Dear Coach Soehn:
Can I Have Two Hours Of My Life Back?
Last week, we lamented the toothlessness of United's attack, which we figured would be overlooked in DC's valiant slaughter at the hands of Real Madrid. This week, the gums were on full display as DC managed a handful of genuine scoring opportunities and went down like a hooker at a political convention.
United was like roadkill, served up and nicely tenderized on Toronto's baking plastic grass.
The coach, like some sort of twisted virtuoso of mediocrity, coaxed from his players a familiar discordant tune:
- Possession without penetration;
- Agonizingly slow transitions and buildups;
- Indifferent wide play; and
- Cheap, stupid giveaways.
And so on.
With the exceptions of Quaranta, Namoff, and Wallace, United looked fairly listless and disinterested throughout. Particularly galling was the lack of effort shown to win 50-50 balls or put Toronto under any sort of meaningful pressure.
Even the usually even-tempered Goff had this to say:
United was out of sorts all afternoon, created few opportunities, was exposed defensively and looked like a team going nowhere this year.
Yeah, "like a team going nowhere this year" is right. Oh, I guess he didn't get the memo from the Front Office that "We Win Trophies." (Honestly, given the way United's been playing the ridiculous smack talk from the FO has to stop. At this rate, the team is going to look as desperate for acccolades yet undeserving as the LA Galaxy.)
United must be a team that is easy to game-plan against. It plays a 3-5-2 without genuine 2-way outside mids; it plays a diamond midfield but its playmaker is old and only shows up half the time; its DP forward is slow, has a rotten first touch, and does not make aggressive off-the-ball runs; its left back is a well below league average defender; its tactics involve lots of square passes and lateral dribbling; there are no overlapping runs; it resorts to panicky longballs to try and find its lazy forward; and so on.
Or, as old-man Moreno noted in the Post's official match report:
"Off the field, the chemistry is really good," forward Jaime Moreno said. "On the field, we are struggling right now. We've got to solve whatever it is because we don't have a lot of time."
United's man of the match has to be Santino Quaranta, who showed energy, vision, and skill. He was continually hustling into position, fighting for the ball, and then making deft passes to players who were not there.
I'm looking at you, Mr. Designated-Player-Luciano-Emilio. An odd case our Luci, who, although nominally a forward, does not see fit to make off-the-ball runs or show for the ball when his attacking teammate needs a passing outlet.
And let us not speak of the tragedy that is Fred. All that industry with so little result. Plus, as an added bonus this year, if you want to score, don't give the ball to Fred because, alas, he cannot finish.
Toronto looked consistently the more dangerous team, with United conceding the men in red space and time to play. Our shaky defense kind of held together OK for the most part, except for the TFC goals and one insane moment where DeRo schooled Jakovic and somehow could not score, but you'd think someone would have been tasked with closing down the ruthless DeRosario at all times.
How much do you think United missed Ben Olsen and his directing of traffic like an all-star quarterback today?
The first goal came after DC's youngster DiRaimondo, who made a nice offensive foray down the flank, discovered himself upfield when a beautiful diagonal ball found the foot of the man he should have been marking. Oops. One nicely driven cross and clinical DeRosario finish later, and the rest was history.
The defense on the second goal, coming after a corner kick where our guys decided to stand around and not attack the ball or close down their opponents, was shocking, and we shall never speak of it again.
Sadly, one never got the feeling that United could find its way back into the match, as the overall lack of urgency and punch lasted to the bitter end. Further, one would have been -- dare I say it? -- correct not to expect our coach to make any substitutions or tactical changes to influence the inevitable slide to defeat in the second half.
Build-up play is fine, provided that your guys are making penetrating runs and showing for the ball. Sadly, with the exceptions of Quaranta, Namoff, and Wallace, no one else in a white shirt could really be bothered. Man, we sure could have used Pontius, and even Khumalo, out there today.
Where is the progress this season? The adjustments? The hope?
Goff's player ratings are generally too kind, although at least he gave Namoff some credit:
Wicks 5; Namoff 6, Jakovic 3, Burch 5; DiRaimondo 5, Simms 4, Wallace 5, Gomez 4, Fred 4; Quaranta 5.5, Emilio 4. Subs: Jacobson 6, Moreno 4, James 5.
DCUMD makes sensible comments including the following observations about the statute known as Josh Wicks:
Maybe this is just a minor gripe about Josh Wicks, but when the goalkeeper gets beat, wouldn't you at least like for him to look like he's trying to make a save? He may not have been able to stop DeRo's header, but at least make a dive for it! Don't just stand there and watch it go into the net.
Fullback points out the issue with Jakovic:
For every two slick bits of dispossession or calm play at the back, Jakovic manages to lob one softball to the opposing forwards in the form of trying to beat an attacker with the ball or simply making a terrible misjudgment.
This is true, but, as Fullback also points out, no one is around to cover for him; i.e., yet another failure in soccer 101.
BDR wasted two hours of vacation on this steaming pile of crap game.
Readers of this blog (all five of you) will know that I've long been sick of Soehn, but firing him now would accomplish little. Maybe the new defenders the team has acquired will allow him to play four at the back. The first step to success is constructing a solid defense and then building from there. The fact that we are still trying to figure out how to build a cohesive team at this stage in the season says loads about the coach, the front office, and the players.
Talon Rating: 1 Stupid Chicken
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