Sockers One Game Away From Getting the Thumb

Someone has forgotten to tell the Minnesota Strikers how to recognize when they are done. It is either that or they have chosen to ignore the harsh realities of playing indoor soccer against the Sockers.

The Strikers came into the Major Indoor Soccer League’s championship series with about as much of a chance to win as the Pittsburgh Pirates had against the 1927 New York Yankees.

Nil.

Joe Louis was going to lose to a given month’s bum before the Sockers were going to lose to Minnesota. The Sockers figured they would be indoor champions about as long as the United States held America’s Cup.

Juli Veee’s grandson would score the winning goal to give the Sockers their 45th consecutive indoor championship in 2026. They would accomplish this milestone in spite of the fact that Bob Bell’s grandson sold Steve Zungul’s grandson halfway through the season.

Alas, the Sockers came into the current series concerned “only” with winning their fifth championship in succession. They were seeking jewelry for their thumbs, what with their fingers already ringed to capacity.

game, a 7-2 clinic that should have caused the Strikers to oil up their fishing gear. This series might last all of five games, but only if the Sockers treated their visit to Minnesota as a vacation rather than a competition.

What happened, of course, was that Minnesota went out and snapped the Sockers’ home playoff winning streak at 26 in Game 2. The final score, 6-1, should have been a clue that this was not a fluke. The Strikers did not win because some fluke goal caromed into the net off a Socker defender’s elbow. This was as clinical and one-sided as Game 1.

Minnesota went home for Game 3, and came away with a 7-2 victory. Form was suddenly taking a merciless beating. In the land of 10,000 lakes, the Sockers found that they could no longer walk on water.

At this point, the series was over.

The Strikers were dead.

The Strikers?

That’s right. I knew it was over when I read what the Sockers had to say the day before Game 4. Branko Segota was complaining about Zungul’s absence. Brian Quinn was complaining about older players becoming scapegoats. Jean Willrich was complaining about defensive tactics. Kevin Crow was complaining about Ron Newman. And Veee was just complaining.

Aha. The Sockers were back in form. And just in time.

These guys finally were battling among themselves, finally a team divided. They always have been at their best in times of intramural strife. The Strikers would come to know how a cop feels when he walks into a domestic squabble and ends up being pummeled by the adversaries he was trying to separate.

My perception proved to be well-founded. After only 16 minutes and 45 seconds of Game 4, the Sockers were on top, 3-0. Minnesota’s faithful, a standing room only mob of 15,849, quietly were losing faith.

The execution was on. In the same circumstance a year ago in Baltimore, the Sockers poured it on. A 14-2 victory left the Blast embarrassed and demoralized. The series was over shortly thereafter.

With everything suddenly going their way, with the Minnesota crowd subdued, with the home-field advantage back in their grasp, the Sockers started playing soccer as though they were afraid to lose rather than determined to win.

With 43 minutes and 15 seconds to play in that critical fourth game, the Sockers went into their “prevent offense.” They started playing keep-away in front of their own net, repeatedly kicking the ball back to goalkeeper Zoltan Toth for safekeeping. They may have set a record for “most shots on own goal.”

This is called playing the clock, the idea being to control the ball and nurse the lead until time expires. Normally, this is a sound tactic.

For the fourth period.

A quarterback won’t start falling on the ball 1:45 into the second quarter, nor running the ball on every down, for that matter.

What the Sockers did was knock the Strikers down three times by early in the second round, and then head for the ropes. They covered up and figured they could hold on and get the decision.

This style of play did prevent one of the offenses from scoring in the final 43:15. San Diego’s.

Minnesota played almost as patiently as the Sockers, and that was understandable. The Sockers had drawn three cards, turned them over and said: “We’ll play these.” The Strikers had the rest of the evening to sort through the deck and find something better.

They did.

With all of 30 seconds to play, the Strikers scored the goal that gave them a 4-3 lead. Now this was the time to fall on the ball and let the clock run out. The Sockers no longer enjoyed this luxury, for they had spent the game falling on their swords instead.

And so, as the series returns to San Diego tonight, the Sockers are holding on by their thumbs--their empty thumbs, at that.

All is not lost, of course, not as long as there is a game to play and players to complain. They were at it again Tuesday, some players claiming Veee was loafing, others complaining that Segota was preoccupied with the Canadian World Cup team and still others miffed that Jim Gorsek would be tonight’s goalkeeper.

Obviously, the message here is that Minnesota should be wary. As long as the Sockers refuse to pull together, they have a chance.

As a matter of fact, this series may be as good as over.