Confession Time…

Dear soccer fan, please forgive me.

This is my first soccer confession. We have been acquaintances for a little bit of time now and I have to be a bit more forthcoming with you. Personally, it is for the best. While some of this may hurt, I think it is imperative for you and I to be on common ground as this relationship progresses. So, grab an adult beverage (or not) and grit your teeth (or not) as what I am about to tell you may alter the course of our writer/reader relationship. In fact, it may make you lose any and all respect for me (that is, if there was any respect for me there to begin with. I understand that is quite a stretch.)

Here we go:

- For years there have been rumors circulating that I tried to name my first born “Beckham”. In many circles I denied this claim incredulously. It is time to come clean; I did lobby to name our first child after Becks. My wife, being incredibly awesome and having a sound mind, was able to see that doing so was not in our child’s best intentions. I relented. I felt shame. However, there are times when I look at my now 8-year-old son and think, “I don’t care what the others say, if your name was Beckham, that would be bad ass.”

Please forgive me. Are you okay? Can you continue? I hope so, as I must go on.

- Here is quite wicked googly. My wife and I traveled to London on our honeymoon and I never went to see a Premiership match. This confession alternately pains me greatly/gives me a smile. The pain side is obvious. Heck, our hotel was just blocks away from Stamford Bridge (which I didn’t even go see, I’m a horrible person.) It would have been great to see a game over there. It really would have. And we were overseas at such an exciting time in EPL history – Leeds and Chelsea were on the ascendency, Le Tissier was still mucking about and scored his 100th goal with Southampton, and guys like Beckham, Butt, and Giggs were continually trouncing others at the top of the table.

Why didn’t we go? Well, we were busy with other things. So, there’s that.

I’m not sure if you are okay.

You seem as if you are having some sort of a conniption. Let’s just try to finish up, no?

- I have been to exactly one MLS game, only one. Here I am, Mr. Superfan and I have only been to one MLS game? What gives, right? Well, wait. It gets better. The game I attended was in1997 – Kansas City Wiz vs. New England Revolution. Arrowhead Stadium seemed to be about ¼ full. People were unsure what to cheer about. The rules were weird. Honestly, they were still doing kick-ins instead of throw-ins and all that jazz. It was kind of a bad experience. Anyway, this was the second season of MLS. The league was still finding an identity. I only made the long drive from St. Louis to K.C. to see an idol of mine, Walter Zenga, between the pipes for the Revolution. Also, in an effort of full disclosure, Zenga did not even play that day. He rode the bench. It just added to the surreal feel of the event.

Now, that’s not to say I have not been an MLS supporter. Not the case at all, I just haven’t made it to another game. I truly intend to rectify this discrepancy during this upcoming MLS season. I owe it to my wife. I owe it to my kids. I owe it to you. I owe it to myself.

Well, that’s it. Those are my confessions. I trust that the eye-rolling/saliva drooling combo is a sign of forgiveness. Now, those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, right? You can’t tell me that you don’t have a soccer skeleton or two in that closet of yours, right?