I departed Hillsboro and pointed my car due west on Rt. 16 for the land of the Jerseyville Lady Panthers. An hour an 15 minutes later, I arrived at Jersey Community High School, roughly a quarter and a half late for my game, which has become an unfortunate trend for me. I'd like to blame my rash of tardiness on the addition of my one-year-old daughter Grace into my life, but in reality, I haven't been on time for much since birth, and I may have even taken my sweet time on that one as well.
 
With the contest set to be a battle for seventh in the eight team tournament, the game may not have been a "must-see" one for individuals without a vested interest. But the match-up between the Lady Toppers and the host school definitely had it's intriguing moments. When I entered the gym with 4:30 to play in the second, Hillsboro led by just two. By the time the quarter ended, the Lady Toppers had scored 20 unanswered points and had all but put the game away.

The second half went along the same lines as the later half of the first, with Hillsboro pretty much in control. The only drama that remained was whether Shelby Gray would get point number 1,000 for her career. Gray entered the game 22 points short of the milestone and got all but one of those in the Jerseyville game. Several times in the final minute opportunities arose to push the HHS senior into the elite company of Hope Schulte, Maria Pretnar, Kelly Seaton and JoGari Zerrusen, but shots that usually found their mark rimmed out, leaving her on the edge of the history books, at least until the Lady Toppers' next game, which is on Thursday, Jan. 3, in Gillespie. Despite the convincing win, Gray's face echoed the disappointment of not hitting the 1,000 point mark. Disappoint may be too harsh of a term, but it's definitely the saddest I've ever seen a player look at the final buzzer after a 21-point performance. Hopefully she enjoy her moment in Gillespie to the same degree.

From Jerseyville, I hit the road once again, bound for the Big House on West Main, which while not actually a house is fairly good sized for a school the size of Carlinville. The girls championship went pretty much as I expected, with Litchfield bringing home their third consecutive tournament title. I believe that I have been present for two of those three championships, and I'm not sure that this team is better than the previous two, but the potential is definitely there. A big part of that potential comes from sophomores Riley Scharf and Tessa Steffens, both of whom made the all-tournament team. All told, tenth graders would make up more than half of the seven player all-tourney squad at Carlinville, with the Cavies' Megan Stayton and Nokomis' Ashley Schneider joining the Litchfield duo. Coupled with a handful of other talented sophomores, like Nokomis' Josie Foster, Southwestern's Ashlyn Ringhausen, and Pana's Sydney Lett, among others, the future is pretty bright for girls basketball in the area.

About the time the boys championship game between Lincolnwood and Litchfield started up, so did a cold that has been kicking my tail for the last few days. The pounding in my head and the pressure behind my eyes was aggravated by the sight of my long-range camera lens bouncing across the gym floor when I failed to realize that my camera bag wasn't zipped up. Fortunately, the lens was fine (I'll find out next time I shoot whether or not it truly is) and my attention turned again to the hardwood.

The game wasn't quite what I expected as Litchfield jumped out in front early and stayed ahead by a large margin throughout the first three quarters. It's not that the Panthers were ahead that was surprising, it was the offensive surge that they presented. The previous few games that I had seen LHS in action, the Panthers had shown some trouble scoring, but on Saturday, they seemed to do so at will, with Mason Steffens having what I would call a career game. Less surprising, to me at least, was the Lancers comeback. I'd watched Lincolnwood pull off the same trick a week or so before when they turned a double-digit deficit to South Fork into a 12-point win.

This time, the rally came up just short, but the game itself was still an example of how sometimes big games can actually live up to the expectations that they sometimes bring. I pulled into my driveway at 10:30 p.m., eight hours, three games and more than 100 miles after I originally left it.

