American Fiasco

A Word From Rog

Long before Men in Blazers, Roger Bennett was just a kid growing up in Liverpool with contradictory obsessions: soccer and America. He moved to the U.S. just in time to witness the sudden rise of the U.S. men's national team in the early 1990s. Now, Rog is teaming up with WNYC Studios to tell the tale of that team's ill-fated mission at the 1998 World Cup. Told through candid interviews with the team, it's a story for soccer fans and non-fans alike.  

How Not To Win The World Cup

Coming June 4: Join host Roger Bennett of Men in Blazers for this true tale of the U.S. men's soccer team's quest to conquer the 1998 World Cup. American Fiasco is a 12-part series based on over 30 interviews with the players, coaches, and media personalities who lived out this sporting descent into madness.

Episode 1: The Dream (On) Team

You may have heard by now: There’s a World Cup this year. It’s in Russia so the geopolitical stakes couldn’t be higher...the Cold War heats up again on the pitch! Only one problem -- the United States won’t be there. The Americans were eliminated on the final day of qualification by Trinidad and Tobago. It all reminds Roger Bennett of another dramatic American soccer failure, one that happened 20 years ago. The Americans, still scrappy underdogs back then, began to believe they could be a dark horse contender at the 1998 World Cup. Maybe, just maybe, they could win it all. Spoiler alert: they didn’t. And the way they went about it, according to Roger, is a gripping story of hubris and heartbreak, and an abject lesson in how not to win a World Cup But wait: Why should you let Roger tell you this story? And why should you care what he has to say about soccer? Well, Roger’s a phenomenon that -- like America itself -- started in England before fleeing across the pond. Today, Roger is co-host of the beloved show Men In Blazers, a podcast and TV program about soccer, “America’s sport of the future … as it has been since 1972.” He grew up in Liverpool, rooting for the local club Everton and living his life in four-year cycles dictated by the World Cup. The only thing that rivaled his love for football was his obsession with all things American. The walls of his childhood bedroom were painted red, white, and blue -- and covered with posters of Michael Jordan, the Chicago Bears, and American team pennants. He built Coke-can pyramids on his bookshelves.    Roger Bennett's childhood bedroom He loved John Hughes movies and Starsky & Hutch. “I studied the Love Boat like it was a religious text,” Roger says. He moved to the U.S. and settled first in Chicago, where he learned to call his favorite sport ‘soccer.’ This was back in 1993, when there wasn’t much soccer to be found in America, especially on television. He was crushed ... and then inspired. Roger started looking into the American soccer story. At the very first World Cup in 1930, the U.S. made it to the semi-finals. Then, two decades of nothing followed. In 1950, a ragtag team of amateurs -- including a minor league baseball player, a paint-stripper, and a dishwasher -- defeated England in one of the greatest international upsets ever. Again: Crickets. It took the U.S. nearly 40 years to qualify again. This was the dark age of American soccer. In 1989, the U.S. snapped the losing streak by qualifying for the following year’s World Cup in Italy. The team celebrated in the most American way possible: With an ill-advised, short-lived rap video called “Victory.” In it, team members dance shirtless on a Malibu beach, then go hang out in a recording studio with O.J. Simpson.   The Americans lost badly in the 1990 tournament. Yet things were looking brighter than ever. For the first time, U.S. was set to host the World Cup in four years’ time. At the 1994 World Cup, America pulled out all the stops. Oprah emceed the opening ceremonies! Bill Clinton showed up! Richard Marx sang the national anthem! In the end, the U.S. beat a very good Colombia team, advanced to the knockout round, and then died with honor at the hands of the eventual tournament winners, Brazil. On the Fourth of July, no less. U-S-A! U-S-A! That’s when things began to change for the sport. The World Cup brought new revenue and attention into American soccer. The arrival of a new league, Major League Soccer, offered stable, stateside professional careers to players. Meanwhile, they were getting endorsement deals and TV commercials. Some were even getting offers to play in top-flight leagues around the world. It was inevitable: The idea of winning a World Cup didn’t seem so far-fetched. Maybe…in 1998? Again, the U.S. did not win the World Cup in 1998. But how they didn’t win is one of the most captivating stories you’ll hear in a podcast this year. And to truly know the nature of a nation -- the good, the bad and the ugly -- you have to watch it lose.

Episode 2: Steve

After the 1994 World Cup, officials from the U.S. Soccer Federation were basking in the glow of a job well done. They had played host to the planet’s biggest sporting event, set attendance records, turned a profit and set expectations high for the future of soccer in America. The U.S. men’s team didn’t win the World Cup. (Come on, let’s be real.) Still, coach Bora Milutinović helped the team advance to the elimination round, where the Americans died with honor at the hands of Brazil. The Serbian-born Milutinović was known as a hired gun who coaxed surprising results from unremarkable teams. When he departed in search of his next challenge, U.S. Soccer was left with a taste for victory and an eye on the 1998 World Cup. All they needed was the right coach.   Hank Steinbrecher, then the Federation’s secretary general, began an international search for a top-flight manager. And in an unusual move, the interim job was given to an American-bred assistant coach named Steve Sampson. At that time, America’s top soccer job had been dominated by foreign-born coaches with international experience. There was a mystique to foreign coaches that Americans revered. Plus, Sampson had only head-coached at the collegiate level; he’d never managed professional soccer players. But Steinbrecher has a good explanation for why he turned to Sampson:  “He was there.” Sampson took the job and ran with it. Unlike his predecessor who believed in a take-no-risks strategy, Sampson gave his players more freedom and instituted an aggressive, attack-minded strategy he called “forward-mindedness.”  It was all about “playing to win, as opposed to playing not to lose.” It was the American way. This new approach won him the loyalty of the players and the admiration of Steinbrecher, who liked the way Sampson infused on-field tactics with something more abstract: national identity. The team’s first big challenge was the U.S. Cup, where the Americans would play Colombia, Nigeria and their regional nemesis, Mexico. In their 35 face-offs since 1934, Mexico had won 31 times. Plus, the stadium in Washington, D.C., was packed with fans rooting for the away team. It didn’t take long for “forward-mindedness” to kick in. Just 174 seconds, in fact. The U.S. scored. And scored again. And again. And then in the second half, it scored again. Filled with what one player recalls as “joy and fearlessness,” the team — led by Steve Sampson — crushed its archnemesis. Within 15 weeks, the word “interim” was removed from Steve Sampson’s title.  

