Hear Their Echo

 Great moments are born from great opportunity. That's what you have here tonight, boys. That's what you've earned here, tonight.

Herb Brooks (Kurt Russell), Miracle (2004)

I admit right off that drawing a parallel between ice hockey and soccer requires rhetorical gifts that have eluded me my entire writing career. If you are a soccer fan, and that comment offends you, I guess I've only proven the truth of that assertion. Caveats notwithstanding... Doesn't the presence of the American Men's soccer team in the round of Sixteen in the World Cup competition inspire an examination of the similarities? Even a little?

Recall the winter of 1980... Or, recall movies and books about it, or the memories of your parents and grandparents. High inflation, energy insecurity, and hostages being held in Iran. America was in doubt of itself. No one seemed poised to do anything about it. Until the Olympics.

Along came a band of college kids, led by a quirky, iconoclastic coach full of wise sayings, and with a cruel streak to which perhaps only hockey players are inclined. He told everyone he had a plan to beat the Soviets in hockey, something that seemed not just unlikely, but daft. Only a few years before, an all star team of NHL players had barely accomplished the feat.

The world is uncannily similar as the American soccer team prepares to take on Netherlands. Uncertainly, inflation, an unsettled world. America divided. The men's national team coach having collected the pieces of a difficult situation. And, of all countries to face in an elimination game, Iran.

I don't profess to be a soccer fan, or know anything about how strategy on the field unfolds. I keep hearing about offside calls, but I'll be damned if I can see a blue line. And, having watched parts of perhaps ten games over the last few weeks, the term "Soccer Injury" is no longer a mystery to me.

That said, goodness gracious did both teams (the US and Iran) play hard. The American goal scorer threw himself at the ball, colliding with the Iranian goalkeeper and, at the end of the half departed for the emergency room. "He sacrificed his body for that goal" one of his teammates said later. "But then, there are twenty-five guys here who would do that same thing, given the chance." How do you not admire that kind of grit?

They seemed exhausted in the end, one side playing to scratch out a goal and tie - thereby advancing - and the other trying to hold off the frantic efforts that one announcer called "Using every weapon in their arsenal." Those, he said, included the Dark Arts - working the officials. When the US prevailed "One-nil" or one-nothing, it seemed they had just enough energy left to smile, even as two of them consoled a rival who had suffered an admirable defeat.

How can one not take heart in that? 

They have a great opportunity tomorrow, to beat a better team (on paper) and continue their improbable run. Here's what I know about soccer.

There may be more flopping than at a fish market when the boats come in, but these are tough, athletic men who play until they can hardly stand. That's got to make you feel like you are watching a great moment, no matter how many points they score.

Goals. How many goals. Right, Beth?