A Wal-Mart in Turnersville, New Jersey is looking at security tapes after an alleged intercom page was made asking all black people to leave the store. This is my hometown Wal-Mart, which according to local lore is, the highest-revenue Wal-Mart ever. Let me just say, it's not exactly hard to get on the intercom. I've asked for a "hallelujah in Housewares" more than once, and other times (usually drunk—have you ever spent an entire adolescence in South Jersey?), one friend would get on the intercom humming the Mission: Impossible theme while another did combat rolls around the store. That's to say nothing of the Razr races from the gardening section to the clothing section. Listen, you can only go to Denny's so many times in one week before you start to crack under the pressure.
I've see way more black people in other Wal-Marts; there definitely aren't the hordes and hordes required to make a "black people must leave" page at the Turnersville store. But then again, it is chock-full of morbidly obese white people, who could be blocking the blacks from my view. Oh, also, I don't fucking shop at Wal-Mart anymore. Nor do I live in South Jersey. Really, though, there are worse things to be asked to do than leave Wal-Mart, like being asked to stay in Wal-Mart.
It's going to come off as mild lunacy to complain about an 8-bit map of New York's accuracy, but come on. Staten Island is way closer to New Jersey than it is to Brooklyn. We all know that. It's so far away from Manhattan and Brooklyn, in fact, that no MTA train goes there (the SIR doesn't count, thanks so much). It's altogether plausible that the only reason Staten Island is a "borough" is because in the olden times of shipping, it was important to have both sides of the Verrazano Narrows in order to not split the transit taxes with New Jersey. Whatever.
We have, as New Yorkers, the ultimate place to banish the things we hate: New Jersey. We've tossed so many things away in the Garden State that we've even converted Staten Island into the world's largest waiting room. Garbage, our old fashions, our grandparents, the Giants... and, of course, soccer. Why tell someone to go to Hell when Jersey’s so much closer? Relegating the New York Red Bulls to Giants Stadium in East Rutherford is a fitting tribute to how America feels about soccer: not much, if at all.
It could be worse, I suppose. What if those primordial New York/New Jersey Metrostars hadn’t been acquired by Red Bull? The only thing worse than being exiled to New Jersey by your home city would be, I think, being forever stuck between New Jersey and New York, never able to convince either state to care enough to take full ownership of the team. And really, it’s not all bad. With new franchises coming up—most notably the still-unnamed Philadelphia expansion team—the East Coast is looking like a proper division all by itself. Pretty good for a sport no one in American cares about, right?
Well, maybe not. Red Bull Arena will be a nice thing to have—although having Ronaldinho would’ve been better—but the team will still be playing in New Jersey and headquartered in Secacus, a stop that most NJ Transit conductors can’t even pronounce right. And adding insult to injury is that Brooklyn is currently going out of its way to create massive traffic jams in order to develop the Flatbush Avenue area of Downtown Brooklyn, including the nearly aborted construction of the new Atlantic Yards stadium. Which will host the Brooklyn Nets. So no matter how much the overall attitude about soccer—it’s really football, after all; at least, it’s more to do with players’ feet than American football—the general public is more interested in relocating a 25th-rate basketball team than give a local home to their soccer club. I mean, think about it: if it was the Red Bulls moving into Atlantic Yards, they wouldn’t have to build so much damn parking. All thirteen season ticket-holders could find parking on Bergen Street.
About that untitled Philadelphia team: when I say “Philadelphia” I, of course, mean “West Chester, PA,” where the stadium and team will actually be kept—once again far enough away from Philadelphia proper to keep the rabid (albeit commendably so) Eagles fans from feeling like creeping influence of “dose Europeens,” to quote the hometown vernacular. While I’m excited about my birthplace finally getting an MLS team, I fear the moment that they cease to be unnamed and become something as inevitably tacky as the Philadelphia Zolos. It’s been a tough road, name-wise. Kansas City Wizards, Columbus Crew (no one from Columbus could form what city-folk would call a ‘crew’), Houston Dynamo, Real Salt Lake (Salt Lake Saltines would’ve been better, but not by much), San Jose Earthquakes, Los Angeles Galaxy… and, of course, the New York Red Bulls. There are some goofy names in the Premiership League, of course—just the word “Tottenham” gives me the giggles—but something about them still feels blue-collar and honest, even if they are the Bolton Wanderers.
It’s not all bad news for New Yorkers, though. I mean, except for losing 2006 World Cup coach Bruce Arena to the Galaxy.And except for the Red Bulls’ highest-attended game being because it brought David Beckham in a brand-new Galaxy jersey. Actually, it’s not all bad news for Los Angeles, if we’re down to brass tacks. Here in New York, we’re just waiting for any kind of news.
I wouldn’t deign to whine about Los Angeles successfully courting David Beckham, of course. Especially not this seemingly over-the-hill, late edition version of Beckham. But it does cast a harsh light on the realities of American soccer; that is to say, American teams need to shell out a five-year, $250 million dollar deal to secure an aging soccer superstar. While that does raise the profile of American soccer—especially in the court of world opinion (who am I kidding? No one would take mini-golf more seriously if Tiger Woods started playing it)—and has already meant huge increases in sales for Galaxy merchandise, it removes a quarter of a billion dollars from the pool, which could be used to do more important things.
But then, what in the world would be more important than relocating Posh and Becks stateside and getting maybe three months of “Soccer’s Going To Get Huge” headlines? Well, for one thing, it’d be nice to acknowledge that the reason Beckham came to the US to play is the same reason athletes in other sports stay in the US: the cult of sports, which creates millionaires rather than masterful athletes, doesn’t attract the die-hard players. If you need any more proof of that, consider the fact that the best soccer player—it’s probably safe to say ever--wined and dined with Red Bulls management almost two years ago, amid swirling, devastatingly sexy rumors of an MLS deal that would make Beckham’s fee look like pocket money. And it didn’t happen. The speculation alone was worth the salary, and yet Ronaldinho—who loves the game so much his grin doesn’t fade for 90 minutes at a time—isn’t wearing that New York jersey. Since we don’t reward sportsmanship—since we, in fact, reward the biggest, loudest, most poorly-behaved of our athletes as long as they perform how we want—real sportsmen don’t want to play here. American sport is a collection of misbehaving advertisements, and our best soccer players clearly would rather not be bothered.
Ah, but divide that $250 million up, even 25 ways, and that’s almost three teams’ worth of expatriate soccer players that could do what Beckham can’t do for a quarter billion dollars: elevate the game. As long as we’re throwing money around—and gobs of it—let’s throw it in the right place. Throw so much money at DaMarcus Beasley that he can’t even refuse playing for the Philadelphia Cheesesteaks. People who love the game play differently than people who love their paycheck more. Sportsmen put on better shows than spoiled sports. It’s very possible—if any of the dozen explanations can eke out the others—that people don’t watch Major League Soccer because it’s boring to watch. If Arsenal and Liverpool are painting Metamorphosis Of Narcissus, why would I—or anyone else in their right mind, as long as they know better—watch the Galaxy and the Red Bulls paint Garfield comics? It’s hyperbole of the highest order, I know, and there’s no way to discount the talents of American players or the internationals who play in the MLS, but there is that divide, that inability to elevate the game on this side of the pond that may just be the shim wedging the door closed.
And besides, who really cares about the Nets?