Looking back, the trip is probably part of the reason I've been sick the last three days, but I'm not sure I would do anything different. Moments like the ones that occurred last Saturday are why I like my job. I'm not always able to be everywhere I want to in person, but when I am able to go to a game, I feel like I have the ability to tell the story behind the stats. If you just look at the box scores of those three games, you don't have any idea that Gray so close to history, or that the Lady Panthers had continued their dominance in Carlinville, or that the Lancers had nearly pulled out another dramatic comeback.

The idea that I get to tell those stories is what helps inspire me to keep driving to those random gyms, and hopefully it will continue to do so for years to come.

One More Song...

If there is one thing that shapes your perception of a concert, it’s the encore. It’s the last thing you hear for the night and it can be the tipping point on whether a show is good or bad. Thursday’s encore from the Turnpike Troubadours definitely capped off their show in a positive way. The first of the two songs was “Whiskey In My Whiskey,” a heartwarming song about shooting a former love on the dance floor, with bassist and bearded American RC Edwards handling the vocal duties.

The second song was the hammer though. After going off the stage briefly, the group returned and fired through a solid version of the Mel McDaniel class “Louisiana Saturday Night,” which happens to be one of my favorite songs of all time. For those of you wondering, the line that refers to “a possum in a sack” is talking about lunch. I’m fond of saying that if a band came out and played nose flute for three hours and closed with “Louisiana Saturday Night,” I’d still be a happy camper.

My only qualm about the encore was the process of the encore itself. I understand the whole “go off the stage and make the crowd shout for more” idea, but I’m not a fan. I’d rather the band just say “Listen, we’re going to do two more songs then we’re out of here. Thanks for coming.” But that rarely happens so I’ll just have to be content with the current process and hold out hope that all will be made alright with the sounds of Mr. McDaniel. 

It Has A Certain Ring To It

A few weeks ago at my brother’s wedding, Daniel asked me when I got used to wearing my wedding ring. Having been married since February of 2009, I told him I’m still not used to it after more than three years.

There is just something about that little metal band around your finger that begs you to do anything but just keep it there. Daniel didn’t have his on for more than an hour when he started fidgeting with it. My co-worker Pavel got married a few weeks before Daniel and I can constantly hear him playing with his ring, which has a section that spins while still on his finger.

I myself mess with my ring way more than I should, at least according to my wife. I spin it on my desk. I flip it up in the air. I sell it at a pawn shop. In short, I’m not nearly as careful with what is supposed to be a symbol of our love.

The closest I ever came to actually losing it though came during a time when I wasn’t messing around with it. I keep my ring in my wallet at night so it won’t be misplaced, which is all well and good unless you lay your wallet on the top of your car before you go to the gym then drive off. I still consider myself lucky that some Good Samaritan found it a few blocks from our house and took it up to the office after recognizing my name from the newspaper.

Not that it would be the end of the world if I did lose it. My dad lost his first ring after a softball game when it fell off his motorcycle. He lost his second a few months ago while doing yard work, although he did buy a metal detector and the search for the ring continues. It’s hard telling whether or not he’ll get a third, but my parent's marriage is just fine without it. Dysfunctional as ever, but fine just the same.

While a ring may symbolize a love that has no beginning or end, it’s still just a piece of metal. It doesn’t matter whether it cost $10 or $10,000. What matters is the love and support you give your significant other. And I hope my wife remembers that when I inevitably drop my ring down the sink, or in a sewer grate or whatever other stupid thing I do because I won’t keep it on my finger.

Center and Guard: Burning The Olympic Flame At Both Ends

I fully admit that I am addicted to the Olympics. It’s not just the overwhelming sense of patriotism I get while watching the Americans win that draws me into the games. It’s the opportunity to become fully engrossed in a sport that I wouldn’t give the time of day if it wasn’t on the Olympic stage. A few good examples of this are cycling and women’s weight lifting, which were the bookends of my Olympic watching experience on Saturday.


I woke up a little before 9 a.m. (don’t judge me) and flipped straight to NBC for their Olympic coverage, which happened to be cycling. Even though I didn’t watch one second of the Tour De France just a few days before, I found myself glued to the television and buying completely into the story lines the announcers were feeding me.


