Pelé conquers America

Sports fans – especially those my age – often look back fondly at defining moments of our fandom.

I can still remember Joe Namath wagging his right index finger after the New York Jets upset the Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III, 16-7, on January 12, 1969.

Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960.bsky.social

Nearly 11 months later, on December 6, 1969, I watched Texas rally to beat Arkansas, 15-14, in what was dubbed the “Game of the Century.” It was the first time I recall watching an entire college football game on TV.

And on September 19, 1970, my dad, brother and I were among 53,958 people who were in the stands when Alabama walloped Virginia Tech, 51-18, at Legion Field. I had never witnessed a live football game before that sweltering night in Birmingham.

Yet, while tackle football memories occupy much of my brain, 50 years ago today association football made an indelible mark. That’s when Pelé – born Edson Arantes do Nascimento – made his debut with the New York Cosmos.

Now, before I get to that, it’s important to note that soccer had actually entered my radar five years earlier. After getting bored watching the Dallas Cowboys-Detroit Lions playoff game on December 26, 1970 (Dallas won a snoozer, 5-0), I changed channels to ABC’s Wide World of Sports.

The program was showcasing the 1970 World Cup Final between Brazil and Italy. Led by Pelé, Brazil won in dominating fashion, 4-1.

I was mesmerized by the spectacle. Aside from the movement and the motion of the game itself – and  a magnificent performance by Pelé, who opened scoring in the 18th minute  – the size of the crowd at Estadio Azteca in Mexico City (107,412) and the sounds were fascinating. It wasn’t long after that when I started reading everything I could about “The Beautiful Game.”

Other than occasional blips in the newspaper, however, soccer news was hard to come by for a kid in Alabama. And a match on TV? It was easier to spot a unicorn.

Pelé changed all that.

On June 15, 1975 – at 2:30 p.m., Central Standard Time – the Dallas Tornado squared off with the Cosmos at Downing Stadium in New York. It was broadcast as a “CBS Sports Special,” and I had been looking forward to it all week.

The New York Times reported on June 11 that Pelé had finalized a three-year, $4.7 million contract with Warner Communications, owners of the Cosmos franchise, on June 10. It was a personal services pact, and it made the 34-year-old the highest paid athlete in the world. He already had three World Cup crowns on his resume and tallied 1,091 goals while leading Santos to a staggering 21 Brazilian championships.

“You can say now to the world that soccer has finally arrived in the United States,” Pelé said after making the deal official at New York City’s 21 Club.

The North American Soccer League had been around since 1968, but not until Pelé signed with the Cosmos did it start to take off.

Although the match with the Tornado was merely a midseason friendly, that was just a minor detail to me. A player hailed by many as the greatest of all-time was suited up for a club repping the Big Apple, and the NASL had its grand ambassador.

Just seeing him play was a big deal – it didn’t matter to me how well he performed. It had been eight months since he’d been in a competitive match, and there was bound to be some rust.

And maybe there was, but he knocked it off long enough to score the game’s final goal – a beautiful header – in the Cosmos’ 2-2 draw played before an overflow crowd of 21,278.

It officially turned me into a Cosmos supporter, but more importantly, it laid the groundwork for soccer becoming my favorite sport. (A side note … it was also the first time I had seen Dallas’ standout Kyle Rote Jr. play. It was rare then for a U.S.-born athlete to excel at the game, so I became a big fan of his, too).

Anyway, I anxiously awaited the game’s account in Monday’s Birmingham News. While it didn’t make the front page of the sports section, the Associated Press story led page 2 – and even had a picture of Pelé.

“I had only planned to play 45 minutes,” Pelé said. “But I felt so good I decided to play the whole game.”

It was later revealed that 10 million people tuned in to the live broadcast, which was a record American TV audience for soccer.

“When we play a few more games together, we’ll get better,” Pelé told a United Press International reporter. “We did not make the ball do the work for us today. Most of the young players tried to pass to me too much, instead of going through and having a shot on goal.

“The standard of play is quite high and there is a lot of potential in this league.”

