BY JASON CORLISS

Nothing endures but change.  This notion, first put forth by the Greek thinker Heraclitus, and later popularized by Isaac Asimov, is generally accepted as fact.  Change, albeit sometimes imperceptible, is the only constant in our lives.  Acknowledging this inevitability can give one a sense of comfort, but, it is how we process the change(s), particularly when we know that it’s upon us, that gives us a sense of balance amid the unrest.

Just when you think that you’re in control,
Just when you think that you’ve got a hold,
Just when you get on a roll,
Here it goes, here it goes, here it goes again.
Oh, here it goes again.
I should have known,
Should have known,
Should have known again,
But here it goes again.
Oh, here it goes again…

As a supporter of RBNY, there is no doubt that this is the rule by which we live, and it’s often viewed as a perversely proud hallmark of our experience following the team.  But, turning the word constant on its head and looking at it as an adjective, not a noun, gives us a different reading.  Of course, things are always in a state of flux, and one can look at this RBNY season in terms of patterns, but there is a distinct difference between change being the only constant, and the baseline constantly changing.  The past month in RBNYland has actually been a pretty accurate illustration of both, and a microcosm of what makes supporting this team so frustratingly interesting, and often just plain frustrating.

The stretch began with the home win over Columbus that saw RBNY go down within the first 5 minutes (again), only to come back behind a leveling goal from Henry followed by the eventual game-winner of Dax’s head and Henry’s sublime Olimpico exclamation point. Four nights later, RBNY lay down and played dead at the feet of a marauding SKC side that showed no respect or mercy to a team that hadn’t lost at home all year up to that point…2-0 to the bad guys (a goal conceded within the first 15 mins), and that scoreline flattered RBNY.  Next, within the same week, RBNY went up to NE, where they hadn’t won in 10 years, and nicked a would-be winner in injury time, playing with ten men, but then conceded the tying goal at the absolute death to give back two points.  They rebounded by coming back home the next week and destroying TFC 4-1 (despite yet another goal conceded within the first 15 mins) behind a legendary performance and display of simpatico with the supporters from Henry.  And, finally, the following week, in the biggest game of the year to date, played a listless, toothless game against a Chicago side that shredded the back line over and over, dropping the game 2-0.

I’ve seen the end of the day come too soon
Not a lot to say, not a lot to do
You played the game, you owe nothing to yourself
Rest a day, for tomorrow you can’t tell
You can’t tell

I’ve seen the end of the day come too late
Seen the love you had turning into hate
Had to act like I didn’t even care
But I did so I got stranded standing there
Standing there

It’s nothing that I haven’t seen before
But it still kills me like it did before
No it’s nothing that I haven’t seen before
But it still kills me like it did before

Consistent inconsistency on the pitch and laughable lack of consistency in front office are coded into the strands of this organization’s DNA.  Notwithstanding the fact that this franchise has seen regime after regime  come and go, with nothing to show for their troubles but troubles, the operators’ M.O.s  have been strikingly similar…all with similar results.  In keeping with that oh- so-Metro tradition, the recently appointed Head of Red Bull Global Soccer, Gerard Houllier, felt that the time between the TFC and Chicago games would be a good time to announce the hiring of Jerome DeBontin to replace Erik Soler, architect of the ever-(d)evolving formula of on-field talent and chemistry.  Change for change’s sake?  Maybe.  On the merits?  Maybe.

Good timing?  Not remotely.  Sure, the team Soler had assembled should win every match 4-0 and claim the MLS Cup, Supporters Shield and US Open Cup, but for some reason, that’s not come to pass this year.  And, even though this team has had, statistically (on a ppg basis), one of the best regular seasons in franchise history, the new regime seems determined to have “their” guys in the drivers’ seats….ASAFP.   Fair enough.

Don’t you know the time is right?

