Monday Morning Musing's Summer Goals: Become Sounders Fan, Read Ridiculously Long Novel By Suicidal Author

This gets almost downright David Foster Wallace-like. Settle in. 

I have two major goals for this summer: 

1) Completing "Infinite Jest," the 1,079-page genius/monstrosity of a novel by the now-deceased David Foster Wallace, who committed suicide by hanging himself last year in California and who I've been morbidly obsessed with his writing ever since. I've actually made it through 270-odd pages over the past six months, but I'm starting over this week with the help of this handy Web site dedicated to getting readers through the novel by the end of summer. 

2) Becoming a dedicated Sounders FC fan. 

I took my first steps toward accomplishing both of these goals in the past week. First, by wrenching open the novel/biceps builder and beginning to read Infinite Jest all over again. And second, by attending the Sounders match-up against the New York Red Bulls last Saturday evening at Giants stadium in New Jersey. The following is an account of what happened. 

[I realize the Sounders kicked serious ass against the Colorado Rapids yesterday, spanking them 3-0 at the Q. Still, consider this outdated report my midseason analysis.]

First of all, let me just say that it's been ridiculously wet out here in the northeast part of America for the entire month of June. Being a water-raised Seattlite, I don't mind so much, but keep in mind, it doesn't rain out here like it does in the Pacific Northwest. In fact, it doesn't so much rain, as it monsoons. Sock-soaking, coming from all angles, nastiness -- that's what we get out here. 

So it was pouring on Saturday afternoon as we prepared for the football match. On several occasions, my wife announced her intention to stay home. Her argument went something like this: "I'm not going. This is crazy. Nobody in their right minds would want to sit out in the rain and watch soccer for two hours. If you force me to go, I'm filing for divorce." Or something like that. I explained that we'd already bought tickets, we were meeting my brother, who was coming from Philly, at the game and this would be my one and only chance to see the Sounders play this summer. Plus I loved her more than anything, including the Sounders or even sports in general , and that she'd be breaking my heart if she didn't come with me. Or something like that. She begrudgingly came along and picked up rum for the game. I love that woman. 

At the train station in midtown Manhattan where we would catch the 10-minute train to Giants Stadium, I started seeing Sounders fans dressed in "rave green" jerseys and t-shirts. Awesome, I thought, Sounders fever has spread mildly across the country, kind of like swine flu. 

While waiting for the train, I talked to a dad and an 11-year-old boy from Portland, soccer fans, who were site-seeing in the Big Apple and had decided to take in the game. They explained that although they followed Seattle's rookie MLS franchise and impressively could name most of their players, they were reserving their fan hearts for the coming Portland franchise. 

The Portland squad, along with a Vancouver, BC franchise, will begin play in 2011. Knowing the raucous, heckling and knowledgeable Portland soccer fan base, this should create a dynamic regional rivalry the likes of which U.S. professional soccer has yet to see. I'm chalking it up as reason number 183 why I need to move back to the northwest wetlands. 

We made it to Giants stadium, just after the 7:30 p.m., kickoff time. The earlier downpour had lessened into a mild, almost unnoticeable drizzle. Now this is more like it. Just like home. 

We met up with my bro and walked up to the gates, where security was equal to Baghdad's Green Zone -- no backpacks, no booze, no uzis or IEDs. Damn it, I never leave home without my Tec-9. After some futile pleading, they told my brother, who was carrying a small backpack for an overnight stay with us in Manhattan: Tough shit. Luckily, we found a chain-smoking, Coors Light-drinking Jersey soccer mom to watch his pack under a blue tarp next to her Mini van -- she was there for her son's high school all-star game, which was on after the MLS game, and just cooling her heels outside under a tarp, chillin', a one-woman tail-gate party on a rainy night in the Jersey swamp lands. Fortuitous moment. This was going to turn out fine, regardless the outcome. 

