Copa América comes to the US – but the home fans leave disappointed

On the elevator heading up from Levi’s Stadium’s posh, generic corporate-sponsored luxury concourse to the hermetically sealed, air-conditioned press box, a group of elementary school children were being led by a middle-aged man, presumably their youth soccer coach, to one of the suites prior to kickoff of the US’s 2-0 drubbing at the hands of a Colombia team ranked third in the global Fifa rankings.

A video package played on a tiny screen above the floor buttons. “Oooh, Neymar,” one kid said when the Brazilian wünderkind appeared. “He’s not playing, though,” another responded. The group’s spirits sagged at the news – their tiny, drooping shoulders speaking for every American soccer fan who hoped to see him in person for the first time.

After they left the elevator, but before I was consumed by the rowdy press box full of partisan Colombian journalists, I turned to the elevator operator – yes, Levi’s pays someone to press buttons for you, likely so you don’t wander off where you don’t belong – and smiled. “I guess the future’s gonna be OK for soccer in the US,” I said. “Yeah, I guess so,” he muttered, as I stepped off.

That group’s breathless fandom is precisely why the Copa America Centenario is being held in the United States in the first place. Well, that and because they couldn’t move it to Mexico in time. I’m a part of the World Cup ‘94 generation, those people who were young enough to be sincerely captivated by the spectacle without reservation, cynicism, or xenophobia – our brains open to the idea that soccer wasn’t going to lead us toward communist dictatorship after all. Prior to that glorious summer, I didn’t even have a concept of soccer being a professional sport, because before then, it simply was not on television. It might as well have been kickball or tag, a game reserved for playgrounds, shabby school pitches, and backyard kickabouts. World Cup ‘94 is why I’m here today writing about soccer. It’s the equivalent of Battle of Lexington and Concord in the struggle to push the beautiful game into the mainstream. When the most esteemed footballing nations and their greatest players come to the US, new fans are born.

But crucially, those fans are not necessarily embracing the US men’s national team, a side that often struggles mightily to pack more fans into their home stadium than the visitors. Those kids in the elevator with me weren’t salivating over the thought of seeing Clint Dempsey or Michael Bradley (and after the way they played yesterday, can you blame them?). No one was buzzing about 17-year-old prodigy Christian Pulisic. They were there to see the gods walking the earth from Brazil, Argentina, Colombia, and the rest of South America. As far as we’ve come since 1994 – the ratings increases for the World Cup, the rise of MLS, the arrival of Beckham and Henry, etc – soccer still sits below hockey on the American sports ladder of importance. When will our passion match our potential? When will fans start demanding more – more success, more coverage, and more respect?

Some elements of soccer culture will always strike the casual American fan as distinctly alien. The special Copa America centennial trophy resembles an ornate urn or the world’s most expensive fondue pot. Granted, Division-1 college teams spent years competing for a small crystal football that looked like it would shatter if dropped on a shag carpet and Major League Baseball awards the World Series champion a bunch of little gold flags. But, none of them resemble a receptacle for coffee grounds, John D Rockefeller’s spittoon, or the place where Sepp Blatter hides rolls of hundred-dollar bills.

The pre-match festivities for last night’s fixture featured the kind of eyeroll-inducing internationalist, peace-and-harmony performance art shows that certain segments of the population just can’t stomach. Some poor sod trots out to the pitch with an umbrella with a flag painted on it and does a little dance. Americans like explosions and Beyoncé, not PAs twirling umbrellas. At least those sad souls had a bit of shade in a stadium with no protection from the punishing California sun.

That’s part of the game, though. Even with the rampant corruption and bribery that’s become commonplace in the various soccer confederations, lip service to multicultural harmony is always given at these tournaments. A Google search for “soccer socialism” unleashes all manner of paranoid, new world order screeds against the poisonous influence of men kicking a ball around. A post-2010 World Cup article on the conservative American Enterprise Institute website laments the fact that soccer does not allow players to use their opposable thumbs and claims that the game is “collectivist.” Ann Coulter once unleashed a howler about how in soccer “there are no heroes.” For the inveterate football-hater, the players are nothing more than funny names and weird haircuts. The game’s greatest stars – the Neymars, Suarezes, Pogbas, Ramoses, Messis, and Ronaldos – don’t play here, so why would they know that soccer is one of the most ideal mediums for individual expression in sport?

Levi’s Stadium – a dull, cramped, corporate monstrosity In Santa Clara, California, that took me three hours to reach from San Francisco – might as well have been a small village in Colombia yesterday. Yellow and white jerseys outnumbered red, white, and blue ones by a large margin. Even in the press box, a notorious sanctuary from fandom or any sort of outward display of enthusiasm, the Colombian journalists outnumbered the rest of us – they lustily roared for their team after both goals and groaned after the rare US scoring chance. The box’s public address announcer came on late in the first half to inform us – in both Spanish and English – that cheering was not allowed, though there was not much to cheer for the Americans in attendance.

Outside the press pen was a livelier scene. The US supporters’ group, the American Outlaws, remained in their seats for about 15 minutes after the match had concluded to sing for their side. My friend Adam, who had arrived at the stadium with me, got to sit in the Outlaws section during the game. The mood for the Yank diehards is decidedly more dour than it was after the 2010 World Cup or 2014. After a period of extreme goodwill, manager and technical director for the US men’s team Jurgen Klinsmann is facing an increasingly vocal, critical fanbase.

“I think it’s a weird thing of having to make peace with the fact that as bad as they play, Jurgen’s going to be the coach until after the World Cup in 2018. And that’s what you’re doing now, you’re just trying to figure out ways to not feel sad about that fact,” he told me as we waited out traffic in the parking lot. “When we get a new coach, Pulisic is going to be 19 and a half. That’s OK,” as he sighed with thorough, soul-crushing resignation.

Some fans, though, take up the struggles of the US team as a badge of honor. Chris, 52, from the North Bay, had brought his son to watch the game. Next to them was his wife, Gladys, 43, who is from Ghana. They were covered head-to-toe in American flag paraphernalia and US jerseys, though Gladys was conspicuously draped in a Ghanaian flag. I asked him what brought him to his fandom. “They’re perpetual underdogs, aren’t they? That’s the American spirit.” But won’t fans get fed up with losing eventually? “Soccer fans are more durable than that. We’ll take losses if we think we’re progressing. Today was a tough day. It’s a very good team that wants to win this tournament, but today was a tough day, no doubt about it. We need another generation. I don’t think we’ll make it back to the World Cup quarters in my lifetime.”

Just then, his son squeezed through the throng, as it on cue. A young, biracial soccer fan might be the biggest nightmare for the Ann Coulters of the world; surely not the sort of hero she’s looking for in the game. “This young man here, he scored a goal last weekend,” Chris informed me. “He plays for Santa Rosa United,” a youth soccer club in the area. Even in defeat, it’s vital for American soccer supporters to not get discouraged and to be passionate about the game – to be critical, to be engaged, to expect the best, and to be patient. The US might not even make it out of the group stage of Copa America, but these games are not really being played for us. They’re being played for every child who picks up a soccer ball and doesn’t see fear or prejudice or anxiety over socialism and believe that America is as much a part of the world as anywhere else.