Scott Adamson, Author at Adamsonmedia.com

Share of the spoils

I love soccer. Its unique combination of simplicity, beauty and technique make it my favorite sport, and I’ve been mesmerized by the game ever since I discovered it in 1970.

But man, I hate to see a soccer match end in penalty kicks.

**Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Twitter @adamsonsl**

After 11-player sides have spent 90 minutes – plus injury time and then overtime – battling to a standstill, the outcome is determined by one-on-one competition. And when it comes down to a kicker versus a keeper, guesswork plays a major role.

On the other hand, if you look at how the 1975 American Soccer League championship series played out, then maybe PKs don’t seem so bad after all.

In case you never knew or can’t remember, the 1975 season ended with the New York Apollo and Boston Astros declared ASL co-champions. Seems these two clubs just couldn’t figure out which one was best, as evidenced by the fact they played to a pair of 2-2 draws during the regular season and tied each other 2-2 in the first leg of the championship series. (New York finished the regular season with an 11-6-3 record and atop the Eastern Division, while Boston was best in the Northern Division at 9-8-3. And, despite the club’s success, New York coach Nick Kambolis was fired a week before the postseason started and replaced by general manager Nick Sclavounos).

The first playoff game between the two was held in Worcester, Massachusetts, on September 17, with the Apollo going up 2-0 on goals from Mike Patarigas and Mario Garcia. The Astros rallied, however, thanks to an Itmas Alves penalty kick in the 80^th minute and Carlos George’s goal just three minutes later.

That meant they’d meet one more time – this time in Mount Vernon, New York, on September 20 – with the victor claiming the ASL crown.

Jose Neto gave Boston the lead in the 15^th minute with an 18-yard blast, but New York equalized 10 minutes before halftime thanks to a header courtesy of Dave Power.

That ended all scoring in regulation, which set up sudden death overtime. The ASL’s O.T. format consisted of seven and a half minute periods, with the first goal ending the match.

Incredibly, the clubs played through nine overtimes without breaking the stalemate. New York outshot Boston 32-9, and Astros keeper Emilio Costa had 25 saves.

So why not keep playing until there was a winner?

Well, after the ninth O.T. it was 12:30 a.m. on Sunday, which was an hour past the Mount Vernon city curfew. The bigger problem, though, was that New York player contracts had actually expired on Saturday night.

Had the teams agreed to a replay later on Sunday (or any other date), the Apollo might not have had enough players on their roster.

Thus, American Soccer League commissioner Bob Cousy (yes, that Bob Cousy) decided to give each team a piece of the crown.

“There will be league co-champions,” Cousy told the Herald Statesman of Yonkers. “You don’t have to be a soccer expert to see that both teams deserve a share of the title. I don’t care what the precedent is for something like this.”

Boston coach John Bertos wasn’t happy about sharing the spoils, nor was Sclavounos.

“In my heart, no, I am not satisfied,” Sclavounos said. “But this is the way it has to be.”

It was a dysfunctional ending to a dysfunctional ASL season, one that saw the older league relegated to minor league status due to the growth of the rival North American Soccer League. The American league was bleeding money, and less than 3,000 supporters showed up for the championship match.

Still, you have to admire the stamina and character of all the players who put in 157 minutes and 30 seconds of work just to finish where they started – all even.

I’m guessing had penalty kicks been an option then, they would’ve gotten a rousing endorsement from the Apollo and the Astros.

And maybe even the spectators who hung around for the finish.

Summer sucks

When I was a kid, summer was absolutely glorious.

Once the dismissal bell rang on the last day of school, it was as though the sun had personally invited me to a three-month party – a party that included lots of swimming, a little bat-and-ball action, and creek adventures that started right after breakfast and ended just before dusk.

If I lean back now and close my eyes, I can almost smell the freshly cut grass. I can also smell the tanning lotion covering the beautiful neighbor while she lounged by the pool. And before you think I was a little creep, no, I didn’t stare at her while hiding behind a bush next to the chain-link fence that separated our property.

And even if I did, you can’t prove it.

But those sometimes crazy and oftentimes lazy days of childhood summers are long past, and have since been replaced by the oppressive, unbearable heat and humidity of this dreadful time of year.

Mary has much more tolerance for the heat than I do, and when I complain about it she’ll say, “It’s Alabama in June. What do you expect?”

She’s right. While climate change has certainly made things much worse, it’s not like it wasn’t hot during the summers of my youth. It was … I guess I was just too distracted by fun and frivolity to care.

In the era before video games, kids like me spent most of our days outside if it wasn’t raining. That’s where all the entertainment was found.

You’d play ball, swim, then just run around doing generic kid things until it was time for lunch. After you ate, you’d rinse and repeat until dinner. After dinner, well, the drill was the same.

I’m sure I got hot and I’m sure I sweated, but I don’t recall ever complaining about it.

But boy, do I complain about it now.

Even when I start a 5 a.m. walk, the heat slaps me in the face the minute I open the door. Most mornings the air is completely still, and after I’ve gone a mile, I’m already drenched in sweat.

And if there is a breeze it not only doesn’t help, it often makes things worse. It feels like how I imagine it would feel if a fire-breathing dragon burped on me.

I mean, summer breezes might have made Jim Seals and Dash Crofts feel fine, but that’s probably because they both had low metabolic rates.

