As sportswriters, we're told so often to avoid clichés. But at a time like this, how can you not fall back on the line, "This puts things back into perspective."
In a week where MLS teams were battling for final playoff spots, where coaches in the league were fighting for their jobs and players are battling for a few extra bucks, Glenn "Mooch" Myernick lost his life. And suddenly, the games seemed so trivial.
And when I think of Mooch, and the many conversations we've had over the last 10 or 11 years, he'd laugh at me for taking a column in this direction. Because Mooch always had the game of soccer in its proper perspective. Coaching soccer, studying soccer, loving soccer, it was Mooch did. But, man, it was the furthest thing from who Mooch was.
If you wanted to get Mooch really animated, it was best to ask him about his daughter, Kelly, a ballerina. Or his son, Travis, who just graduated from Wingate University. At those times, it was clear to see, you were asking him about something that was really important to him. That's not to suggest that soccer wasn't important to Mooch, but I could always tell he was one of those rare pro sports guys who understood it was still a game. And no matter how good your game plan or tactics were. No matter how many hours you spent breaking down film and analyzing a team's strengths and weaknesses, when it came time to kick the ball, 90 minutes later, it would be a win, a loss or a tie.
And then there'd be another game.
One of the things I loathe about myself is that, at the age of 42, with a wife and two sons, I still get nervous when I have to approach a player or coach in a lockerroom, to ask a "tough question." Yeah, I still fear that a guy like Tony LaRussa or Bill Parcells or Bruce Arena (or even my brother, Bob Bradley) is going to jump me for asking a dumb question. Make me feel like an idiot in front of my peers. I've been a professional sportswriter since 1985, 21 years in the business, and I still get queasy in these situations. So many coaches tell us, sometimes without words, "Do not go there."
And then I think of this past World Cup, and how I walked on eggshells up to Mooch, to ask him what he learned while scouting the Czechs. I assured him this was just for my education, not for attribution, as I knew the sensitivity of the situation. I understood how important the work he had done really was, how it would be wrong to let the public know too much, because it was top-secret, under lock and key, all that stuff.
And Mooch looked at me like I was from Mars. It was like, "Jeff, you want to talk about the Czechs? Then let's talk about the Czechs. Why are you stumbling around here?"
And when we got down to talking, Mooch looked me in the eye and said, "They are a great team, one of the most talented teams in the world, and we've caught a bad break playing them first because a few of their stars are past their sell-by date. Guys like Pavel Nedved and Jan Koller may not have three games in them, but they surely have one."
I used this theme, un-attributed, as if I was the smart guy, every time I could. The funny thing, looking back, is I bet Mooch would've been fine if I'd put his name on it. Not because he turned out to be correct. Just because it was how he felt.
Mooch didn't put undue importance on his place in the world of soccer, that's for sure. But his colleagues would never sell him short. In so many of my interviews with Arena in the four years leading up to the 2006 World Cup, he'd talk about the genius of Mooch, how he had knowledge of the international game that no American could match. When discussing the victory over Portugal in 2002, Arena would always, 100 percent of the time, pass the credit onto the scouting report that Myernick had provided the team.
But when you sought out Mooch, he'd laugh, preferring to take the realistic approach. "It always looks good when you win, Jeff," he'd say. "And the same scouting report looks like garbage if we lose. That's just the way it goes."
Mooch's favorite scouting story came from the U.S. vs. South Korea match in 2002. In the hotel conference room, Arena was filling out the Korean lineup on a board, "And he was getting agitated," Mooch recalled. "He'd say, which Park is here and which Kim is there? And, finally, he just gives up and says to the team, 'They've got a bunch of Kims and Parks and they're fit as hell and you'd better be ready to fight like hell.'"
That was Mooch, not afraid to tell you the truth, or what he was thinking, straight-up. And not so impressed by himself that he wanted you to think his work was any big deal.
"You can put the word 'good' next to every noun with Mooch," my brother Bob said last night. "A good soccer guy. A good father. A good husband. A good man, plain and simple. You could talk soccer with him, get great insight, you could talk about life with him, get great advice, and you could also share a laugh with him. A real good laugh."
Things were always in perspective for Mooch. The soccer world will miss him dearly.
But not nearly as much as the real world.
Jeff Bradley is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. Send your comments and complaints (200 words or less, please) to Jeff at jbradleyespn2003@yahoo.com and he promises to read (but not respond to) all of them. The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author's, and not necessarily those of Major League Soccer or MLSnet.com.