In the end, some guy from Kazakhstan won the medal and hopefully he got to hear his actual national anthem.Earlier this year, at the Arab Shooting Championship in Kuwait, a Kazakh athlete had to stand on the podium and listen to the rather offensive version of the anthem taken from Borat, a movie that did for the nation of Kazakhstan what Deliverance did for the idea of southern hospitality, which was mistaken for the actual anthem. Thus ends the part of this column where I tell you everything I know about Kazakhstan.


The day ended with me falling asleep to the dulcet tones of women’s weightlifting, specifically the 48 kilogram class. Like most Americans, the metric system still gives me some trouble, as in I have no idea what kilos are in pounds, but eventually the announcers helped me with some of the conversions. While weightlifting is something that I rarely watch, or participate in for that matter, it’s pretty amazing to think that a 106 pound woman can lift more than 250 pounds over her head. Plus the names of the weight disciplines (the snatch and the clean and jerk) make me laugh every time.


Saturday’s viewing will most likely be a prime example of my viewing habits for the Olympics this year. There will be a lot attention in the Herschelman household to the popular sports like swimming and track, but there will also be time for water polo, judo and handball, which kind of looks like a sport my brothers and I may have created in our back yard.


And watching those sports is probably as close as I'm ever going to get to actually being in the Olympics, unless useless trivia becomes an event in Brazil in 2016. But I'm okay with that. Even the sports that look easy take years, if not decades, of practice and preparation. In the end, while it'd be cool to have a gold medal, I'd much rather spend all that time at home with my family, where we can share in thrills of victory and the agony of defeat from a comfy spot on my couch.

Running With The Big Dawgs

I admire the people that been bitten by the running bug. Many of these people aren’t super athletes or longtime runners, but each one has embraced the lifestyle of putting one foot in front of the other, a few miles at a time. I’m not one of these people. After my 5K adventure last April, I promptly dropped off the face of the map when it came to running. I can list off a ton of excuses (a hectic work schedule, the impending birth of Mary and I’s first child, alien abduction), but in reality, I just didn’t want to do it.

I had numerous people tell me that once I finished my first 5K, I’d want to do it again and again. That didn’t happen. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy my race and the journey to get there, it was just that my desire to continue running was knocked down and stomped on by my desire to stop running. I’ve thought off and on about trying to get myself back on track and try another 5K, but I’ve resisted the temptation so far. The strongest pull to lace up my Asics once again came recently with running of the inaugural Big Dawg Dare just outside of Litchfield.

The course for the Big Dawg is a nice easy 5K run, except it’s anything but easy. With competitors running up hills, through culverts, over walls and through water, the course resembles more of a boot camp obstacle course than your typical 3.1 mile jaunt. It also looks like a lot of fun. As I covered the race for the paper, I watched runner after runner splash through the final obstacle with a tired smile that conveyed not only relief that they were almost to the finish line, but also a sense of accomplishment. That’s one of the things I miss about running. I miss the thought that I accomplished something that depended solely on my abilities.

As hard as I tried to ignore the pangs of guilt for not signing up myself as I sat near the finish line, the nagging feeling that I should be out there as well kept creeping in. But I realize you can’t undo the past, although you can take advantage of opportunities in the future.

With that in mind, I’m here to say I will be participating in the second annual Big Dawg Dare, providing the event continues (and talking to race coordinators Brian Hollo and Jim Hewitt after the race, all signs point to the fact that it will go on). Hopefully I can convince my siblings to partake in the event with me. While Shane was busy at school, Mikaela and Daniel both ran the first 5K with me and the picture of all of us after the race is one of my favorites.

This pledge doesn’t mean that I’m all the sudden going to catch the running bug, although I will definitely do some training after watching people much more in shape than I suck wind after their run. It’s just an opportunity to prove to myself that I can do this. I can accomplish something far outside of my comfort zone. I can get off the porch and run with the big dogs.