[REWIND] The Lost League (Part 1/3)
A Short History of a Short Goalkeeper
[Since so many of you are new readers of this Substack, I am resending the first series (in three parts) of the MISL 1980s Substack. This was published back in February. Enjoy!]
This is the first installment of MISL 1980s, a Substack devoted to the hidden history of American soccer in the 1980s, a time when the indoor game became the highest level of professional soccer in North America. For many young fans of today’s wildly successful MLS, this might be an undiscovered treasure trove of knowledge about what existed in the days of yore. For fans who attended games of the old MISL, this is a deep dive into a league you fondly remember. Each week, on Tuesday morning, I will drop 1,000-1,500 words that cover various pieces of that history. For now, this Substack is free to enjoy. So, please, share it with your soccer friends!
THE EARLY 1980s – USA
No gimmick is too wild. With a zookeeper by her side, Leah kicks…and scores! Lois appears indifferent. Her enormous ears flare up as she lets the ball pass into the net in front of a cheering crowd at Kansas City’s Kemper Arena. Neither elephant signs a professional contract with the Comets that day, but such a stunt would surprise no one. The NBA’s Kansas City Kings can’t match the Comets’ crowds or their elephants. They leave for Sacramento, where All-Star guard Reggie Theus and his teammates won’t have to compete with something called indoor soccer.
At the Civic Center in Baltimore, a spaceship slowly descends to the tune of the five tones Spielberg made famous in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. An entire soccer team, The Blast, emerge one-by-one. Ten thousand fans scream with delight. A bewildered BBC film crew reports with astonishment on this bastardization of the beautiful game.
In Wichita, Kansas, a madman is on the field. Krazy George, professional fan, flies in from California for several games that year. Beating a drum and leading chants are his regular brief. But tonight, he emerges from the bowels of the Kansas Coliseum pushing a lawn mower. He manages a few circuits of the artificial turf before members of the Angels dance team corral him. Clad in skimpy orange and blue leotards, their booty cheeks safely contained by tennis racket grip spray, they force him into a harness lowered from above. He ascends into the rafters. The Angels stay earth-bound. Nearly 40 years later, long-retired Wichita Wings midfielder Terry Nicholl tells me why.
“They were no angels,” he says mischievously.
2021 – CALDICOT, Wales, UK
Mike Dowler lectures in Information and Communications Technology at Coleg Gwent’s Newport campus in Wales. Put plainly, he teaches vocational school students how to use Microsoft Office. In a pandemic, this translates to tutoring students via a webcam from his home in the nearby village of Caldicot. He hears a goodly amount of I had trouble with my Wi-Fi connection this morning. He grows frustrated with I need to pass.
“If they need to pass, they ought to show a body of work!” Dowler says.
If there is such a thing as a “lowercase” exclamation point, you’ll find it in the previous sentence. Dowler’s good nature softens any rebuke. His Welsh accent is not particularly strong. Not as strong as his chin at least. Supposedly he is 63, but his face says this is a lie. Fit and trim, he exudes good health and a positive attitude. A long-time divorced father of two grown children, his tidy house belies his bachelor status.
If you ever visit his home, don’t be surprised if he bakes you a chicken. Dowler is bake-you-a-chicken nice. To call him mild-mannered doesn’t seem adequate. He’s even-milder-mannered. But if you step onto his back deck (mind the rotted plank behind the table) and walk down into his detached garage, you will discover a wall filled with plaques and trophies. His students don’t know this other man.
“It’s not something I bring up,” he says, chuckling.
1970s-1980s - USA
Ed Tepper has witnessed something special. He walks out of the Philadelphia Spectrum with a plan. He soon brings Earl Foreman in on his gambit. It’s Feb. 11, 1974, and the Soviet Red Army soccer team just beat the (normally outdoors) North American Soccer League’s (NASL) Philadelphia Atoms 6-3 in an exhibition game in front of 11,790 people. Foreman, knows what “special” looks like. His American Basketball Association team, the Virginia Squires, stars future NBA Hall-of-Famers Dr. J and George Gervin. And that’s why Tepper and Foreman are jazzed. This could be something special too. Take staid ol’ soccer and stick it indoors with boards surrounding the field. It will be like a pinball machine! The whole operation is smaller and faster. Nine goals! American sports fans will love this.
Less than five years later, the duo shepherd the Major Indoor Soccer League (MISL) into existence. Teams sprout up in every major media market. Pete Rose invests in the Cincinnati Kids and kicks the ceremonial first ball. Cardinals baseball legend Stan Musial owns a piece of the St. Louis Steamers. TV’s Norman Lear owns the Detroit Lightning. Jerry Buss and his LA Lakers create the Lazers, complete with Lazer Girls. Owners of the San Diego Chargers, Miami Dolphins, San Francisco 49ers and Chicago White Sox all fund franchises.
In St. Louis, the Steamers regularly outsell the NHL’s Blues. The Cleveland Force bring in more fans than the Cavaliers. The league starts airing on national television via the USA Network and then ESPN. And Foreman and Tepper were right. It IS exciting. The “rocket red” ball stands out on television. The game features constant movement made possible by free substitution (thanks hockey!) Each side plays five field players and one goalkeeper. Most teams feature line substitution, with three, four or even five players coming off at the same time: each man instantly replaced by a compatriot from the bench. It’s a delicate dance.
New York City, Los Angeles, Chicago, San Francisco and…Wichita? The league gambles on a small market. The Wichita Wings’ management bluffs their way into the league with a tall tale of a metropolitan area of 500,000 people (maybe if you include cattle). But there’s oil money ‘round these parts and their checks don’t bounce, so why not?
The Wings hire a Liverpudlian to manage the team: Roy Turner. As a player in the NASL, he was “Digger,” on account of his vicious tackles (“Even the best players can’t play well if they don’t have any legs,” he says). Ironically, the rural Kansas yokels and their hardscrabble English coach build themselves a team that displays one of the most refined, precise, and beautiful styles of play in the league.
“It’s easy to get caught up just watching them,” says Pat McBride, coach of the St. Louis Steamers.
Everyone in the metro area with a pile of cash or a pool of oil pours money into the team. It’s the Green Bay Packers in a cowboy hat. They have the smallest bank account in the league, but they win. They make the playoffs. Turner recruits talented British players to come to Wichita (of all places) to play another beautiful game. One of them is a Welsh lad named Mike Dowler.
[TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK]