When I tell people I cover soccer, they often ask if I’ve met anyone famous.
The thing is, you don’t really meet anyone. You ask them questions. They answer the questions, or sometimes they don’t. But your connection is usually minimal. You have a job to do. They have a job to do. Your job is writing about their job.
As members of the media, we are allowed more access to the players and teams to glean insight, but the ironic thing is that, during the six weeks I covered Major League Soccer’s preseason training in Tucson, the two most insightful moments came when I wasn’t even acting as a reporter.
Two days before Saturday night’s Desert Diamond Cup finale, I had a couple of chance encounters at the Kino Sports Complex that encapsulated the telling reason why having MLS teams in town is a worthy venture.
While walking from one field to other, I crossed paths with New England Revolution forward Charlie Davies. He, no doubt, noticed the forearm-long lens on my camera and asked, “Have you taken some good pictures?”
I don’t believe he knew I was a member of the Fourth Estate. It was just a simple question, a conversation starter.
His life, however, has been anything but simple. Davies is only 28, but he has lived a lifetime in the last 5½ years.
In 2009, he was on top of the American soccer pyramid. He was playing in Europe, and many expected him to team up with Jozy Altidore to become the greatest scoring duo in U.S. history.
Early in the morning on Oct. 13, there was a single-car accident. A woman passenger died. Davies, the other passenger in the car, had serious head trauma, a torn ligament in his left knee, a lacerated bladder and a fractured right tibia and femur. The driver was sentenced to two years in prison for involuntary manslaughter and maiming while driving intoxicated.
Davies returned to the game, playing for D.C. United and again in Europe, before going to New England. He helped the Revolution reach the MLS Cup last year, scoring three goals in 18 appearances.
When I told him that my sister and I had followed his career for years and hoped he would someday return to the top level of soccer, his eyes lit up.
The conversation lasted a few more minutes before we both had to get back to our jobs.
At the end of that same practice, I watched U.S. and Seattle Sounders FC star Clint Dempsey graciously take pictures with some young fans. He also obliged some autograph requests, including granting the odd wish of signing his name on the scar of one girl’s knee.
While signing the scar, he asked how she got it. Then he showed her two of his scars and talked about them.
Remember, this is a fiery competitor who is never one to mince words with anyone — be it a referee or an opponent or a teammate — when he’s in the heat of a match.
At that moment, though, there was no raging. Again, it just seemed like a normal conversation between acquaintances, aside from the scar talk.
After the encounter, I was walking alongside him as he headed to the clubhouse when he turned to me and said, “How’s your day, sir?”
During the walk, we talked about Tucson — “I’m enjoying this weather” — and the difficult task of striking a ball in just the right manner so it will settle inside a garbage can 30 yards away (which many of the Sounders were trying to accomplish as practice wound down).
Three times, he called me “Sir.” He had a humbleness that doesn’t usually befit a man who often has the nation holding its collective breath when the ball is at his feet or nearing his head.
They can quantify the economic impact of Major League Soccer’s preseason visits, and they can talk about how it brings in visitors.
But here’s what it really boils down to — that day, I felt like I finally “met” someone famous, twice. Over these weeks, I’ve seen plenty of others be able to enjoy that same feeling.
Just like on the field, the players and clubs have certainly put their best foot forward.
