I’d like to introduce you to someone exceptional, also someone gone too soon. You’re going to meet a man who, in retrospect, might have been Washington’s first to be enshrined in the National Soccer Hall of Fame. Instead, his tale is a tragic one, where an individual’s flaw unfortunately proved fatal: He loved the game too much.
I doubt you know of William Patrick “Billy” McGrath. For that matter, most of our state’s newfound fans of soccer have no clue about Barney Kempton or Vic Weston or Eddie Craggs. All are hall of famers, Greater Seattle’s Mr. Soccer of their day; great players or coaches who, over several decades, were always finding new ways to put this game on proper or firmer footing so that it might survive, grow and become what it was destined to be, what it is today.
William Patrick “Billy” McCrath, ca. 1924
If there’s a Rushmore for Washington’s first 75 years as a footy community, those three – Kempton, Weston and Craggs – would have their faces chiseled into the mountainside. And the fourth position might well have been McGrath. If only, if only.
I first got to know Billy McGrath while scouring the local newspaper archives, discovering and curating content for what I hope to be a lasting and living testament to everyone who has ever contributed to our golden standing in the football world. I’d been asked by a Museum of History and Industry (MOHAI) representative to examine some archival photographs that lacked captions or context. One photo in particular was puzzling and also inviting. It was a wide-angle shot of a game where spectators are surrounding the field seemingly at the edge of a forest, abutting a stand of trees.
Forever they will be known as the guys who refused to give up. They easily could’ve quit, well before even reaching the 1993 NCAA Championship game.
Instead they stood strong, stood together and, ultimately,
prevailed.
For the record, Seattle Pacific’s fifth national title was won in workmanlike fashion against reigning champion Southern Connecticut. But that match was anticlimactic in comparison to the epic semifinal two days earlier.
(Joanie Komura photo/Frank MacDonald Collection)
Seattle Pacific and top-ranked and undefeated Florida Tech played a game for the ages. The sleepy Space Coast city of Melbourne, Florida was forced to stay awake well past midnight to learn the outcome of the 4 hour, 7 minute marathon.
FIT followers firmly believed the Falcons had been put to bed early after the Panthers pulled ahead by two goals, 5-3, in overtime. But SPU refused to surrender, and went forward in numbers as All-America sweeper James Dunn pulled-on the keeper shirt to become an 11th attacker.
Travis Connell’s header closed the gap to 5-4 with 62 seconds left. Then in the dying moments a loose ball fell fortuitously to the feet of record-setting scorer Jason Dunn, James’s identical twin. From the right flank Dunn uncorked a low 25-yard drive which caromed into the net off a lunging defender – just as the clock expired.
The two teams played another 30 minutes of sudden-death overtime before finally settling matters in a gut-wrenching, 13-round penalty-kick shootout. James Dunn, still in goal, made two saves, Jason converted two kicks, and SPU won the tiebreaker, 10-9.
Although physically (an injured James Dunn was unable to play) and emotionally spent, some 44 hours later Seattle Pacific parlayed an early goal by Dominic Dickerson and clutch goalkeeping All-American Marcus Hahnemann (served red card suspension in semi) into a 1-0 result against Southern Connecticut.
During that off day, in between the semifinal and final, Jason Dunn was asked about those dying seconds of the overtime, when all hope seemed lost. Immediately after the goal was scored, Dunn whirled and ran, screaming, past the celebrating SPU bench. What was his cry? “That’s why you never give up!”
Thanks for reading along. If you enjoyed this content, perhaps you will consider supporting initiatives to bring more of our state’s soccer history to life by donating to Washington State Legends of Soccer, a 501(c)(3) organization dedicated to celebrating Washington’s soccer past and preserving its future.
Professional sports is generally depicted as glamorous, a high life where players mix with other celebrities, relax at exotic and exclusive destinations and, all and all, lead a jet-set existence.
Truth be told, the majority of those being paid to perform
in the athletic arena are relatively simple folk who face many of the same
struggles of the common human. And while the rock star may flash a Rolex and
rumble off in a Lamborghini, the stories told by the rank and file are
interesting in their own right and, without question, more relatable.
