This Week’s Metro Column

Couldn’t find a link yet, again, so I’ll cut-and-paste the draft right here. In return, I insist you either send me $3 million, or hit metro.us even if just for a moment. Right thing to do, y’know?

Gol! Gol! Gol!
By Brian Hickey

There were 240 seconds left in the sectional semifinal game. The score was 1-1. I positioned my skinny left-wing frame 20 yards from goal. (Yes, I’ve eaten quite a bit since 1990.) A teammate, Mike D, crossed the ball in; considering I only had six goals that season thanks to a previously shattered left ankle, I probably wasn’t the intended target.

Fickle thing, that fate.

Less than a second later, I reached my athletic peak by chest-trapping the ball and, channeling my inner Pele, side volleying it into the back of the net. Instantly, I saw “Hero Hickey Leads Haddon Township to Finals.” My name almost changed to Hickaldinho.

But then, fate got even fickler.

With 14 seconds left, one of our defenders knocked our goalie down; the ball-line relationship sealed our destiny. After a scoreless overtime, the 4-2 penalty-kicks loss closed my sanctioned-soccer career. To this day, I can describe every last nano-detail.

So, you’re thinking, “Yo, Hickey should’ve made the World Cup squad” right? Even if that’s technically true. I’d rather you thought, “Yo, let’s give the Philadelphia Union a chance.”

After tomorrow night’s franchise opener gets ESPN-2 airplay, there are probably fewer square yards on the pitch than reasons to expect they’ll fare better than the here-and-gone Stars, Charge, Soul, Rage, Fusion et al.

Take the “it’ll never be America’s sport” angle. Can’t argue that after a $250 million “MLS Savior is Here” carpet was rolled out for a Spice Girl hubbie who understandably realized he’d rather play for AC Milan than the LA Whatevs. I accept European superiority. All paying fans do.

The “sweetheart state gifts that don’t help Chester itself” complaint? Bending over backwards for niche sport isn’t urban-planning at its finest, but I haven’t heard Hater No. 1 bring a better idea to the table.

Granted, I can’t name a soul on the roster yet, but from what I’ve seen of the MLS, they court a passionate demographic that courts them right back with packed stadia. The haters say tomato; I say, “Evolve beyond wanting to watch a concussed Brian Westbrook risk life for paycheck.”

Those who agree would rather watch athletic artistry unfold before their eyes. And even if fates get fickle, memories both good and bad are more rewarding than shelling hundreds out to spend a few hours in the pre-packaged for pure-profit sporting machines.
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