A Year Later, America Waits for Beckham's Help

The Beckham era of American soccer descended upon us pretty well exactly a year ago. It was an astounding coup for MLS: the snaring of one of the world's bestknown players, still arguably in his prime. Even if he isn't the world's most skillful player, he is, far and away, the most marketable player — probably the most marketable player the sport has ever had.

Of course, things have not gone entirely according to plan. Injuries played havoc with those plans, Beckham has appeared in only a handful of games for the Los Angeles Galaxy, and he has done little of note on the field.

I have never been a wildly enthusiastic fan of Beckham as a player. Yes, he can cross the ball superbly, and yes, he can take wonderful free kicks. But there is a lot more to the game than those two skills, and Beckham has always seemed to me to have a very ordinary command, at most, of the other requirements.

But I have always found his personality attractive. Never a boaster, never (well, okay, rarely) getting his name into sordid tabloid headlines of the wine-women-and-song type, he comes over as a decent sort of chap.

On arrival in America, he managed to say all the right things, and yes, he did make me believe that he had a genuine desire to help the growth of American soccer. With his enormous wealth and star power, he is certainly in a position to do that. At the pro level, he has not disappointed. His mere presence has excited interest in MLS, and has resulted in an immediate increase in ticket sales and press and television publicity. He has also generated worldwide attention for MLS, and unquestionably this has made it easier for the league to recruit other top foreign players.

But American soccer needs help at the grassroots level as well. I had hoped that Beckham would interest himself in this country's soccer-playing children — the area that is known, unfeelingly, as player development. Though I have pointed out in previous columns that his help would have to amount to something more than — or certainly something very different from — the David Beckham Academy that he runs in California.

His is one of a mass of so-called "academies" that are mushrooming throughout America. Their professed aim is to nurture soccer talent. Their only immediately apparent aim, though, is to make money for their operators. (Take a look in the David Beckham Academy Web site, where you'll find that a three-day residential course will cost you $995).

I had hoped the Beckham Academy might show some signs of being something more serious. I have seen few such signs. I did attend, up in Harlem, a short "clinic" given by Beckham. He was his usual likeable self — he arrived early, joined in enthusiastically with the children on the field, and even ran over to a group of Dominican baseball fans who kept chanting his name.

But I could not escape the feeling of a synthetic, staged occasion. I spoke to a couple of the children, supposedly inner-city residents. One told me he didn't really play soccer, and that he preferred chess; he attended an exclusive and expensive East Side prep school. Another participant admitted little interest in soccer: When asked how she came to be part of this group, she replied that her parents "are on the board."

It would be unfair to blame Beckham for that sort of exploitation of his name, or indeed for his injury woes. Or would it? Consider: His injuries arose largely because of his insistence on trying to play both for England and the Galaxy at a time when he was not fully fit. The craven complicity of the Galaxy in this unrealistic scenario made matters worse, but the big decision was Beckham's.

So, he spent a lot of time in American being injured. Time, perhaps, to devote to "helping American soccer" — time to get to know the realities of the American youth scene, as distinct from the plush comfort zone of the David Beckham Academy.

Well, if Beckham did do any of that, it remains an amazingly well-kept secret, which, given the publicity machine that has grown up around him, would be unlikely.

I'm entitled, therefore, to feel miffed, if not actually betrayed, by the events of the past week. Beckham is not in America. He is in England. Well, okay, he has a huge country estate there — rather nicely dubbed Beckingham Palace. He's managing to get rather a lot of publicity, too — none of it of any help whatsoever to American soccer; it is, instead, the sort of publicity that celebrities thrive on.

While in England, Beckham received an award from the country's soccer writers — an "achievement award" — which usually ensures legendary status. Then came news of Beckham going to that most hallowed of English addresses, 10 Downing Street, to meet Prime Minister Brown. A couple of days later, we have Mr. Brown returning the compliment by visiting the London version of the David Beckham Academy. Beckham has evidently been co-opted by Brown, who knows a surefire political winner when he sees one. Beckham will be part of the team that is trying to persuade FIFA that England should host the 2018 World Cup. One wonders: Can the knighthood be long delayed? Will the Galaxy soon be selling their no. 23 shirts with "Sir David Beckham" printed on the back?

Beckham has played 99 times for England, and his current obsession seems to be to make a 100th appearance. An odd situation has arisen, though: The new England coach is the Italian Fabio Capello, the very man who dropped Beckham from the Real Madrid team last year, a move that precipitated Beckham's switch to the Los Angeles Galaxy. But the betting is that Capello will not want to start his England career (the team plays an exhibition game against Switzerland next month) by snubbing Beckham.

This is all about Beckham and England. It has nothing to do with America, nothing at all. Yes, I do feel let down by Beckham. During the past year, he has done so little for American soccer, when he could have done so much.

pgardner@nysun.com