Take the fishing story of Roger Levesque. Our smiling,
swashbuckling former Sounder forward is well-known for his pirate face and his
scuba celebration. But how many know that Levesque made his pro soccer life
possible by fishing the open sea?
For over 12 years, Levesque held a commercial fishing
license, working out of ports such as Astoria, Westport and Bellingham. Out
into the Pacific they’d sail in search of sablefish, a.k.a. black cod. When the
USL Sounders season ended, he would go out to sea where the catch enabled him
to make ends meet.
“I couldn’t buy a house or condo, and it was a huge
investment at the time,” explains Levesque, who took out a line of credit to
pay $90,000 for the license in 2006. “It helped bridge the gap.”
Thar he goes: Roger Levesque , commercial fisherman. During his USL and post-MLS days, he supplemented his income by catching black cod, a.k.a. sablefish, off the Washington and Oregon coasts. (Courtesy Roger Levesque)
Stormy Weather
In October, the weather can contribute to rough seas, and
Levesque and the crew would usually stay out 2-3 days until they reached their
limit. At times, it could take a week. They might sleep for a couple hours as
the lines soaked, but it could be 36 straight hours of demanding and sometimes
dangerous work.
There was not only a new head coach and GM but also
literally a ton of new players. And if Zach Scott thought he was the only
substitute schoolteacher among the lot of 2002 Sounders, the know-it-all student
in the front row would soon inform him. There was at least three.
However, Scott was probably the only player/teacher whose
Sounders career began by commuting 4-5 hours each way and who not only
graduated from college but got married within the first two months.
“I flew back to Maui for three days, we got married, and
then,” recalls Scott, “I flew back because we had a game that weekend.” All
that and no pay.
Having made Brian Schmetzer’s squad through a tryout, the
rookie from Gonzaga signed for the minimum. “We were getting $250 per game, if
you made it onto the field,” Scott confirms.
But in the first match following his nuptials, a one-sided
win over Hampton Roads, he never got off the bench.
Zach Scott progressed from first-year trialist to legend status after 15 seasons.
Those final years prior to Seattle joining MLS are
remembered for their four trophies and two extended runs and upsets in the Open
Cup. Yet as that A-League and USL era
fades in the rearview mirror, some may not comprehend just how lean was the
Sounders’ payroll.
Reminder: It’s A
Business
It should be noted that it’s unlikely Seattle would’ve
scored an MLS franchise, at least in 2007, had that USL club not existed. And
it only existed because Adrian Hanauer and fellow investors kept it afloat by
running a tight ship. Three pro soccer franchises in Seattle and Tacoma had
drowned in red ink, and when Hanauer became the managing partner the club was
coming off its worst finish for both attendance and league standing.
Sometimes following your dream means leaving town, again and
again. For a couple of Seattle native sons, they started at home and finished
here. But in between they moved around a lot.
Chance Fry and Peter Hattrup both came out of local high
schools in 1982, when the sun was still high in the sky for American soccer. It
would go dark all too quickly.
That summer there were 28 teams, both outdoor and indoor,
that were paying livable wages across the continent. Within two years, that
number was cut in half, and when Fry and Hattrup reached their prime, pro
soccer in this corner of the earth, after years of bleeding red ink, all but
went black.
Hattrup refers to his peer group as The Lost Generation.
They may have made some bucks, even gotten a taste of MLS or made a World Cup
squad. Yet there’s long been a lingering question of what might’ve been.
If there was a silver lining, says Hattrup, the game was
overflowing with players and coaches with an unquenchable thirst to find a
game. Any game. “The great thing was you only had guys that loved to play,” he
claims. “No one did it just for themselves, just for the money. They loved
being part of the game.”
The Sounders drafted Chance Fry as a Sammamish High School senior and U.S. Youth National Team player.
One evening, not so long ago, Peter Fewing was dining out with friends when a tablemate mentioned that Fewing once played professional soccer. It made him giggle, just a little.
