The phone call came one night, a year ago January. The accent was English, the conversation one-sided, the gambit fairly straightforward, like a directive on a Mission Impossible tape.
"Hello, I've never spoken to you before. My name is Tony Coton, goalkeeping coach, Manchester United. Yeah, well, we're a bit interested in you. We've seen a tape. Don't call me - I'll call you when there's something you need to know. Just want you to know we're tracking you, right? Take care. Yeah, we'll see ya."
Tim Howard hung up the phone, picked it up again and called his girlfriend, Laura Cianciola.
"I just got this weird call from Manchester United," he told her. "They're interested in me."
"Who's Manchester United?" she asked.
SHE KNOWS now. Man U is the reason Laura's big Southern wedding was scrapped and moved to Central Park. It's the reason the Memphis native finds herself living with husband Tim and dog Clayton in an English town called Wilmslow. Perhaps the only person more surprised by this turn of events is the man she married. A few years ago, Howard was trying to break through with the New York/New Jersey MetroStars, playing in front of 15,000 fans in Giants Stadium. Now, at age 25, he's the starting goalkeeper for the world's most famous club in the world's most popular sport, making saves of national importance in front of NFL-size crowds. In his first 30 games after joining the Red Devils on their U.S. tour last July, Howard piled up 14 shutouts - or clean sheets, as the Brits say - supplanting World Cup winner Fabien Barthez in the process. Within months of his arrival, the 6'3", 210-pound keeper was being hailed as a major steal. Earlier this year, United manager Sir Alex Ferguson dubbed Howard "the star of the
show."
If the idea of a Yank finding a home between the sticks of Old Trafford, the English Premiership's temple of football, sounds remarkable, it is no more so than the personal transformation Howard undergoes each time he steps onto the field. Soccer has always been his haven, a sanctuary from the daily challenge of living with Tourette's syndrome, a neurological disorder that shadows his every step. His jump across the pond, as the first American to star for the Reds, has landed him on hallowed ground. But for Howard, the thrill of playing well in the Manc pales in comparison to the freedom he experiences simply from playing.
THE CLINK of pint glasses echoes out to the road. All along Sir Matt Busby Way, the smell of greasy chips and ketchup hovers as crooked-toothed geezers, lager in hand, tout tickets and portly lads hawk Man U fanzines like Red Issue. Follow the road underneath the South Stand and you arrive at the players' entrance, where supporters clad in red-and-black scarves press up against steel barricades. There's a sense of anticipation here, but also something darker-a seething anxiety, a hint of danger. An overwhelming police presence adds to the tension but also assures that there will be no trouble on this sunny March day, just football. Bobbies in lime-green slickers are everywhere: lining the road, videotaping the scene from a raised platform, leading the visitors' bus onto the Old Trafford grounds from atop white horses.
Though they are a hard lot to win over, United supporters seem to have reached a consensus on their new import. "Tim Howard?" says a bloke in his 20s. " 'E's the buy o' the season." Given their appreciation for his no-nonsense goalkeeping, the Reds faithful would be surprised if they could see Howard now, nervously going through his pregame ritual before the club's FA Cup quarterfinal against Fulham. Like many athletes, Howard is superstitious about his preparation. Everything on his right side-right sock, right shin guard, right shoe and right glove-must go on first, before the process is repeated on the left. To deviate from the pattern, he thinks, is to risk breaking a leg or losing a match on a fluke goal.
Nor can he escape the butterflies that accompany this dramatic step up in class. With all the sitting and the waiting and the checking of his gear, Howard can get extremely nervous, almost to the point of hyperventilating. Playing for the MetroStars, where he basically outlasted everyone over five-plus seasons, the New Jersey native was the most vocal guy in the locker room. Here, he hardly says a word. With United, Tim can't visit the WC without bumping into legends like Roy Keane or Ryan Giggs. And despite being fully accepted by his decorated teammates, he can't help but feel like an actor, pretending he belongs even though in his heart he knows there is still much to learn. Truth is, he wouldn't have it any other way. "For me, belonging and complacency kind of go together," he explains. "It's better to keep me on my toes."
The 67,000 strong who consistently pack the "Theatre of Dreams" do their level best to keep new United players in line. Just warming up beneath the legendary Stretford End, where fans sing from whistle to whistle, Howard can feel the collective anxiousness yearning for release. As signs like "MUFC The Religion" attest, these people view their club as serious business. Earlier this year, when a dispute between Ferguson and leading United shareholder John Magnier, a horse breeder, put the aggressive style drew comparisons to Schmeichel's.
