Nah, nah, nah... Hey, hey... Goodbye...

Yesterday morning, I came across a news story that Slobodan Ilijevski had passed away. It was preliminary information – very short – but I became very upset. Later in the day, it became more in depth.

I did not know Slobo personally, but I had paid for a fair number of tickets back in the day to watch him defend goal for the Steamer, the Ambush and the Storm. I truly believe that one of the greatest soccer goaltenders passed away, way too young.

I saw Slobo play his last game at the ol’ St. Louis Arena. I went with my friend Jim, a person I miss having in my life as a friend. But I suppose that’s another part of the reason I’m sad. Another chip in the plate that was once a very carefree and almost reckless life.

Indoor soccer and ice hockey used to be my sports. I drug my father – who was more than willing to cover the cost of the sporting events – to as many games as time allowed. I think Dad was happy to go for two reasons… First, if I wouldn’t be a football fan, then he was willing to oblige whatever sport I’d embrace. And second, there was always a captive audience for my Dad to foist his stories upon.

Jim and I met my – our – freshman year of college. We both said that it was the best year of our life. It was so good that we ended up graduating from other universities, but that’s besides the point. And really, we ended up thriving in the new environments…

But getting back to the best year of our lives.

Part of the reason, and there were many, Jim and I got along so well was because we shared the same political leanings – and the same passion for St. Louis indoor soccer. It was like we found a kindred spirit in each other. Or at least someone to go to games with. And Jim even liked my Dad, who didn’t always want to be set aside.

When whatever incarnation of team we were watching would play, “Whoomp! There it is!,” Dad had no idea what was being chanted but would pretend he did by saying, “Hey! Hey, hey, hey!” If Jim wasn’t charmed by that, bless his heart, he sure acted like it. I, personally, thought that my Dad was a goober.

But Jim and I went without my Dad, too.

We went with his family. We went with friends. We went by ourselves.

And we watched Slobo make save after save.

I’m not sure if I would have been such a fan if Slobo hadn’t been a part of the team. He would wander from the goal. He was bold. He was daring. He was a blast to watch.

And he rarely let a blast kicked by the opposition get past him.

It was 1993 when I saw him play his last professional indoor soccer game. It’s funny how a newspaper article can take you back 15 years in mere seconds.
And with his retirement came my waning interest in indoor soccer. While certainly not a household name, Slobodan Ilijevski was certainly a marquee player.

One last time, with feeling… Slobo! Slobo! Slobo!