Two teams, but only one supporter

I've played soccer all my life.

I don't ever remember a day when there wasn't a ball at my feet. Even my dogs played soccer, including my current furry companion, Hunter, who barks at me constantly if I don't throw his soccer ball to the fence for him to chase, retrieve and then refuse to give back to me to throw again. He might have something to teach some soccer players about possession.

Tomorrow, I'll travel the short distance to City Island here in Harrisburg to watch the City Islanders take on my beloved New York Red Bulls. I wish I could say I was torn between the team from my adopted home city and the team from America's largest metro area. I'm not.



Soccer as a spectator sport goes back equally far for me. I remember following my dad to soccer practice at his high school, watching intently as he instructed goalkeepers in proper angle cutting, outfield players on how to strike a ball out of mid air, and proper defensive positioning to delay, delay, delay an advancing attacker.

By the time I was playing in recreational leagues in elementary and middle school, my brother and I were instructing the other kids on not "beehiving" the ball. Although, it was kind of fun letting them beehive because when the ball popped free to us, we'd streak up the field and score goals, while naive sideline parents wondered still why the Ryan boys weren't trying to "boot" the ball like the rest of the kids.

Those were the days when you couldn't watch soccer on TV in the U.S. I had to stare at posters of Dutch superstar Ruud Gullit, knowing that under those dreadlocks was someone good, but not quite grasping how good. Then in 1996, my senior year of high school, came Major League Soccer, the first truly top-flight professional soccer league in the U.S. since the old North American Soccer League folded in 1984.

I was hooked, an immediate supporter of the New York/New Jersey MetroStars. We went to nearly every home game in Giants Stadium that year. I lived in northeast Pennsylvania, but the closest gem of a city was New York. We all looked to it with awe and love, the way a child kisses its mother with his eyes. Today, many of the people I knew in high school live and work in New York. My paths took me elsewhere.

Later, the MetroStars were bought and renamed, but soccer fans are loyal until the day they die. No changing teams for me. So here I am, a Red Bull New York fan living in Harrisburg, Pa. Any other time of the year, I would support and wish Harrisburg good luck in its endeavors.

But when lower-level teams meet the big Bulls in the U.S. Open Cup, my loyalties will not be divided. Red Bulls -- also affectionately referred to as "Metro" -- are my team. So, I say my prayers for the night:

Dear Soccer Gods, let the Red Bulls dispatch the City Islanders quickly and swiftly tomorrow. Any score that has New York winning is good, but let's aim for a thrashing...Oooo! And fair refereeing, please. Can't forget that one.

Go Red Bulls!