Eddie Pope: Zen Master
| 10
|
by user The Manly Ferry
It was only last week that word of U.S. defender Eddie Pope’s retirement hit the Web. The staff got together (in my head....we're a small outfit) and decided to hold off before commenting on Pope’s retirement in the hopes of seeing more online jibber-jabber.
The “real” soccer press (LINK, LINK, LINK) and the several bloggers (LINK, LINK, LINK) visited seemed primarily interested in discussing Eddie Pope’s career in terms of achievements and statistics. Sports Illustrated’s Grant Wahl, who seems to enjoy wonderful access, turned in the best effort with his interview with Pope - a session that capably reveals the almost distrubingly humble man under that U.S. uniform. Most surprising was the lack of personal recollections or associations - especially among the blogs (I'm not knocking anyone's content; just thought I'd see more fulsome tributes in a medium devoted to ready self-expression). For what it’s worth, the Big Soccer thread on this came closest - even if that capably reveals the high quality of Pope’s character (the bastard!).
My contribution to that Big Soccer thread (look for Snacky1) formed the starting point of this, my fairly personalized tribute to “Steady” Eddie Pope.
I barely tuned into MLS’s first season - too busy drinking, I suppose (it wasn’t till 1997 that I figured out one could drink and watch soccer at the same time...sad, but true). But I still wound up watching MLS Cup I, a game played (if I’m not mistake) in New England under monsoon conditions. Part of the reason I tuned in arose from my decision to be a D.C. United supporter, in spite of my then-and-now residence in Portland, Oregon; for the record, my decision was based exclusively on their choice of uniforms - less teal and god-awful colors than the quite high league average (Christ. Hit the link. So, so ugly.)
For all the things that made that game memorable - the conditions, D.C. United’s comeback from two goals down - Pope’s extra-time winner stuffed him into the memory of every person watching that game. That day put Pope in the spotlight, but his remarkable consistency kept him there. For as long as the league existed, Eddie Pope has been a player respected and admired by many, many people.
So, Pope is nice and talented - as many people, including Bruce Arena are saying, Pope is “arguably the finest defender this country has ever produced” - but it’s his demeanor that most intrigued me.
The word “quiet” recurs in the Big Soccer recollections of Pope, but that’s not the half of it. Never mind yelling at his peers, I’ve never seen the man so much as talk to them. More notable still is the man’s expression, even in the tensest of games: it never changes. And what a look it is: it’s neither concentration, nor intensity nor frustration. Eddie Pope plays the game with the appearance of a man whose mind is ever elsewhere. For the life of me, Pope plays the game as if he's wondering whether he switched his laundry before the game, or mulling his options for dinner after it.
Perhaps that air of distraction pointed me toward a long-held impression that Pope plays on what I’d awkwardly call the Edge of Incompetence. Back when I still liked DC United - and through the many times watching him play on the national team, when I’m still a bundle of nerves - Pope repeatedly seems on the edge of getting beat, and beat badly. He always looked like he had started moving too late to cover, or that he had lost his balance at the point of contact. And yet...he rarely did. Every defender gets beat, but, 9 times out of 10 - literally that often - Eddie Pope made both the correct decision and the necessary play. All in all, he was a damn good player for our national team. One of the best? Yeah, one of the best.
Eddie: If you ever make your way to Portland, Oregon, drop me a line and I’ll buy you a beer. Hell, if I have the cash on me, I’d feed you a fountain of girl-drinks all to thank you for 11 great years of watching you play the game. It’s the least I can do, sir.
- Truth to tell, my favorite U.S. team moment was one not everyone may remember: Tab Ramos’ friggin’ bullet against Costa Rica in Portland, Oregon (I lived in Washington DC at the time) the lone goal in the game. So, Tab, if you're ever in Portland, the offer for a beer stands.
Date
Mon 08/07/06, 7:37 am EST