In three years with the Cosmos, Pelé scored 37 goals and registered 30 assists, helping New York’s NASL team become a box office juggernaut. During that time my room was adorned with his and Rote’s poster (courtesy of Sports Illustrated), and I became a subscriber to both Soccer America and later, Soccer Digest.

Of course, the NASL is no more, and the Cosmos franchise sits in limbo. But 50 years ago, one player, one club and one league had my undivided attention.

I’ll never forget it.

Clint and Ranger

While puttering down the Industrial Highway in his vintage 2030 Continental Roadster, it suddenly occurred to Clint that he had gotten Ranger, his mutt, exactly eight years ago on this very day. It was June 11, 2058, when he spotted the trembling animal on the side of the road, yet another innocent victim of the AmeriTech War.

The dog was wheezing, it appeared to be suffering from conjunctivitis, and its hair was matted and dirty.

Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960.bsky.social

Clint could relate.

He tended to wheeze and his eyes were constantly itchy, too. Plus, what hair he had left was wiry and unruly, and at 72 his old man aches and pains were, well, extremely achy and quite painful. But the dog needed a home, Clint had one to share, and the two bonded quickly.

Some TLC – and a special ointment courtesy of a  veterinarian friend – took care of the doggo’s eye issues, and a warm bath in an oversized tub (along with slow, careful combing) revealed a relatively healthy, brown coat.

While drying off the furball, Clint came up with the name “Ranger,” mainly because it reminded him of an ice hockey team he cheered for during the bygone era of professional sports. And besides, “Ranger” is just a damn good dog name.

Man and beast became inseparable, and Clint wanted to make sure Ranger was happy. Over the first few years, there was nothing the critter enjoyed more than a furious, flared-nostril run through a grassy field, followed by a half can of wet food. More recently, though, it was a leisurely ride in  a wheeled transport that made him the happiest.

It was especially enjoyable these days because the war was over, the Mammonicans had been driven from power, and Clint no longer had to worry about being stopped by renegade patrols demanding passage tax.

And there was no one to make him present his Animal Ownership License and submit Ranger to a painful distemper shot.

Many of the old houses and office buildings had been destroyed in the decades-long conflict, but the skies were again clear and the countryside greener – and showing signs of new growth. Better yet, while much had changed throughout the years, a dog hanging its head out of the window and smiling into the wind was not one of them.

It was good for the dog’s health and good for the old man’s soul.

But Clint was now 80, and he had no idea how old Ranger was. The dog had turned white around the eyes and mouth, and Clint liked to think he and his best friend were roughly the same age, body-wise.

Clint had noticed over the past year that both his and Ranger’s naps were longer, and each day it seemed more difficult to rise from the comfort of a well-worn bed. He just wasn’t sure how much longer he could take care of his buddy.

Sadly, he realized their time together was coming to a close.

It never seemed fair, ending a friendship with an IV injection. Sometimes it seemed like the right thing to do, and the humane choice. But then moments later he’d find himself throwing a ragged old toy at Ranger, who’d grab it, shake it vigorously, and sometimes even bring it back to Clint in hopes of another throw-and-catch.

Earlier that morning, however, Clint packed the toys away in a wicker storage bin and loaded them into the Continental Roadster.

The ride would be their last together, and as Clint pulled into the parking spot, he leaned over, gave Ranger a big kiss on the head and said, “I love you, buddy.”

He lifted the bin out of the back seat and placed it on the sidewalk next to the car. Moments later, a vehicle pulled up next to him.

“You must be Clint,” said the slightly built woman. “I’m Sarah … you called about Ranger.”

“Oh, yes,” Clint said, forcing a weak smile. “I have all his papers and toys in this box. He’s a good dog … a real good dog.”

Sarah opened the door, put a leash around Ranger’s neck, and gently rubbed his head.

“Hey there, buddy,” she said. “We’re gonna go to your new home now.”

Clint was caught off guard as the woman – now teary-eyed – gave him a hug.

