Considering the usual dearth of national attention the sport receives, it was a monster week for soccer domestically. The sport was bantered about on television and radio as if Ben Roethlisberger played the game. First, Zinedine Zidane head-butted his way out of the World Cup final because a mouthy Italian apparently employed the old, "Your mama wears combat boots" line. The replay of Zidane launching his dome like a projectile into his opponent's chest generated debate at home over whether the French star had a legitimate beef or whether Zizou had simply gone cuckoo. I thought the man was an idiot for succumbing to such a small-time psychological ploy in his last match.
Then Friday, in a clear referendum on the U.S. not advancing out of group play in Germany, Bruce Arena was axed by the national team. Arena, after 7 1/2 years at the helm, was gone anyway. But an expected, proactive move mirrored the same kind of change made by other intolerant football nations who lose on the grand stage. The failure to renew Arena's deal was genuine news. Maybe not as riveting as Barbaro's hoof, Barry on the brink of indictment or even Michelle Wie wilting in the heat of the men's game. But it got some play.
Which means we have arrived at our quadrennial opportunity for soccer in the United States to siphon some of the buzz created by a World Cup. Every four years Major League Soccer gets the chance to sell a few more tickets and gather a few more eyeballs for its cable audience.
Yet sandwiched between the two big soccer news events, D.C. United walloped Celtic, the Scottish Premier League champion, 4-0, on Wednesday night at RFK in a friendly that meant nothing but was indicative of everything.
United is the rage of MLS this season. With a 12-1-5 record, United has a 17 point lead in the Eastern Conference. The team has not lost since May 6. But amid the post-World Cup buzz, fewer than 16,000 people turned out for the match. What first-division Spanish team that has not lost in two months would draw so few people?
But then, what first-division Spanish team would be forced to play on a field identified more by the Nationals' base paths than the goals on either end? A complete outline of a baseball infield at RFK can be plainly seen from above and on the ground.
"When you have to brush over your baseball diamond to play football, it doesn't help your credibility as a country," said Ronnie Cully, who has written on soccer for the Evening Times in Glasgow since 1974. "It makes the rest of the world think you don't take it serious."
The better TV ratings on ESPN and Univision for the World Cup prove plenty of people take soccer seriously, but that could be part of the MLS problem. The Internet and soccer-specific cable channels make it easier than ever for followers of the sport to watch the Premier League in England and Serie A in Italy.
The real paradox facing the game at home: the more popular it becomes, the more American consumers of soccer want and demand the best the sport has to offer, regardless of where it is played.
"We have this problem in Scotland," Cully said, looking down at the baseball diamond engraved in United's field. "The access to satellite television and the Internet have made the football fans there less parochial. They're no longer just interested in their own backyard. They care about other teams and other players."
MLS has to deal with these very difficult comparisons that become quite evident every time a European football club comes to town and RFK basically becomes "Mystery, Alaska." Wealthy, popular soccer players from abroad deign to play the pride of the MLS, some of whose players rent apartments in and around the District because they cannot afford to buy. The highest-paid player on Celtic, Stilian Petrov, earns 1.6 million pounds per season, the equivalent of $2.8 million, which is United's entire payroll.
"The difference is all about money," lamented Ben Olsen, the United midfielder who has been battling a World Cup hangover since he returned with the U.S. team from Germany. "You've got teams in the English Premier League paying $6 million and $7 million transfer fees for a player on top of a $3 million salary. We got guys in here making $24,000 just out of college. That's the reality, that's why we're not one of the top three or four leagues out there."
So at a time when the World Cup obfuscated everything else having to do with the sport — when sophisticated soccer fans can watch Chelsea, AC Milan and all the world's great clubs from their living rooms — MLS offers a minor league product.
But what should MLS do?
The U.S. washout in Germany brings into question the notion that MLS can ever be the proper training ground for young U.S. talent. If it's true that top U.S. players need to train and compete on European clubs, MLS will have even less talent to showcase.
On Wednesday, Freddy Adu had a few brilliant runs and a pretty goal to open the scoring, but afterward he reiterated it was his dream to one day play professionally overseas. There was even a crazy rumor Real Madrid might come to town in August, which, let's be honest, beats going to watch Real Salt Lake in September.
MLS is not dying. Recent television deals mean modest rights fees will begin flowing into MLS's coffers. United's plans for a proposed new stadium is balled up in red tape at the moment, but six other MLS clubs will have soccer-only stadiums next season.
Maybe players other than Adu, Landon Donovan and the few well-compensated players will be able to earn decent coin at home. Maybe the MLS seizes some carryover momentum from the World Cup and makes real inroads toward bettering an inferior product, so that a franchise's worth won't be gauged by how many players it sells to European clubs.
If that doesn't happen, if the baseball diamond and paltry crowds stay, we'll be back here again in four years.