"Miss Beldon, may I ask whether this is an open competition?"

The "Oscars" are on tonight which means that TCM is showing a mess of winning movies throughout the event's history. Below is a conversation between characters in the powerful 1942 film "Mrs. Miniver," in which Vincent Miniver (Mrs. Miniver's son) challenges an aristocrat (Carol Beldon) when a request is made to have a commoners rose be withdrawn from a gardening competition.

It's a wonderful movie. Terrifyingly emotional for me personally because of my grandmother's role in the war but I thought this conversation provided a sort of abstract insight into the English condition regarding open competition.



CAROL BELDON:
How do you do, Mrs. Miniver? I'm Carol Beldon.

MRS. MINIVER:
How do you do, Miss Beldon? This is my husband.

CLEM MINIVER:
How do you do?

MM: And my son Vincent.

VINCENT MINIVER:
How do you do?

MM: Just in time for tea, Miss Beldon.

CB: Thanks, but I've just had some.

MM: Sit down anyway.

CB: I can only stay a moment.

MM: Please, do sit down.

CB: You really must excuse me for invading your house like this... but frankly, I've come to make a request. A personal request, and as a great favor.

CM: Well, please, sit down.

CB: Thank you. You see, my grandmother doesn't know I've come. I'm afraid I'm not very good at breaking things gently... so I'll get straight to the point. It's about the rose.

CM: The rose?

CB: Yes. The one Mr. Ballard grew. "The Mrs. Miniver." [Mr. Ballard named it after Mrs. Miniver] I hear he's going to enter it in the flower show.

MM: You mean, for the Beldon Challenge Cup?

CB: Yes. But no one ever has entered.... That is-- No... no one has ever entered a rose in competition with my grandmother. And that's just the point. It's become a tradition for her to win the cup and her roses mean so much to her. I know it seems an awful thing to ask, but I thought you might, perhaps, as a favor persuade Mr. Ballard to withdraw his rose from the competition. You see, to be frank, it's such a beautiful rose it might easily win, and, well--

VM: Miss Beldon, may I ask whether this is an open competition?

CB: Yes, technically--

VM: Technically, yes, but actually... no.

CB: Yes, I suppose that's it. You see--

VM: I see only too well, Miss Beldon. Because Mr. Ballard is not of the ruling class... is a mere vassal, as it were--

MM: Now, Vin, please. Let Miss Beldon explain.

VB: But, Mother, Miss Beldon doesn't have to explain, not to me. I'm aware of the influence of the feudal system in this village. These are orders from the manor. Her ladyship must have no competition.

MM: You must excuse my son. He's just down from Oxford.

VM: Don't apologize for me. I mean everything I say.

CB: Well, I'm glad to hear it, but do you do anything about it?

VM: Do? Why, what do you mean?

CB: If you feel something is wrong, what are you doing about it? I've spent holidays the last few years doing settlement work in the slums of London. You wallow in luxury all the year...

VM: I don't wallow... and think a few weeks playing Lady Bountiful...

CM: Come, Vin.

CB: It's not much, perhaps but it's the only thing I know. What have you been doing?

VM: I? Well....

CB: I see. Just talk. That's all right. It's easier.

VM: Listen, I didn't say--

CB: Oh, don't apologize. I know how comfortable it is to curl up with a book full of big words... and think you're going to solve the problems of the universe. But you're not. A bit of action is required now and then.

VM: Action? If that's what you and your class are asking for - maybe you'll get it one of these days.

CB: Maybe. But not from the talkers.

MM: Vin. Remember, Miss Beldon is a guest. If you have any manners at all...

VM: Manners? A humble working man is denied the reward of his artistry to gratify the vanity of an aristocrat--

MM: Quiet. This isn't your concern.

VB: I beg to differ. I'm concerned for a fellow man's dignity. And the indignity that's heaped upon him.

MM: You'll excuse me, I'm sure, Miss Beldon.

CB: Certainly.

Major League Soccer: Irrelevant, Filler, Fleeting Tease???

Photo: Al Pacino as Michael Corleone. From the movie trilogy The Godfather.

Finish This Sentence: Keep your friends close…

You know the rest. Often associated with ruthless business endeavors, movies about organized crime and shady government fat-cats smiling over thousand dollar plates of pasta and truffles (while under the table calmly slitting the throat of the quixotic commoner), “and your enemies closer” carries much wisdom within its simple yet dark lesson.    

How might those few wicked words relate to the sport of soccer, and more specifically, Major League Soccer?

Perhaps “and your enemies closer” teases the thrill of sporting competition. Or, maybe, the intimate touch of our sporting enemies, when brushing dangerously close to our physical and spiritual vulnerabilities, arouses pure ecstasy, heartbreaking misery and engages all our senses in an unavoidable cauldron of escapist dreamscape.

Does Major League Soccer dare venture into the cauldron? Are the people guiding North America’s top league and professional soccer in the larger sense capable of grasping the meaning in the dreamscape of ecstasy and misery at the heart of our sport?

Evidence suggests the guiding minds have, to date, only stumbled unknowingly and occasionally into the deep racing river of soccer’s blood-red arteries.

The collection of rivals, sporting enemies, in the Northwest: Portland, Seattle and Vancouver, give a glimpse into what “and your enemies closer” might stir within the core of our sport. The intimate proximity of these clubs engages all our senses.

More often, our soccer senses, our souls, are only fleetingly teased by those running Major League Soccer. In a part of the world where millions of children and adults play, the signing of a handful of formerly brilliant players brings with it a hollow and temporary dip into the coppery smelling river of blood. These “business” moves wreak of condescension. Their long-term effect is a net negative. The soccer soul knows the difference between the charlatan’s loud bark and the true call of the ball as it rolls under foot.

