On my brother Bob's 56th birthday I will write 150 words
about what it's like to be his little brother. No one believes me, but I was just
as nervous when his Princeton teams played as when his Fire, MetroStars,
Chivas, U.S. and Egypt teams
played. I can remember, in the early 90s, stopping in the middle of games I was
covering to call the Princeton hotline for scores. The feeling of relief when
they'd slipped past Cornell or Hartwick. The feeling of despair when they lost.
Sometimes I hate being his brother. Like when nut jobs assaulted me on Twitter
after the U.S. lost to Mexico in the 2011 Gold Cup. But on the rare occasions
in the last 32 years when he hasn't had a team to coach, I've always felt a
void. He loves to coach. I love to be the brother of a coach. Happy Birthday.
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