August 3, 1999 — I recognized the look in the child’s eyes.
It was a look of wonder, of worship.
It was a look that, I’m sure, emanated from my young eyes years ago as I gazed upon my heroes at the ballpark.
It was a look that Stephanie Yarem met with a smile.
The boy, his hands fidgeting anxiously with a pen, looked up and said softly, “Are you number 19?”
“Yes,” Yarem replied, and the boy hurriedly handed her his pen and a poster.
“Do you play soccer?” Yarem asked as she signed her name. The boy, now staring shyly at the ground, nodded.
Yarem returned the poster to the boy and he examined the autograph. He looked up with a sly smile. He stepped slowly backward and then scampered off, still smiling like he’d stolen something, like he’d stolen something and gotten away with it.
There were dozens more just like him. Waiting. And Yarem and the rest of the Atlanta Classics made sure each child went home Saturday night with a smile.
I watched these kids crowd around their heroes and I wondered how it must feel for a 22-year-old college senior to be the object of such idolization.
“It’s fun,” said Yarem who, while gracious, is noticeably uncomfortable with all of the attention. “I’m glad they get to come to games and support us. It’s good for them to see good soccer.”
And the Atlanta Classics do play good soccer. The team is part of the W-League, the highest level of competitive soccer available for women in the United States.
Heading into this weekend’s playoffs, the Classics are 10-4 and the highest-scoring team in the nation.
But the W-League is not a professional league — not yet, at least — and the off-the-field lives of its players are probably more regular than their young fans realize.
The Classics’ patchwork of players is composed of college students, school teachers and doctors, of recent college graduates, personal trainers and accountants. Most live in the Atlanta area, but some travel to games from Alabama, Tennessee and South Carolina.
Many play with hopes of eventually turning pro, if and when a professional league is formed in the United States. Several are trying to improve their skills before the upcoming college season.
And some simply play because they always have. And they can’t imagine life without soccer.
None are in it for the money — because there isn’t any.
They are truly playing for the love of the game.
“I guess that’s what’s so fun about it, everybody likes to play,” said Yarem, a former standout at Gainesville High and All-American at the University of Georgia. She is one of the Classics with her eyes on a future professional soccer career.
Yarem’s Saturday started out normally enough. She ran some errands. She washed her car.
I joined her for her pre-game meal: Chick-fil-A.
And then we were off to Atlanta. Game time was three hours away.
Saturday’s opponent was the Tampa Bay Extreme, the same team the Classics will play host to in this weekend’s Southern Conference Final. The winner heads to the W-League Final Four the following weekend in Raleigh, N.C.
As Yarem’s older brother Bob maneuvered his sister’s Chevy Blazer down I-85, the voice from the radio encouraged listeners to “drink lots of water and stay inside.” It was hot out. Very hot. One hundred degrees hot. And I was glad I wasn’t the one playing soccer that night.
We arrived early at DeKalb County Adams Stadium, home of the Classics, and Michael Sabatelle was lining the sun-drenched field with signs advertising the team’s handful of corporate sponsors. Sabatelle, 44, is the team’s owner. He is also the president, head coach, cameraman and basically any other title you want to tack on.
“I’m willing to do anything that I would ask someone else to do,” said Sabatelle, who admits this philosophy comes partly out of necessity. “It’s expensive to run a franchise. For us to survive we need more corporate dollars and more support and more fans. And if we don’t, the franchise will, you know …”
But Sabatelle is upbeat when it comes to the chances for a professional women’s soccer league in the United States. The interest is there. The players are there. It’s just a matter of corporate sponsorship and media coverage.
“After the success of the World Cup you have to be highly optimistic,” he said.
The locker room at Adams Stadium is dimly lit with pieces of tile missing from the wall — another reminder that this is semi-pro and not pro. The names of the players are printed on yellow paper and taped to the lockers.
Sabatelle spoke to his team as a lone rusty exhaust fan rattled in the background. The fan didn’t help much. The heat seemed to cast a pall over the proceedings … and much of the sluggish first half.
“It’s so hot,” said Yarem at halftime as she looked for her parents in the crowd. A quick wave. She found them. Yarem and the Classics went into the locker room ahead 1-0.
Sabatelle pleaded with his team to be stronger than the heat, to get the crowd back into the game. Seven-hundred and sixteen fans were on hand for Saturday’s game — the Classics’ largest crowd of the season.
It worked. The Classics dominated the ball the rest of the way. Final score: 3-1.
“I feel like I’ve been beaten with a baseball bat,” said Yarem, who played the entire game at defender.
But what she saw next had to make her feel better — a crowd of children waiting with nervous anticipation several yards away. Given the go ahead, they rushed toward their heroes, armed with posters, balls, shirts, scratch paper. Anything that would hold ink.
And perhaps one day the crowds will be bigger. Perhaps one day there will be a professional soccer league in which Yarem could play. Perhaps.
“I like soccer,” Yarem said. “I like to play. It’s fun. But I don’t want to wait forever for it.”