When Pele’s old club announced they were holding open tryouts, I, a 31-year-old journalist with no professional football experience, dared to dream

I tried out for the New York Cosmos. Would I make the grade?

Pele. Franz Beckenbauer. Carlos Alberto.



In the 1970s, some of the greatest football players in the world turned out for the New York Cosmos. The team invested a fortune in attracting foreign talent, and won the North American Soccer League in 1977, 1978 and 1980.

Are the New York Cosmos dead again, or waiting for another resurrection? Read more

So in hindsight, perhaps it was naive of me – a 31-year-old journalist with no professional football experience – to think I could become a New York Cosmos player.

I’d got the idea after the Cosmos announced they were holding open tryouts. It was a chance for players to train in front of the Cosmos coaches and potentially join the club’s B team. Perform well there, and you could end up playing for the first team – just like Pele.

That was the thinking, anyway. In truth, as I arrived for the tryout on a bitterly cold March Wednesday, I had a strong suspicion I would not be signed by the New York Cosmos.

For one thing, I am not actually very good at football. I play in a co-ed seven-a-side team once a week, and am generally considered to be one of the team’s less gifted players.

For another, as my fellow hopefuls began to arrive at the tryouts, held near the Cosmos’ stadium in south Brooklyn, I realized I was 10 years older than most of the people there. The majority of my rivals were 20 or under. Quite a few had brought their parents. There was an actual child – he was 5ft tall and can’t have been more than 14 – whose dad had to sign a waiver for him to play.

I was sitting in the bleachers, wondering whether anyone would notice my grey hair, when a good-looking man called Adriano, wearing a dark ponytail and a black muscle top, walked up to me.

“How old are you?” he said.

I was wondering how many years I could feasibly subtract from my real age when Adriano explained himself. “Everyone here is so young!”

Adriano was 24.

Age aside, I wasn’t sure why the Cosmos had let me try out in the first place. You had to fill out an application form to make the trial, and I’d assumed this would have weeded some people out. Under the form’s “experience” section, I’d mentioned that seven-a-side league. Asked for a reference, I named a friend who I once did some keep-ups with on a beach. In the “honors” section, I put “bachelor’s degree in English language and literature”.

I don’t know if it was the degree that swung it, but I made it to trial, alongside about 45 others. We were given numbered bibs – I was No255 – and divided into teams. The trial was essentially an 11-a-side match, with coaches taking notes on the touchline. I started on the bench, which gave me an opportunity to gauge the opposition.

I was wearing a grey fisherman’s knit sweater. I’ve never seen Cristiano Ronaldo play in a cardigan

I was immediately given heart. Team 2 were blessed with a number of talented players, but I concentrated on the big lummox they had playing in defense.

Stocky, and wearing ill-fitting shorts, within 45 seconds he had sent someone flying. After about two minutes he looked out of breath, and on five minutes he literally crawled off the pitch on his hands and knees, complaining of a strained hamstring.

Maybe I wouldn’t be the worst player there after all.

Things haven’t gone well for the Cosmos since those glory years of the late 1970s. The NASL – at the time the top soccer league in America – folded in 1984, and the Cosmos were dissolved in a year later.

The team was revived in 2010, but now it plays in the second tier of US football. The Cosmos have actually managed to attract a couple of big names in recent years – Raul, who played 741 times for Real Madrid, briefly played there in 2015 – but as recently as December the club was laying off players amid rumors of financial uncertainty.

This might have had something to do with the location of the tryout: an isolated football field near the Rockaway peninsula on the southern tip of Long Island. On the day of the tryout there was a biting wind sweeping in from the Atlantic, and according to my phone, the temperature felt like 14F.

This presented a problem. I’d only brought a football shirt and shorts. Most of the other players were wearing tracksuit tops or long-sleeved jerseys.

I had to improvise. When I eventually trotted onto the pitch, past New York Cosmos head coach Giovanni Savarese – capped 30 times for Venezuela – I was wearing a grey fisherman’s knit sweater. I’m sure it didn’t help my cause. I’ve never seen Cristiano Ronaldo play in a cardigan.

Still, I took up my position at centre-back, and as the whistle blew I noticed Savarese eating a bag of potato chips while talking on the phone on the touchline.

We’d been told to line up as a 4-3-3, but in a unique take on the formation we ended up playing with a false-left back, after one of our defenders announced: “I only play left wing.”

It left us stretched, but our team took the lead almost immediately. I didn’t see the goal because I was at the other end of the pitch, doubled over, trying to catch my breath – instant karma for rooting against the lummox – but it was pleasing all the same.

It was mostly downhill from there. The other team shuffled the ball about in midfield, and all of a sudden one of their better players was bearing down on our goal. I ran forward – I’d call it a charge, but it was too slow for that – and tried to stop him. I missed. He ran past me, and I gave chase, but my sweater had become something of a wind-trap and was acting like a parachute. He duly scored.

The same player was put through a few minutes later, and this time I succeeded in fouling him. But as I stood over my opponent, congratulating myself that I’d at least been able to kick him this time, and he jumped up, ran off, and scored.

Thankfully, my defensive partner Melvin turned out to be really good at football. He did a lot of running and kept the scoreline respectable. When we were eventually summoned off the pitch we’d only conceded three goals, which gave me a possibly misplaced sense of pride.

Savarese called all 45 of us into the changing room afterwards. He’d already asked some of the players back for a second trial. Encouraged by how well Melvin had masked my ineptitude, I tried to catch Savarese’s eye, but he didn’t look over.

Two days later I got an email from the Cosmos with the subject line: “Tryouts”.

I couldn’t help but be a little bit excited. Had Savarese been on the phone to the Cosmos chairman while he was eating those chips, urging him to sign me up? Could I really turn professional at 31 years of age? How much did the reserve side for a second division team pay, anyway?

“New York Cosmos would like to thank you for coming out to our tryouts this week,” the email read. “Unfortunately, you have not been selected to return. We appreciate your time and hope to see you next year.”

Maybe 2018 will be the year I finally turn pro.