Upon entering and walking half way around the soon to be vacant home of the Jets/Giants/Red Bulls/Jon Bon Jovi, I was struck be the sparse crowd. Pathetic. Crappy weather, but still a poor showing. Maybe 5,000 total (500 strong of which were Sounders fans), in a stadium that, with the upper decks and several other sections sealed off, seats 30,000 fans. Maybe its that Red Balls, as my bro calls them, are awful this year. Maybe its the intense security. The place ain't exactly soccer hooligan friendly. Not a way to build a crazy-ass fan base, I'd say.

Twenty five minutes in and nothing had happened scoring-wise when we reached what seemed like close enough seats in our designated section. We thought we might be able to pick what section, given all empties. Nope. They check every ticket for access into every section entrance. And they're not cool about it. Thousands of open seats, but we still want you to seat up in the rafters, right where your broke ass paid for. It's one my biggest complaints with live sporing events. If the seat's open, let us sit there. Simple. No one gets hurt. The only difference is that we enjoy the game a little more. Win-win. I don't ask for much. This should sports-wide policy.

At least we made it reasonably close to the field, near the end line. Spent the next 20 minutes trying to make out jersey names: Alonso (a mini Ljungberg), Riley, Evans, Ianni (not a big fan). I immediately recognized two players who I've read extensively about: Steve Zakuani, our English bred and Akron one year-wonder of a number pick, and Fredy Montero, our precocious Colombian striker, both of whom played exceptionally, I thought. We need the ball with those two as much as possible. 

I also couldn't help but notice big ass Nate Jacqua, our brutishly competent forward, who, say what you will about his skill (or lack thereof), is in there mixing it up and often surprisingly effective. I'm a fan. 

Fifteen minutes after we get there, a clearance ricochets of Ianni, right to the Red Balls one competent player, Juan Pablo Angel, like he just received the most perfect pass of his life. Angel easily beats Kasey Keller (love his fire, experience and still-solid reactions) who gives a game attempt to cut him off. Bummer. 0-1, bad guys. 

Red Balls fans erupt, kind of like how when you climb to the top of Mt. St. Helens and look down into the crater to see gasses slowly, harmlessly releasing (erupting?) from the mountain's volcanic core. 

Earlier, a small five-man crew of hardcore Red Bull fans -- including a dumb-looking kid with a big drum, who wore a red cap, and a guy with face painted red and fake horns sticking from his temples, woo-hoooo! -- got into it a little with us and some of other Sounders fans, one, a dude wearing a Storm jersey. We had a nice little amicable and loud exchange of chants. Spirits were mildly aroused. The dumb-looking kid tried to start a chant of "Where's the Sonics?" that didn't catch on. But I died a little inside anyway. 

Then, with minutes, perhaps only a couple hundred seconds, left in the first, Montero strips a defender right in front of the sideline, breaks hard toward the goal from his left side and rockets a narrow-angled shot into the far corner, right-footed. Goal. Tied. 1-1. Halftime.

The 20 minutes of soccer we'd just seen were exciting and well played. Sounders, I thought, had dominated play and should have scored at least once more, based solely on opportunities. I was pleased and hoping for more action (goals) in the second half. Because whatever anyone tells, more goals are always good for a soccer game. I enjoy the subtle aspects of the game, but goals always add urgency and excitement to a game. 

 The next half was boring, highlighted only by the great play of Montero, who barely missed out on a couple of golden chances, and a guy in front of us who sat down only to have his seat break, loudly, right underneath him.  Only injury sustained was to pride. We laughed.  

Game ended. Tied 1-1.

Here's what I learned about the Emerald City's newest pro franchise, the prescription for the pain of losing the Sonics. Sounders are creating buzz, a mild but still impactful buzz, from coast to coast. The Sounders were the better team, but still couldn't put away a game they should have had. This is a unsettling, but not uncorrectable negative trend. Montero is a stud. Zakuani has loads of potential. Keller is the best keeper in the MLS. Red Bulls fans suck and have no empathy. 

The Sounders are growing on me, but I still miss my Sonics.