Slobo, Steamers Deserve Better Fate
by Kevin Horrigan (4/17/1988) St. Louis Post-Dispatch
At 7:32 p.m. Friday, in what might very well
have been the last game the Steamers ever play at
The Arena, Slobo Ilijevski ran onto the floor
through a cloud of carbon dioxide gas given off
by dry ice.
How apt. How utterly apt. If worst comes to
worst, it is altogether fitting that the last Steamer
player to have run through a cloud of fake steam will have been:
SLOOOO-BOOOOOO!!!
Sorry about that. Couldn't help it. It's just that
even though the Major Indoor League apparently
saved itself Friday night, Our Steam may be
done for. Friday was the last home game of the
year, and Saturday's 4-3 victory over Chicago
was the last game, maybe ever. And thus a wave
of nostalgia has o'er this bureau crept.
The thought of it is almost more than a man
can stand. No more fake steam, no more Captain
Steamer, no more ear-splitting music, no more
lobbies full of teeny-boppers, no more Steam
Heat Dancers, no more Baby Steam Heat, no
more cow-milking contests or "Take a Shot at
the Old Sport" nights. That's the good news.
The bad news would be that professional soccer
will have failed - again - in this, the
motherland of American soccer. The bad news
is that a noble experiment - a pro sport that the
family can afford - will have gone down the
tubes. The bad news is that a game bunch of
athletes and coaches will have no place to practice
their trade. The bad news is that a likable,
dedicated and hard-working core of front-office
people will be out of work.
They loved this goofy game, not wisely, perhaps,
but well. How well? They all - players,
coaches and front-office people - missed their
paychecks on Friday. The Steam was flat out of
money. But everyone went to work this week-
end, anyway.
Went to work because they love this weird,
improbable game. Went to work because hope
hadn't died yet. Went to work - and lo, Friday
night did something they'd done only l6 other
times this year. They won a game.
It was an admirable effort. Not just because
Our Steam beat the Tacoma Stars 8-5. Not just
because a mere 4,839 of the terribly loyal or
morbidly curious were on hand to watch. Not
just because Tacoma is home to the hated Steve
Zungul and the traitorous Ricky Davis. But because
the Steam did it purely for pride.
If they die, let it be said they died with their
boots on.
As the game wore on, the MISLmoguls were
meeting in Washington, trying to conclude a deal
with the players union to keep the league alive.
Half an hour before the midnight deadline, the
players caved in. They'll take a 25 percent salary
cut and agree to a $900,000 team
payroll cap. It's not as if they had
much choice, the market for indoor
soccer players being rather static.
But that won't help the Steam, not
unless the third White Knight in four
years rides to the rescue. So Friday's
home game was a bittersweet event,
and no one felt it more than Slobo
Ilijevski, who played his 306th game
for Our Steam.
"I have tried not to think about it,"
Slobo had said when asked before the
game if he thought this would be the
end.
But the 38-year-old pride of Skopje,
Yugoslavia, has been playing bigtime
soccer since he was 13 years old, and
he knew this weekend might be his
last days in the nets. Illjevski is the
kind of guy who prepares for
everything.
His is a kind of Hollywood-like
immigrant success story. Ilijevski arrived
in St. Louis in 1980 with $20 in
his pocket and 10 days left on his
visa. But he made the team, beating
out six American-born candidates for
the goalkeeper's job on a team that,
at the time, made a bigger deal of
being born in the USA than Bruce
Springsteen.
He worked at it, playing longer, at
a higher level, than most athletes
who've worn "St. Louis" on their
shirts. Off the field, he brought an
immigrant's sense of mission to his
business dealings. He now owns coin-
operated laundries, an office building
and other real estate. He is building
his own home in St. Louis County, and
whether the MISL lives or dies, he
will take the American citizenship
test this summer.
When he arrived in St. Louis, he
couldn't speak English; now he
speaks with a rare, if somewhat hesitant,
eloquence. So if an an epitaph is
called for, let it be spoken by Slobo:
"I'm going to be sad if it is going to
end this way, with the team or the
league folding," he said Friday. "I
will be sad for me, because who else
cares about me? Only me. I got to be
caring for me.
But I feel sad more not for me, but
for the kids. It will mean the end of
their dreams. When I was young - 8,
9 years old - I had dreams, too. I
wanted to play for my town team, and
I did. And I wanted to come to the
United States. And my dreams came
true.
Folding the league, folding the
team, is not going to kill me. They
can't kill me now. I have what I wanted
out of soccer. But it would kill
thousands of dreams, and I would be
sad for them."
Some years ago, the Post-Dispatch
had a man named Arnold Irish assigned
to the Steamers beat. And one
day Arnie asked Slobo what made
him tick, and Ilijevski replied:
"I'm just a Slobo like every other
Slobo."
Alas, there aren't many other Slobos.
And not likely to be, either. Not
any more.
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