When Jeff Stock first signed with the original Seattle
Sounders out of Tacoma’s Stadium High School, he wanted to maintain his amateur
status and eligibility for the 1980 Olympic Games. Still, his earnings, when
adjusted through an inflation calculator, were exponentially more than
Fewing’s. In fact, in 2020 dollars it exceeds that of some top players for
Reign FC today.
It’s madness, in many respects. But for those who have
played at the top levels of American pro soccer the past 45 years, this hardly
comes as a surprise. Any yet, none of the journeymen interviewed for this story
have many complaints. In fact, all maintain they were enriched by the
experience, intellectually if not financially.
“I was playing at the highest level of soccer in the country
at the time,” notes Fewing, now 26 seasons into a career as Seattle
University’s head coach. “It was fun, we had fans, we signed autographs, and we
got two free beers and a burger at the postgame party. The sentiment was that
we were having too much fun to complain.”
It all began as a working vacation for David Gillett. In 1974, the 23-year-old Scotsman first stepped foot in Seattle, where pro soccer had never existed. He was coming to play central defense, but Gillett was soon all-in as a missionary for this emerging sport, conducting clinics and making plentiful promotional appearances.
Back in Britain, where he played for Crewe Alexandra, the
job was pretty much two hours of daily training, with a match or two each week.
It had been much the same for Adrian Webster when playing
for his hometown club of Colchester, in England. He moved to Vancouver to play
semi-pro and then heard about the NASL coming both there and Seattle soon
after.
“I was very fortunate that it was the Sounders and John Best
and Jimmy Gabriel that I played under,” Webster offers. “Not all of the clubs
in the NASL were run as professionally.” Soon Webster was starting on the
backline with Gillett, and the city adored their new team and their tradition
of applauding the fans each night from the center circle.
The original Seattle Sounders, pictured in 1974. Adrian Webster is front row, third from left; David Gillett is back row fourth from right. (Frank MacDonald Collection)Continue reading Land of Opportunity→
In 1944 – at the height of WWII – Italian POWs arrived in Puget Sound. Their Allied captors allowed many freedoms, including formation of multiple teams in Washington state amateur soccer’s top division.
On the evening of April 17, 1945, players, coaches, sponsors and officials of the Washington State Football Association gathered at Seattle’s stylish Olympic Hotel to celebrate winners of the various competitions held during the preceding six months. During the social hour, guests undoubtedly discussed the latest news of the world, of which there was no shortage. World War II was being waged in two theaters, and while an Allied victory appeared at hand in Europe, President Franklin Roosevelt would not live to see it. Five days earlier Roosevelt had died from a massive stroke, and now the United States had a new leader, commander-in-chief, Harry Truman.
Aerial view of Fort Lawton, taken in 1965, 20 years after World War II ended. In 1973 , much of its 534 acres in Seattle’s Magnolia neighborhood was given to the city and became Discovery Park. (Courtesy City of Seattle Municipal Archives)
Since
the bombing of Pearl Harbor, news of the war had been inescapable. It dominated
headlines and everyday dialogue. Now the war was having a profound effect upon
the state’s top amateur league, evidenced by the parade to the podium to
pick-up the WSFA trophies. A previously non-existent club was being presented
three pieces of silverware, including the ancient (1906) McMillan Cup.
At
the end of this day, members of this triumphant team would not go home. Instead
they would be remanded to their supervising officer and returned to their
barracks. Known as the 28th Italian Service Unit, these were officially
prisoners of war. Prisoners of a onetime enemy. Prisoners with privileges, yet
prisoners just the same.
A
World Power (On the Pitch)
Just 10 years earlier, Italian football had announced itself on a much larger stage. Without question, the Azurri were the Team of the Thirties, making a triumphant entrance to World Cup play by not only hosting the tournament but also becoming the first European nation to claim it. From that date until the outbreak of World War II, no national team was more revered than Italy which followed with a gold-medal performance at the 1936 Summer Olympics and another World Cup victory in 1938. During that stretch they ran roughshod, winning 38 and drawing six in 48 full internationals. Such success only served to further fuel a dictator’s desire for a new Roman empire.