I believe you mean it when you say
That you have time for me but not today
Well well
It’s funny you say that
It may be true but one thing is for sure
Is nothing lasts forever anymore

Don’t you know nothing lasts forever anymore?
And nothing lasts forever anymore…

But, speaking of timing…with two make-or-break games left to go in the campaign, one would assume that the organization should do all in its power to see things through and provide the team the best environment possible to aid them in their quest for that elusive Cup.  The amazing thing, however, is that despite all of this talk of potential deep playoff runs, RBNY are a couple of stumbles away from missing the playoffs altogether.  And, adding another layer Metro-fied irony, if RBNY do win two more matches this year, then maligned Hans Backe would be the franchise’s all time winningest coach.

So, the news that Hans Backe broke, himself, that he’s not received a contract extension and will be on his way back to Sweden come season’s end, shouldn’t come as a surprise, given the historical template of mismanaged messaging.  But, empirically speaking, undermining the team’s head coach, and jolting morale before two must-win games at the very tail end of the season, doesn’t instill tremendous confidence in this regime’s ability to manage any area of the franchise better than its predecessors.

The MLS learning curve has proven fairly steep for those unfamiliar with its idiosyncracies, and while I find it encouraging that the new regime wants to get its feet wet immediately, one already senses the pressure from Austria to right the listing, listless ship.  Meantime, I can envision Backe, Soler and countless others belting out these lyrics as they ride off toward a different tomorrow, content with the job they tried to do.

We packed up all of our bags
The ship’s deck now sags from the weight of our tracks
As we pace beneath flags black and battered
Rattling our swords in service of some faded foreign lord

And we sail out on orders from him but we find
The maps he sent to us don’t mention lost coastlines
Where nothing we’ve actually seen has been mapped or outlined
And we don’t recognize the names upon these signs

And every night finds us rocking and rolling on waves wild and wide
Well, we have lost our way, nobody’s gonna say it outright
Just go la la la la la la la la la…
Oh, la la la la la la la la la la la…
Oh, oh, oh

La la la la la la
La la la la la
La la la la la la…

Where does all of this leave us, the supporters who’ve hitched a ride on this yoyo of a season?  Pretty much where we have been…trying not to get too low or too high; reigning in the urge to gouge out our eyes every time this organization does something that ends up surprising those of us who’ve been inured to that sort thing for some time; and, using our voices to help make RBA the fortress it was earlier in the year.  With one guaranteed home game left in the season, against a SKC team that, frankly, has owned us this year, we owe it to ourselves to bring it one last time.

We’ve proven that, petty squabbles aside, we can make a formidable and tangible difference in the intensity at which a given game is played.  The players respond to it, and feed off of it.  It’s tempting, in light of all of the missteps I catalogued above, to just go through the motions and wait for the imminent collapse, because, of course, we all know it’s coming.  But, what if it’s not?  Do we even dare pretend that the most painful type of failure is merely an option, and not a fait accompli? Shhhh…don’t answer that.  Let’s just go do our thing, and let the universe decide.

Say what you wanna say
Make it mean everything
Oh, say what you wanna say
Make it mean everything
Say what you wanna say
Make it mean everything
Oh, say what you wanna say
Let’s go
Let’s go
Let’s go
Let’s go

Before I end this column and send us headlong into the next two weeks, and whatever they may bring, I just wanted to take a moment to say bon voyage to my pal, fellow Viking Army member Danny Heath, who is headed back to the UK next week.

After availing himself of all America had to offer, and really coming out the other side the worse for wear, Danny taught us that moderation is a drink best served in copious quantities, and that reenactments of George Washington’s Delaware River crossing should be left to professionals in hazmat suits.  Moreover though, Danny is the one guy I know who really exemplifies why all Spelling Bees he enters (which ought to be none) should probably be settled via arm wrestling.  See you on the other side, Danny.

In keeping with the original vowel-gone-missing impetus for our Viking Army Spelling Bee, in the wake of the “YO’RE…” tifo debacle during the previous SKC home match, this rendition of Prince’s Nothing Compares 2 U goes out to, well, U.

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xfobek_nothing-compares-2-u-prince-featuring-rosie-gaines-live_music