Episode 3: We’ll Always Have Paysandu

1994 World Cup? America nailed it. Regional rival Mexico? Crushed ’em in D.C.! Now it was time for the United States national team to prove it could be successful outside the U.S. In July 1995, the team traveled to Uruguay for the Copa America, a battle royal among South American nations. The U.S. was an invited guest that would face some of the toughest teams in the world. Little did the players know they would also have to scrap with their bosses at the U.S. Soccer Federation. It all started on the flight to the tournament. There hadn’t been time to finish negotiating players’ contracts before the flight took off. Six hours into the flight, a piece of paper with the Federation’s terms began circulating among the players. They gathered in the back of the plane to discuss a major sticking point in the proposal: Players would not be compensated equally. Instead, a sliding scale based on experience with the national team would dictate compensation. “It was divide and conquer,” explains star forward Eric Wynalda, noting that younger players with few games under their belts were being asked to play for glory – and nothing else. “It was, let’s get the veteran players to comply and screw everybody else.” Even those who would benefit knew it would go against the very thing that had made them successful: being a team. That team, as a whole, made the decision that they would not play, much less practice, until the issue was resolved. Upon their arrival in Paysandu, Uruguay, the players’ bus was met with a crowd of soccer-obsessed locals bearing signs and warm regards. This unexpected celebrity treatment was due, in part, to the high visibility of American stars like Alexi Lalas during the previous summer’s World Cup.   But also, the Americans were slated to play Uruguay’s archrival, Argentina, in the Copa. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as the old saying goes. The people of Paysandu began to follow the team around town. The hotel where the U.S. was staying had windows across the front and adoring locals would press their noses to the glass to watch the players hang out as long-distance negotiations took place via fax. “We played a lot of backgammon and we drank a lot of cappuccinos in that lobby,” says Wynalda. Adds Lalas: “It was almost like a museum exhibition. ‘Come see the Americans!’” Back home, Federation secretary general Hank Steinbrecher saw the negotiations differently. From his perspective, U.S. Soccer had invested a lot in these players and now thought they were an “ungrateful lot.” Many faxes later, Steinbrecher had had enough:  “You’re going to put a noose over our neck and a bullet to our head? Screw you. You’re finding your own way home and I’m bringing down the Olympic team.” Faced with the threat of scabs, the players reacted with, “Great. Go for it.” They felt confident that if crowds of Uruguayans came to the hotel just to watch Marcelo Balboa, Alexi Lalas and Eric Wynalda sip coffee, Steinbrecher wouldn’t actually replace them in the biggest tournament in South America. Some believe Steinbrecher blinked first. Steinbrecher says they “came to a compromised position.” In either case, the players got their money. There was time for just one practice before the first game of the Copa and Coach Steve Sampson warned his players, “You better go out and prove that you deserve that money.” And prove it they did. They won their first game 2-1, against Chile. It was the first time the U.S. had beaten a South American team on South American soil since the inaugural World Cup in 1930. After a brief 1-0 setback against Bolivia, all thoughts were on their next opponent, Argentina. The Argentine playing style is singular – as brutal as it is beautiful. No player personified both sides of this style more than the legendary Diego Maradona. His playing days were over and he was watching from the stands. But the team on the field was no less fearsome. One of their most talented and ruthless players was another Diego: Diego Simeone. Warming up in the tight confines of the hallway outside the locker room, Simeone started talking trash to Wynalda. A few stretches later, Wynalda warned Simeone, “I’m going to rip your face off.” Then Wynalda grabbed Simeone by the throat. All of this was before the game even started. The truth is, the U.S. team would have been happy with a tie. The players had grown up watching the Diego Maradona era of Argentine soccer. When Alexi Lalas was 16, he watched Argentina play in the World Cup in person. Nine years later, he would score a goal against them. The U.S. struck twice in the first half, then Wynalda tacked one on, making the final score 3-0. The Americans had never dominated an opponent this powerful in quite this way. What happened on the field was impressive, but what came next is soccer lore. The guys were boisterously celebrating with cold beers, when the room suddenly went quiet. The crowd parted to make way for none other than Diego Maradona, who emotionally shook each player’s hand. “I’m not crying because Argentina has lost,” he explained. “I’m crying because the Americans played such beautiful football.” The U.S. ended up placing fourth at the Copa, which was an astonishing feat. They beat a team no one had thought was touchable. And they coaxed tears from a legitimate soccer god. They were starting to believe in themselves and work as a team, on and off the field.