Poster promoting Italy hosting the 1934 FIFA World Cup.
Benito Mussolini wanted the Azurri to be the embodiment of his Fascist movement, exhibiting a strength, cunning and physicality reflective of the new, merging Italy. As noted in David Goldblatt’s The Ball Is Round, the national team was exploited, used as a tool to create a warlike spirit. The manager later said, however, that players were generally not interested in their play making a political statement. They loved the game. Soon enough, however, war was a reality.
A Beating on Battlefield
Mussolini
joined Hitler’s Nazi Germany and Japan in forming the Axis powers yet was
comparatively ill-equipped, undermanned and poorly trained. Many soldiers were
unwilling combatants. Consequently, Italy took repeated beatings on the
battlefield.
Many
of these unenthusiastic conscripts to Mussolini’s army were among the 200,000
taken prisoner by the Allies in May 1943 following the Battle of Tunisia. If
being shot at and losing comrades while fighting for a deluded dictator was not
sufficiently demoralizing, some Italian prisoners were subjected to torture and
starvation under a blazing sun by Tunisian guards. Allied forces eventually divvied
up the POWs, and by January 1944 over 50,000 were bound for detention in the
United States. Some, however, would soon be given privileges previously
unheard-of.
Without question the best, most dramatic match I ever
witnessed live was played before less than 1,500 fans and ended near midnight. The
largest crowd to which I was a party was for a scoreless affair under a
scorching midday sun. And five of the eight biggest attendances for matches played
in Seattle didn’t matter at all.
That’s what makes this coming Sunday such a beautiful
convergence of the masses with the most meaningful afternoon of footy our state
has ever seen. When the first whistle pierces the mid-autumn air for Sounders v
Toronto, CenturyLink Field will be teeming with people who came to be part of
history, part of a unique experience in Seattle sporting culture: One game to
determine the champion of an 8-month marathon known as MLS.
No doubt, that’s what sparked the run on tickets, fans
seeking to seize the moment. When the Reds took down Atlanta and soon after the
ticket link went live to season ticket holders, no one needed a clever hashtag
or promotional gimmick to go online. Seattle became a soccer capitol long, long
ago; like their playing heroes, the fans are smart and opportunistic, and soon
the lower bowl inventory was exhausted, and folks took aim on getting tickets
for friends in the upper deck. Within 48 hours, the CLink was full-up.
Bigger match, bigger crowd. It stands to reason.
The Kingdome’s first sporting event, a Sounders friendly vs. New York Cosmos, was also the first U.S. soccer attendance of 50,000 or more.Continue reading Big Crowd. Big Cause.→
It was a big game, for sure. A chance for the Little School by the Canal to once again burnish its image as a collegiate soccer upstart. Oh, yeah, and have witnesses coast-to-coast.
Such was the set-up 40 years ago, when Seattle Pacific met Southern Illinois-Edwardsville in the second game of the 1979 season. The Falcons were defending NCAA Division II champion and SIUE arrived in Seattle ranked No. 4 in all the land, having reached the Div. I quarterfinals the previous season. And a new cable network, hungry for live content, saw fit to televise it.
SPU coach Cliff McCrath, left, next to opening goal-scorer Mark Metzger.
The yellowed newspaper clippings reference the Entertainment and Sports Programming Network. Before long, it would become known by its acronym, ESPN.
“We were told, and we believe it was the first soccer game televised by ESPN,” says Cliff McCrath, the legendary SPU coach. ESPN had only been on the air for four days by September 11. Cable TV was relatively new and not available in many neighborhoods in Seattle, so in some ways the broadcast was no big deal at the time.
Only 20 million U.S. homes had cable at the time, and just 1 million carried ESPN. In Puget Sound, Viacom and Teleprompter cable systems served 73,000 homes, though not all had – or were aware that they had – the new all-sports station whose first live game broadcast was from the Slow-Pitch Softball World Series.
