For those who have grown to appreciate the Lamar Hunt U.S. Open Cup for its history, gritty displays and penchant for upsets, the Washington chapter can deliver on all those counts and more.
When Sounders FC pulls into the StubHub Center’s track venue for the quarterfinal date with the Galaxy, it will almost be like old, old times. Like when a Seattle side first ventured into southern California for a quarterfinal that, incidentally, was 50 years ago. Spoiler alert: Seattle did OK. That day, anyway. But more on that later.
At the ripe old age of 90, Mr. Lipton stands up straight, and though he shows signs of obvious wear there is a gleam to his appearance. Women with flowing hair, goddesses perhaps, flank him on either side.
Lipton’s got it pretty good. Folks take care of him, and he’s got a room with a view. Unlike his prime, he no longer gets out much, if at all, and the notion of young people picking him up and jubilantly hoisting him skyward is certainly out of the question. Still, with proper care and attention, there’s no reason to think Lipton won’t outlive us all.
Such is life for the stately Sir Thomas Lipton Trophy, likely among the oldest surviving artifacts of a rich soccer history that reaches back to the days before Washington’s statehood. Lipton and other sterling relics of their kind are hiding around the Seattle area, some of them in plain sight.
While the brightly-lighted Sounders FC trophy case on Occidental displays our biggest, brightest and most recent plunder–a Supporters’ Shield plus four Open Cups–the bulk of Washington’s historical treasures reside in a couple ordinary offices.
Growing up a fan of all things Seattle, my sense is that we tend to settle. As if that term is just an ‘a’ away from who we are. There’s rarely an outcry if sports team is stopped short of the summit.
Unlike some fan bases which shall remain nameless, web-footed western Washington supporters seem to have a comfort zone that begins with playing in bowl games your daddy watched and advancing beyond the first round of any particular playoff.
Oh, sure, we lament underachievement, and we have piques of frustration. But by and large we are OK with, say, winning 116 games but falling short of the World Series. Our passive/aggressive MO merely manifests itself in a faint cry of ‘We’ll get ‘em, next year!’