“You gave him a great life,” she said. “And I’ll give him one, too. I want you know that.”

Clint nodded.

“I know you will,” he said. “And he deserves it, because he made my life great, too. Anyway, goodbye Sarah … and take care of my boy.”

Clint gave his dog one last look, and then headed toward the entrance of the Kevorkian/Quill Clinic.

The CFL is back

Week One of the 2025 Canadian Football League season is in the books, and it was quite a ride.

Opening night saw the Saskatchewan Roughriders and Ottawa Redblacks combine for 57 points and 764 yards in Saskatchewan’s 31-26 victory.

Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960.bsky.social

Friday night the Montreal Alouettes thumped the defending Grey Cup champion Toronto Argonauts, 28-10. The Als’ defense starred in this one, forcing three turnovers and registering a scoop-and-score while limiting Toronto to just 276 yards of total offense.

On Saturday Nathan Rourke threw three TD passes to help the BC Lions subdue the Edmonton Elks, 31-14. The winners scored 28 of their points in the second half.

Being a Hamilton Tiger-Cats fan, though, the main event for me was yesterday’s showdown between the Tabbies and Calgary Stampeders. As usual, Hamilton lost, with Stampeder running back Dedrick Mills tallying three scores.

The 38-26 Calgary victory marked the Ti-Cats’ 20th season-opening loss in the last 22 campaigns, and sixth in a row.

That’s … that’s not good.

Regardless, I always look forward to CFL games, but for some reason my excitement level is higher than usual this year. It reminds me of those times as a kid when many of my friends were well into their Little League baseball seasons and I was in my backyard kicking a pale orange Hutch football over a hanging branch I pretended was a crossbar.

An appreciation for baseball didn’t come until years later. But football? I was always ready, even when the temper of the summer sun was at its hottest.

And after a lifetime as a fan, 30 years as a newspaper sports writer and these last few years as a journalistic has-been, I’ve become practically reverent about the Canadian game.

It’s not like I’m left wanting for gridiron action … there was only a couple of months between the end of the last NFL season and the start of the current United Football League campaign. In addition, the European League of Football is in its fifth season and continues to grow.

There’s plenty to like about all three. Elite athletes play in the game’s biggest league; guys keep their big league dreams alive in the UFL; and the ELF showcases homegrown talent.

But they aren’t the CFL, a circuit that revels in its uniqueness.

I found myself defending – and promoting – the league before I was even a teenager.

When games were broadcast stateside starting in 1972, they became a staple of my summer viewing. My dad watched with me, but his enthusiasm was dampened by the three downs to make a first down rule.

“I can’t get used to seeing a team have to punt on third down,” he’d say. “They need four downs.”

I respectfully disagreed. I loved (and love) the urgency of it all. There’s none of this “run the ball to feel out the defense” stuff. In the CFL, there are no downs to waste.

Twelve-on-12 competition, a field that’s 110 yards long and 65 yards wide, 20-yard deep end zones, rouges, all backs allowed in motion toward the line of scrimmage, no fair catches on punts … I embrace it all.

In later years I’d talk to friends and co-workers about the CFL and some would say things like, “It’s fun to watch until ‘real’ football starts.”

I still wince when I hear that, and it prompts me to launch into a sermon about American football using the “three-to-make 10” rule until 1912. That knowledge drop would inevitably lead me to pronounce the north of the border game as “original” tackle football.

I enjoy making that argument.

And not only will I proudly defend the CFL to anyone who wants to argue about it, I’ll advocate for each of the nine teams (even though the Ti-Cats are my favorite). Regardless of which side you cheer for, I fully support your choice.

When it comes to the Canadian Football League, I want every stadium to be packed, every game to be entertaining and every franchise to succeed.

So now it’s on to Week Two. BC and the Winnipeg Blue Bombers start things off on Thursday, Montreal and Ottawa tangle on Friday, and Saturday features Calgary at Toronto and Saskatchewan at Hamilton. It should be another fun three days of football.

There are other leagues out there – and good ones – but there’s nothing quite like the Canadian Football League.