If there’s anything American fans dislike more than a game we don’t understand, it’s a sport we stink at playing.
Now you know why soccer took so long to gain a foothold in the strongest, richest and cockiest country on Earth.
Unless the US of A can win, the game must not be good enough for us.
Since coming to America more than 25 years ago, Rapids coach Fernando Clavijo has humbly and patiently taught this country how to play winning fútbol.
Not that the education has been easy. Far from it.
“I believe there is some resentment in America, especially from people who never played the game at the highest level, when somebody from another country makes a difference,” Clavijo said Thursday. “In sports or any industry, there are always people who resent where you come from, resent what you do, resent what you have.”
We Americans are generous and proud, but bristle at being taught hard lessons. About anything. Especially fútbol.
“An immigrant of Hispanic descent has nothing handed to him. I must always prove myself to be better than the next person,” Clavijo said. “Life is not fair. It’s hard to deal with. It can be frustrating. But I never did nothing in this game to be accepted. I did it to show I was capable.”
Even if you get no kick from soccer, the Rapids are fascinating as a cultural experiment.
The roster includes nearly a dozen foreign-born players, who all saw opportunity in a land where fútbol is too often regarded by TV viewers as an excuse to change the channel.
Only in America.
The Rapids burn with the desire of immigrants and soccer outcasts. From leading scorer Jeff Cunningham to Haitian refugee Fabrice Noel, these are men with points to make, looking to score a little redemption.
This is no accident. They were handpicked by Clavijo, who arrived in this country from Uruguay in 1979 and humbly swept floors, then knocked down the doors to the U.S. Soccer Hall of Fame nearly three decades later.
“When I worked a busboy, I decided to be the best busboy. I never asked for anything to be given to me. You have to prove yourself every day. I did not become a citizen of the United States by accident, because of where my mom gave birth to a kid. It was my choice. It is a great honor to be a citizen of the United States,” Clavijo said.
“For me, the greatest recognition I have at the Hall of Fame was when my sons introduced me and said, ‘Thank you, Daddy, for letting us believe anything is possible.’ If there is a wish, there is always a way.”
The Rapids have yet to carve a solid niche in Denver.
When Clavijo unloaded familiar faces Chris Henderson and Mark Chung early in the season, the team risked alienating the few devotees it had.
Clavijo’s madness, however, led to a slow, methodical rise in the MLS standings for the Rapids. His Colorado team that plays Los Angeles in the league semifinals Saturday night is one victory from a trip to the title game.
For years, soccer in America sold itself short. The sport was portrayed as more wholesome than a maternal hug, which meant it could never be more hip than a Boy Scout.
For too long, soccer in America begged for acceptance in a way that dared to be ignored.
Leave it to Nike to finally figure out how to market the beautiful game in the USA, as the renegade stepchild of old-school sports, with skills as mad as anything a kid can do on a skateboard. Feisty independence has always been as American as the revolution of 1776.
With Clavijo as coach, the Rapids no longer play by the old rules of whining for attention.
Winning is more important than having familiar faces to hang Colorado uniforms on.
“I believe what drives an athlete in any sport is the desire to prove something to somebody who does not believe,” Clavijo said. “That’s a powerful motivation.”
The Rapids are either going to win a championship, or kick up some dust trying.
Watch Mark Kiszla tonight during “Classic Now” on ESPN Classic. He can be reached at 303-820-5438 or mkiszla@denverpost.com.