In the United megastore tucked beneath Old Trafford's East Stand, Barthez memorabilia remained on sale well after the Frenchman had been shipped to Marseilles, while the only sign of Howard was a lone nameless poster that sponsor Nike had put in the window. But on the pitch, it was all Howard. "So many keepers have come here since Peter Schmeichel and had to live up to that expectation," says United defender John O'Shea. "It affected them. But Tim took it in stride. Not many people would believe you if you told them it's his first season. He's been fantastic."
ESTHER HOWARD has always thought her son is one of a kind. Even as an infant he seemed a little different. He was anxious. He had a terrible fear of heights. Loud noises bothered him. He hardly ever slept through the night. "I referred to him as a high-maintenance baby," she says. When Tim was in fifth grade, he started acting in ways that defied explanation. Upon arriving home from school, he'd immediately head for the bathroom, which was at the far end of the apartment he shared with Esther and his older brother, Chris. (Esther, who's Hungarian, divorced Matthew Howard, an African-American, when Tim was 5.) Along the way, he'd rhythmically tap certain objects or pieces of furniture. If there was a pattern, it was apparent only to Tim, but missing even one designated object meant he had to retrace his steps. "It made for long trips through the house," he says now. There were other eccentricities. Often, as Tim spoke to his mom, he'd repeatedly tap her shoulder. If she stepped back, he'd fall silent, unable
to finish his thought.
What Howard calls "the law of my mind" was in fact obsessive-compulsive disorder. OCD and attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (which he also has) are both associated with Tourette's syndrome, an affliction shared by about 200,000 Americans. Tourette's manifests itself in an array of compulsive activity. Witness Tim's need to put his soccer gear on a certain way, to rhythmically touch things or, when he was traveling with the junior national team, to stay up all night packing and repacking his bag in an effort to get it just right.
By age 11, when his condition was diagnosed, he was starting to experience the physical tics and involuntary movements of Tourette's. (You've had the "itchy" feel of a sneeze or hiccup, as the brain sends a message indicating an oncoming involuntary movement. Tourette's tics work in somewhat the same way.) Even though his case was considered mild, there were times when Tim's whole body was preoccupied by TS, with tics affecting his eyes, arms, neck and head. But unlike many Touretters, Howard says he rarely was ostracized as a result of his condition. "Being bullied, that never happened," he says. "I was a big kid and I was into sports. I always had something going on. I never felt like an outcast."
When Howard was 12, he attended a goaltending camp run by Tim Mulqueen, an assistant coach with Rutgers at the time and the mentor Howard credits the most for helping him discover his skills as a keeper. Mulqueen would become Howard's youth league coach in North Brunswick, and he rode his young charge hard. "As a kid," Howard says, "I was like, 'Why are you picking on me?' Now I realize he saw something in me. He believed in me." It was Mulqueen who signed Howard as his keeper for the Imperials and then tutored him as an assistant with the MetroStars. And when it came time for Howard to accept United's offer, Mulqueen (now an assistant with the Kansas City Wizards) was the person Esther Howard turned to for support. "If there's one person who can handle this," Mulqueen assured her, "it's Tim."
AT THE Cafe Rouge in the Deansgate section of Manchester, an unshaven Howard, with Nike baseball cap pulled low over his light brown eyes, wedges himself into a crushed velvet banquette and orders his usual double espresso. It's early March, a few days before the match with Fulham. Howard comes here often, enjoying the bit of privacy the bistro offers in this soccer-mad town. The waitress later confesses that when she first noticed Howard back in September, she thought he was on holiday and asked whether he'd taken the Old Trafford tour.
From the day news of his imminent signing leaked last summer, it seems his every move has been chronicled in the U.K. Despite the Premiership success of Americans Brad Friedel (Keeper of the Year in 2003 with Blackburn Rovers) and Kasey Keller (Tottenham Hotspur), Man U's quest to purchase a U.S. backstop was a huge deal. Putting any Yank on the field would create a stir, but a keeper with Tourette's? The tabloids wondered if Ferguson had finally lost it. "MANCHESTER UNITED TRYING TO SIGN DISABLED GOALKEEPER," screamed one headline. "TIC FOR TIM," shouted another. One website, exploiting the perception that people with Tourette's are prone to uncontrollable outbursts of swearing (it actually occurs in less than 10% of cases), ran an online poll asking readers to vote "F- Yeah" or "F- No" on whether Man U should acquire him.
Howard, who saw the headlines but skipped the stories, chalks it all up to simple ignorance. Like many in their 20s with TS, he has experienced a definite decline in the number and severity of his tics. There is still the occasional dry cough, rapid eye blinking or twisting of the neck, but he can live with that. "The longer you deal with it," he says, "the more you learn to control it as best you can." He doesn't take any drugs to keep his Tourette's in check because they tend to dull his senses and his personality. But since he first went public about his condition in 2001, when the MetroStars made him a starter, he has continued to grow more comfortable in his own skin. "I've gotten to the point where this is me," he says. "Tim is TS and TS is Tim. That's my world, and I don't mind. You can poke fun and laugh, but I'll sleep well at night."
