The Open Cup instilled itself early on in Kljestan. It was before he was a star and before the demands of professionalism made a job of a game. “I talked to my coach in college about the old days of the Open Cup,” said the 33-year-old schemer, 51 times capped by the U.S. Men’s National Team, drifting back to his three years at Seton Hall where he played and went to class, probably ate ramen noodles from a styrofoam cup. Back when he was just a kid with a special relationship with the ball. His coach was Manfred “Manny” Schellscheidt, once a midfielder for Elizabeth SC and twice a U.S. Open Cup champion in the early 1970s. “He was full of stories, and I loved to hear them,” added Kljestan, the son of a Bosnian-Serb immigrant and former professional. “He’d talk about going out to LA to play in the Open Cup and the old German American League in New York. He talked about the Finals and the trophy. There was something amazing about it.”
What it All Meant: First Taste of the Cup
Kljestan got his own first taste of the Cup in Southern California while back home on summer-breaks from college. “When I played in the PDL (the all-amateur Premier Development League now known as USL League Two), I remember how desperate we were to win the league because that got you into the Open Cup,” he said, chuckling a little, remembering rooting around the edges of the tournament he’d heard so much about, where if you were good enough and lucky enough you could play against a professional team. “In college, I remember one time we got to play against the MetroStars – just a scrimmage – but it made you feel huge, like a big deal. I still remember now what those games meant.”
Those memories, the ones that felt like dreams, were stirred when Kljestan dropped $500.00 in the GoFundMe can for 2017 U.S. Open Cup darlings Christos FC. “I don’t know why I did it,” he said of his donation to the team of amateurs from Baltimore who were low on travel cash but went on an epic Cup run two years ago. What’s more Open Cup than a team of old friends, with their headquarters in the back of a liquor store, good enough and gutsy enough to take on D.C. United in the Fourth Round? “Maybe I was just in a good mood that day, but their story got me thinking about my early days. Those Christos guys just playing on weekends and working day-jobs, and they went and earned a shot to play an MLS team.”
That’s the romance. Right there. The word pops up a lot when talk turns to the Open Cup. The romance of part-timers piling in cars on Sunday mornings, playing through hangovers, and dreaming of a chance. The romance of a lower-league team getting hot and knocking off an MLS big shot. The romance of a time, captured in black-and-white, when the idea of making a living playing soccer was so far-fetched it would knock you off your bar stool.
