The United States is an embarrassment right now. Almost 6 months ago now I left home to travel around the world. And for 6 straight months I’ve had to watch from thousands of miles away as the country that I call home operates in complete and total chaos.
I’ve always been incredibly proud to call myself an American. Incredibly proud. I’ve waved my American flag and drank my Bud Light (which I still miss dearly) and thanked my lucky stars and stripes every day for the opportunities this country has given me. That’s right, given me. A white, affluent male who has had everything served up on a platter for him. I know damn well that the cards I’ve been dealt are a whole lot more favorable than the ones others are holding.
I don’t ever want to take those opportunities for granted. And I want to do everything that I can to make sure that everyone is afforded those same rights.
Put aside the politics
I’ve always said that people who claim they “don’t get involved in politics” are big fat liars, but anyone who knows me knows that I actually tend to stay out of politics.
However, in watching the chaos unfold back home from abroad it’s impossible to ignore. Being an ocean away means relying on things like Twitter to stay in tune with what’s happening in the U.S. And ohh boy, what a time for that. Every morning I wake up and the tweets have flown in by the dozen. Tweets that will one day be written in our history books.
Sports tell the story
So, sure, I could talk about the politics, but politics are complicated. For me, it has always been about sports. Sports are simple. Sports are an escape. Sports are black and white. They’re the great equalizer. The great unifier. The universal language.
Sports are what I understand.
Last night, the United States men’s national soccer team lost it’s qualifying match to Trinidad and Tobago. The worst loss in the history of United States soccer. A loss that means they won’t be participating in the World Cup next summer for the first time since 1986.
It’s a failure.
It’s heartbreaking.
It’s a complete and utter embarrassment.
And yet, in some ways, it’s perfect. It says it all without saying anything at all.
We’ve hit rock bottom.
Rock bottom
Over the last 6 months I’ve been asked hundreds of times where I’m from. It’s a question I had never even thought twice about before. Back home, I’d say that I was from New Hampshire, maybe that I was living in Boston, and it might strike up a casual conversation about a mutual friend or a neighboring activity. Here, where I’m meeting people from all over the world, they just want to know the country.
“The U.S.,” “The States,” and “America” are all in my arsenal, but instead of casual chit chat I’m met with chuckles and snickers. You’re not you when you’re hungry, America.
We’re a laughing stock. We’re a joke. I used to shout from the mountaintops that I was American. Now, I can barely let people know where I’m from in more than a hushed whisper.
My hope
The beauty of American soccer has always been in it’s ability to bring people together. Soccer has never been the most popular sport in our country, but even if just for a few weeks every 4th summer, it didn’t matter who you were or where you came from, you were American. And this was your team.
That was my hope. That US Soccer could help bring a nation from it’s knees. That it could unify us. That it could make proud to be an American again.
It may have been delusional, but it was something I truly believed. Deep down, in places you don’t talk about at parties, I thought I would come home next summer and the World Cup could help fix America. I was wrong. The match last night was like watching everything else that is happening in our country right now… I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but I knew exactly what was going to happen.
The World Cup isn’t going to fix us, but rock bottom just might.
Today we mourn, tomorrow we go again.