Put Howard in a locker room, and he's a nervous wreck: "When I'm still, it's pretty easy for my body to take me someplace I don't want to go." But put him on a field, and he's a vision of calm. "It never happens that in midair, I'll get a tic or blink my eyes or twitch my arm. When I dive for a ball, my body isn't concerned with TS."
So how come Tourette's, a condition amplified by anxiety, doesn't infiltrate his actions on the pitch? After all, few jobs in sports are more anxiety-filled than that of Man U goalkeeper. The answer is in what Howard calls "the gift of TS," the complex transformation that occurs when someone with the disorder moves from idleness to performance. There are a number of professions - actor, musician, surgeon - that would seem beyond the capabilities of a Touretter. And yet there are success stories in each of them. Howard remembers being inspired as a teen by a documentary about people coping with the disorder, including former NBA baller Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf. He was amazed that Abdul-Rauf became such a great free throw shooter despite his Tourette's, much as former major leaguer Jim Eisenreich turned himself into a career .290 hitter and current Pirates reliever Mike Johnston (see page 82) has gone from obscurity to the bigs. All learned how to harness the energy of TS.
Neurologists say the "gift" is really a complex neural transformation that enables Touretters to "forget" that they have the disorder-in short, to become so focused in their performance that they momentarily slip the grip of Tourette's. As Howard starts to move and lose himself in competition, he also loses the involuntary movements associated with TS. "You're almost making TS submit to you," he says. "You have the ability to concentrate a little more on certain things. You can't sit still in the classroom, but you can go out in front of 50,000 people and hit a fastball. It doesn't necessarily make sense."
THE GOALKEEPER'S job offers little room for error. A free kick, for example, can travel up to 70 mph, with enough drag and torque to bend around a wall of defenders before dropping like a cup off a table into the corner of the net. Being able to locate the ball and, in an eyeblink, throw your body into its path is one of the most difficult acts in all of sport. Field players can flub a pass or miss a tackle and know with some certainty that time will afford them another chance. Not so the keeper. As the last line of defense, he has nowhere to hide when he makes a mistake.
Heading into the Fulham match, Howard is left the unenviable task of holding together a Manchester backline that has hemorrhaged since the midseason suspension of star defender Rio Ferdinand, who missed a drug test. With Arsenal pulling away from the pack in league play (unbeaten in the Premiership through May 9), the only trophies left to claim for the Reds are the FA Cup and the Champions League titles. Against Fulham, Howard doesn't disappoint. With United holding a late 2-1 lead and the defense in danger of imploding, he faces one last charge in the 89th minute. Fulham's Luis Boa Morte slides a daisy cutter toward the corner of the goal. Howard springs to his right in full stretch and knocks away the would-be equalizer.
Three days later, another Howard save "at the death" takes on a different meaning in a Champions League battle against Portugal's FC Porto. Having already lost 2-1 at Porto in the first leg of the home-away matchup, United must now win at Old Trafford. With his team up 1-0, Reds defender Phil Neville is called for a foul in the 90th minute. As the Porto free kick curves for the top corner of the goal, Howard again lays himself out to make the stop. But instead of catching the ball, he parries it back into play just as another opponent is sneaking past the United defense to blast the tying score. The game ends in a deadlock and the Reds are knocked from the tournament.
Though not outwardly blamed for the Champions League loss, Howard takes the fall. Following a 4-1 loss to crosstown rival Manchester City, Ferguson announces that backup Roy Carroll will start the next three games. The manager says he just wants to give Howard a rest, citing his straight-through play with the MetroStars and Man U over the past 11 months. But when Carroll is still starting in mid-April, the press begins to speculate about whether Tim's loss of form can be blamed on the stress of Tourette's. "HOWARD IN AGONY," blares The Sun.
While Howard concedes he might have needed a break, the only agony he feels is not being able to take his rightful place in goal-the one place TS can't touch him. Ferguson must sense this. Though Carroll plays well in his stint (4-1-1), he's back on the bench before long. Howard responds with a 2-0 shutout (his 15th overall) in his first match back, on April 20. A week later, he is voted by his fellow players as the top keeper in the Premiership.
Will he get the nod for the FA Cup final against Millwall on May 22? Ferguson isn't saying. (Howard was 0-2-1 in his next three starts.) But given all he's done in his first season with the club, the Yank is clearly the sentimental favorite to play for United's last redemptive shot at silverware in what has been an uneven season. Redemption is a word too often used in sports. And yet for Howard, who feels redeemed every time he steps on a soccer pitch, it seems especially appropriate.
"My goal is to be consistent, not too high, not too low," he says with his usual modesty. "That's what consistency gets you-a place to play for a good long while."