By the time my daily summertime walking is complete, I’m utterly exhausted, ornery, smelly and look like I just emerged from a swamp. And when the sun rises and goes into full bake mode (thus triggering all dumpsters within a five-mile radius to activate their repulsive odors), I dread having to venture back out in it.

With two dogs that require multiple outdoor business trips I can’t avoid it, but I try to take them someplace where there’s shade for them and me. And to encourage a quick evacuation process, I’ll often sing soft, soothing tunes that are proven to promote regularity. (I’ve found that Escape: The Piña Colada Song triggers copious poopage).

The only positive to the hellish heat is walking back inside, where I’m treated to central air conditioning, whirring ceiling fans and even a box fan when I feel like running up the score.

“But, Scott,” you ask. “Surely you like going to the beach … enjoying the sand, surf and ocean breeze?”

Yeah, about that …

There was a time in my late teens and early 20s when beach trips were at the top of my list, mainly because of the nightlife. But again, those days are over.

I like looking at the ocean, but I like doing it from the comfort of the hotel balcony.

I don’t enjoy being on the beach because sand gets in my crevices, and I don’t like getting in the ocean because of sharks, jellyfish and things that want to hurt and/or eat me.

Looking at things positively, though, every day of summer that passes means we’re a day closer to fall. And even though Deep South falls now have muted colors and last only 30 minutes or so, they’re still a great relief from being trapped in Mother Nature’s oven.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but summer can kiss my ass.

The Continental League Stars

Anyone familiar with my World Football League obsession knows that in 1974 I cheered for the Birmingham Americans because they were my hometown team.

I also had a soft spot for the Southern California Sun; any club that wears magenta jerseys and orange pants is worthy of my respect and admiration.

But I also had more than a passing interest in the New York Stars, because they had a few former New York Jets on their team and the Jets were my favorite NFL franchise.

But did you know that eight years earlier a different version of the New York Stars was supposed to debut in the Continental Football League?

Not only that, they were set to play at little Downing Stadium, which was the poorly-lit, Randalls Island home of the WFL Stars.

Here’s the scoop:

The Continental Football League was formed in 1965 with visions of becoming a third major league. But its inaugural season featured the Charleston (West Virginia) Rockets, Ft. Wayne Warriors, Hartford Charter Oaks, Newark Bears, Philadelphia Bulldogs, Providence (Rhode Island) Indians, Richmond Rebels, Springfield (Massachusetts) Acorns, Toronto Rifles and Wheeling (West Virginia) Ironmen. Aside from Philadelphia and Toronto, the COFL wasn’t located in major North American media markets.

A New York franchise would be a game changer, and on February 11, 1966, the league granted one to theater and television producer Fred Finklehoffe.

“I consider pro football one of the most interesting aspects of show business,” Finklehoffe told the Associated Press. “I consider this an off-Broadway football team. I hope to make Broadway soon.”

The stadium at Randalls Island was chosen because it seated 21,000 and there were plans to add an additional 4,000 seats.

Considering his industry ties, giving the team the nickname “Stars” made perfect sense. Finklehoffe, along with writing partner Irving Brecher, had been nominated for an Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay for Meet Me in St. Louis, and he’d also penned a pair of scripts for Dean Martin/Jerry Lewis comedies.

He was a big name who owned a team representing the Big Apple, and he started making news almost immediately. In March he signed coach Perry Moss away from Charleston, reportedly inking him to a 10-year, $500,000 contract that included the role of general manager. Moss led the Rockets to 14 consecutive victories and the inaugural COFL title in 1965.

In an interview with The Gazette (Montreal) on April 2, 1966, Moss predicted the Continental Football League would soon threaten the Canadian Football League.

“Our league is not only going to become the main football attraction in Montreal and Toronto, but it won’t be long before Vancouver joins us,” Moss told the paper. “Make no mistake about it … the Continental League will become the third major professional league in America. There’s an untapped television market and we’re going to share it. A dozen or more cities, with big area populations, are potential team outlets.

“There’s no shortage of good players coming out of U.S. colleges each year. The AFL and NFL can absorb only a limited number.”

Apparently unbeknownst to Moss, however, Finklehoffe exited the stage on the day he was interviewed by The Gazette.

After purchasing the franchise for $250,000, he sold it back to the league “because of motion picture commitments.”

Still, COFL officials announced that two other groups were bidding on the team and New York was sure to have a franchise by the start of the season, even if it wasn’t called the Stars.

That team came in the form of the Brooklyn Dodgers, who made their home on Randalls Island (a 40-minute subway ride from Brooklyn). And instead of Moss – who wound up in charge of the Orlando Panthers – the Dodgers named former New York Giants/Los Angeles Rams standout Andy Robustelli head coach.

Despite hiring baseball legend Jackie Robinson as a figurehead general manager, the team never developed a significant fan base and became a “road club” late in the season, finishing 5-9.

The Dodgers moved to Akron in 1967 and were rebranded the Vulcans, and the Continental League – which folded after the 1969 season – never became a major league and never again had a team in Gotham.

Thus, football fans in the City That Never Sleeps had to wait until 1974 before being able to cheer for the New York Stars.

But you wanna hear something weird?

The last game New York’s COFL team played at Downing Stadium was September 24, 1966, in front of 4,519 fans.

The last game its WFL team played there before moving to Charlotte was on September 24, 1974 – in front of 4,220 fans. That might not be good enough to qualify for a new edition of Strange But True Football Stories, but I think it’s a pretty good way to end this column.