The World Cup Gets Hairy

— -- It started for me, a soccer playing skate punk, or is it skateboarding soccer punk, in 1994 when the World Cup came to the United States. My hair was straight and long-ish, but off the collar and tucked behind my ears so as to aggravate my Catholic high school without technically breaking their rules.

Sitting in the stands of Orlando's Orange Bowl waiting for the game to start, I flipped through my official program, suspended in the disbelief that my sporting heroes had finally come to the New World. England's David Beckham, Brazil's Ronaldo, Italy's Roberto Baggio, and Colombia's Carlos Valderrama peered back from the pages with their best championship grin. And some serious hair.

The styled perfection of Becks (or was that a mo-hawk year?), the tuft of Ronaldo, the buzz-cut-to-ponytail mullet of Baggio, and the curly orange afro that made Valderrama more famous than his skills would have allowed. Everything was perfect that day, except I badly wanted some more hair (I'd have to wait until a collegiate liberation in Vermont allowed my hair to find itself).

Here were my idols, the best players in the world, looking like glam rock stars, or in the case of Baggio, that guy you purposely avoid when entering the 7-11 in rural Florida. Soccer was and is a foreign sport, so it was all too easy for those who held authority over me to write my sport and my hair off as un-American. But I knew better. If you played soccer, you knew the wild hair was a rule, seemingly second only to don't touch the ball with your hands. It was part of the culture, and not limited to a country or continent.

American youth soccer, college, pro, and the US Men's National Team were not with out its characters then. There was Cobi Jones with his manicured dreadlocks; Marcelo Balboa did and continues to do his best Antonio Banderas impression: long and sometimes greasey; and my main man at the time, Alexi Lalas had that unruly carrot top. Lalas was tall, like me; He loved music, like me. He was a defender, like me; and he had an out of control mop of long hair... not like me. At the impressionable age of 16, all I wanted was that hair. I thought it would complete me.

The 1994 United States Men's National Team was off the radar of the American sporting landscape. A bewildered attention stared at the sport as it arrived on our surprised shores. It was the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria all over again. Who are these weirdos, with the wild hair, kicking that round ball around? Why don't they just pick it up? Where are their bats and helmets? That isn't the football I know. Somewhere, George Steinbrenner was cursing a cosmetologist. 'Commie Sport,' rang accusatory from the lips of countless P.E. teachers.

The times have changed slightly. Soccer is now on the radar, if but a blip in most circles. Lalas has grown up to be the General Manager for New York Red Bull of the Major League Soccer, cropping his mane to fit the conference room. Ronaldinho took the do the do award from a now shaven/bald Ronaldo, while the Czech Republic's Pavel Nedved takes the worst mullet award from Baggio. No one has replaced Valderamma, but that clown wig is not something that can easily be replaced.

As the saying the goes, the more things change, the more they stay the same. That which set Soccer apart has remained the same. Hair is still tied up, down, back, and occasionally let loose on the soccer pitch. Cobi Jones still has his dreadlocks even if his skills have disappeared. And though the styles have changed, Lalas' 90's grunge has given way to the hip-hop generation, there is plenty of hair to go around, and plenty of players to keep an eye on, not only because you can't take your eyes off their heads, but these guys can play. Here's the top five do's on the US MNT.

Oguchi Onyewu: the big man known as Gooch sports tightly wound corn rows, which he gets braided once a week to ensure their fit and cleanliness.

John O'Brien: the dependable midfielder's hair is anything but. From a thick mop to military crop, John's hair is most often messy and bouncy, though sometimes pulled into a bunny-tail, it's too short for a pony reference.

Chris Albright: the white-man's geri curl could compete with the best if given some Soul Glow, but for now, he is more Little Orphan Annie than Eriq La Salle.

Frankie Hejduk: he had to be a Lalas fan. He's not as tall, but he is a defender and has the all important mullet meets mop. Just add faded flannel.

Kasey Keller: The team's unabashed veteran is better at covering his goal than his head. The aging goal keeper is all but bald, but hangs on to what he has. That guy who looks like your dad, yeah, he is one of the best keepers in the world.