Often, new cities and owners are chosen based on demographics, wealth and metrics which have little to do with what our sport is about. Worse, the devil’s plastic is given tacit approval despite the numbing effect it injects into the beautiful game. Those evil plastic fibers are one enemy to be shunned at all costs.

Which enemies should North American soccer embrace? Which enemies enhance and grow our sport? Which enemies stir the senses?

Start by embracing the regionalization of the top tiers of our sport. Expand the number of intimate rivalries. Professional soccer in North America would be better served by abandoning the East and West model. Create smaller regions, much like the Portland’s, Seattle’s and Vancouver’s existing in the Northwest.

Arouse the beating heart by creating six distinct zones for professional soccer in North America.

Example: The Mid-North: State a goal of eight teams in the top division. Cities like Columbus, Chicago, Minneapolis, Cincinnati, Indianapolis, St. Louis, Pittsburgh, etc. Play each team in your region home and away. Play each team in the Mid-South region (Texas, etc.) home and away. This accounts for thirty games. Play each team in one other region once for eight more games. The eight game region would rotate each year to add an element of competitive balance and fan curiosity over time.

State a goal of having Promotion and Relegation within each region. Relegation will only begin after ten to fifteen years, in deference to the owners who started and built Major League Soccer into a sustainable top tier. Only those games played within a club’s region determine which teams go up and down. Cap the league structure at two divisions per region. Once relegation begins, three teams per region go down each year. The resulting turnover will guarantee incredible competition throughout the season.

Continue to have playoffs and championship for best in the first division. Top two of each region, plus four best third place teams, make the playoffs. Playoffs are single elimination, quick and dirty, Sunday, Wednesday, Sunday, Sunday.

Lastly, embrace the North American born player, regardless of heritage, and encourage in-depth, critical reporting on everything professional soccer in North America. Stop with the insular fear.

“And your enemies closer.” There is much wisdom within this simple yet dark lesson. In soccer it arouses pure ecstasy, heartbreaking misery and engages all our senses in an unavoidable cauldron of escapist dreamscape.

And, you never know, those businessmen, the ones who started the professional soccer ball rolling again in 1996, might just find monetary return beyond their wildest dreams if they let the heart of the game guide them. 

The Psychology Buried Within the Promotion/Relegation Debate

Never in the history of American Soccer has there been such a profound ideological divide amongst people who share a deep passion for the beautiful game. The current debate, easily witnessed and joined, can be found growing deep roots in the rich soil of soccer forums, message boards, blogs, and websites.

Comparing the promotion/relegation debate to the abortion debate would be, at the very least, a gross insult to a complex human sentiment. Yet, the debate within the North American Soccer Community bears some striking similarities to the fight to safely reduce the number of abortions in the United States.

Words such as “idiot,” “wrong,” “stupid,” “dim-witted,” “brain-dead” and worse are often tossed around when people on both sides of the pro/rel debate argue their side. In this post, I will make an effort to explain the source and motivation which leads to the promotion/relegation dispute spewing such venom.

A good starting point is the incredibly simple nature of our sport. Given a serviceable round object and at least two people, the game of soccer can sprout anywhere: in a gym, on the playground, in a basement, an alley or the street. Soccer is a sport of both the people and the person.

We try to challenge ourselves: how many juggles can we get? We try to best our opponents: a simple step-over or touch through the defender’s legs sees us on our way to goal.

There is a sense of the primordial ooze about our sport. The heart races, the knees and shins sometimes bleed. Dirt and grass stains seep into our very being.

We start at an early age, a simple single-celled organism: kick the ball, laugh, chase. We slowly, over the years, become a mosaic, an Escher painting: unpredictable, challenging, provocative.

These things are the core of our sport. We never shed these things. They may be buried deep inside when we reach adulthood; but, they continue to fan the flames of competition, even at the highest, most organized levels of our sport.

So, how does this simple yet powerful aspect of our sport manifest itself in the ideological divide between proponents and opponents of the promotion and relegation debate? Plainly stated, there are those who wish to protect themselves and the mature version of our sport from the uncertainty crawling to the shore from the thick and wicked pool of primordial ooze. And then, there are those who wish to gather up the beautiful game and dive into the primordial ooze.

One side cannot stand the constant stress of random chance, and so, struggles to find order, codifies the un-codifiable and builds barriers between the game and the ooze.

The other side wants to let the ooze run free, and so, demands that all involved compete in the primordial soup. From teams, to fans, to towns, to owners, this second group wants the very essence of our sport, the people and the person, on display in every way possible.

I count my self in the second group. There is already enough in our American culture that is codified, walled-off and protected. Banks write banking legislation to protect themselves from the downside of competition. Politicians manipulate so that they have safety nets to land softly and richly after terms run out. Owners of NHL, NBA, MLB and NFL teams quash competition in order to shelter themselves from the very competition they profess to admire. The players in these sports compete, but the owners do not take part. They build dams to hold back the primordial ooze. Players risk injury, the end of an already short career. They uproot their families year after year. Owners sit in luxury boxes and count money, knowing that failure will be rewarded with better draft picks, an easier schedule, a move to another city and layer after layer of protection from the very things they are selling to their customer.

Our sport is an escape from the mundane. All those involved should be constantly evolving from simple organism to Escher complexity, always in search of the playground, the step-over, the alley, the gym, the next level.

Slipping, sliding back is part of the complexity. Don’t be afraid. Embrace the ooze.