Once upon time, these bleak days and long, dark nights of mid-winter were when the American game glowed brightest.
Not only around Puget Sound, but across the continent, the highest form of professional soccer was being played amidst a driving disco beat and within dasher boards and plexiglass.
Now known more commonly as arena soccer, at its height it was identified as indoor, aka six-a-side or speed soccer, at least in Seattle.
Over the coming weeks I will reach back to those nights of yore to share some history and reflections from coaches and management of the Sounders, Stars and Sea Dogs, along with those who literally played wall passes and served their share of minutes in the sin bin.
Growing up a fan of all things Seattle, my sense is that we tend to settle. As if that term is just an ‘a’ away from who we are. There’s rarely an outcry if sports team is stopped short of the summit.
Unlike some fan bases which shall remain nameless, web-footed western Washington supporters seem to have a comfort zone that begins with playing in bowl games your daddy watched and advancing beyond the first round of any particular playoff.
Oh, sure, we lament underachievement, and we have piques of frustration. But by and large we are OK with, say, winning 116 games but falling short of the World Series. Our passive/aggressive MO merely manifests itself in a faint cry of ‘We’ll get ‘em, next year!’