Fair Game

by Brian Hickey

PHOTOGRAPHS BY JESSICA GRYPHON

One needn't look any further than her king-sized bed and Alice in Wonderland-style ottoman to prove it. She readily admits as much while sitting sideways across a leather chair that swallows her 5-foot-3-inch frame.

"I'm little," she says, "but I love big things."

It doesn't stop at furniture. Fair has accomplished more big things in 23 years than most do in an entire lifetime. But being a world-class athlete and star attraction of the Philadelphia Charge women's soccer team may not be big enough.

So with her eyes on a bigger prize, Fair fetches a set of photographs her agent sent out in the hope of landing her modeling and advertising gigs. She has the looks to pull it off, but that didn't stop her teammates from needling her.

"Oh Faa-irrr, we saw your pictures," ribbed an assistant coach and equipment guy, threatening to hang one of the photographs in the locker room. "Couldn't tell if it was you or Alicia Keys, though."

Still Fair admits she's not about to turn down opportunity, much less the chance to bridge sports and entertainment.

"They're just fun pictures of me," she says. "I mean, they look good but when you read it, what does it say? Lorrie Fair, professional soccer player. It's flattering if people think I'm attractive. If it helps, great, but it's not going to get in the way of me wanting to win. That's what I'm all about."

Two years after Brandi Chastain's sports bra cemented the sport in popular culture, soccer and cable-television executives parlayed the 1999 Women's World Cup into the Women's United Soccer Association.

Their strategy for success was simple: Scatter players from the well-known squad across eight teams and trust that suburban soccer families will turn out in droves. Pay the players anywhere from $25,000 to $80,000 a year and broadcast the games courtesy of the cable magnates who financially back each team.

But they knew that wouldn't be enough. When a woman donned a WUSA jersey, her responsibilities would go beyond attending practices and games. She'd be expected to sign autographs and make the rounds to promotional events in her new hometown.

Women soccer stars were proffered as role models, athletes parents want their children--particularly young girls--to emulate. While that worked for the target audience, the underlying challenge was in attracting new fans to their games. And that's where something else came into play: the fact that many of the players could turn heads just walking down the street.

When several players renovated a Habitat for Humanity rowhouse in Chester last July, media accounts duly noted that one player was "an Icelandic beauty sucking on a lollipop ... [her] hair swinging in a ponytail."

Still, the league's organizers don't stray too far from their initial bread-and-butter approach: If the teams give back to their communities, the communities will give back to them. And the plan seems to be working. To a point.

During last year's inaugural season few outside the soccer subculture knew the eight-team league even existed, leaving the WUSA to live on the families that religiously came out to the games. The television ratings weren't all that good--not a damning problem since airtime was guaranteed by the cable money backing them.

Marketing the players, says league spokesman Dan Courtemanche, became nearly as important as marketing the games themselves. In that arena, Lorrie Fair has become a league MVP.

"These are excellent soccer players we're talking about," Courtemanche says. "But if we have players who are deemed attractive, sexy or however you want to phrase it, it can expand our fan base to consumers who aren't soccer fans. It's just an added bonus, really."

The assignment seemed simple enough: Don a headset, lean into the microphone and try to drum up interest in a soccer league just beneath the Philadelphia sports radar.

What made the task formidable was that Fair and teammate Heather Mitts would be taking their message to the less-than-politically-correct confines of WIP's sports-talk morning show.

"I told them they were invited for one reason: 'You're here because you're pretty.' They looked at me like I was a crass idiot, but they didn't deny it," recounts WIP host Angelo Cataldi, who first saw them on commercials for a bobblehead promotion. "I don't know if they can play, and you know what? It doesn't matter. I don't care about dolls and I definitely don't care about soccer. They're just gorgeous."

Fair and Mitts took their miniature likenesses into the studio where, rather than discussing the team's run to the league's semifinals last year, conversation veered down another path.

"I'm happy nobody on the team heard that interview," Fair says. "They start talking about how nice the butts are. Then they're onto the chests, saying how we're better endowed than the dolls."

We won't know whether the banter convinced any of the station's devoted Joe Six Packs to watch women's soccer until Saturday's home opener at Villanova.

When the Philadelphia Charge needed to draw crowds last year, Lorrie Fair was their go-to woman.

The men found her long flowing hair (which goes up into her trademark ponytail for games) and comfortable smile attractive in an all-American way. To the women and children she was the girl-next-door, a role model who actually cared that they came out to the game.

But looks alone didn't get Fair, a California native, to where she is today. (Being one of the best soccer players in the nation did that.) Still, her appearance is at least a good part of the reason why a New York City-based agent recently sent off modeling shots of Fair, Mitts and other clients.

"It's a way to celebrate that you can be a female athlete and feminine at the same time," says agent Dave Bober, adding that Fair's already been out on casting calls. "Many ads don't use athletes as their talent. This way they can."

Her "feminine" side also brought ESPN cameras to her King of Prussia townhouse a couple weeks ago for an interview about what Fair calls "the whole sex and sports thing." She was a natural choice, since ranking third on ESPN's Most Eligible Athlete poll last Valentine's Day.

Fair doesn't try to feign embarrassment. Why bother when it's all already out there? In fact, she's of the mind that just about any publicity is good publicity. Without it, there's no professional women's soccer league. And without a league, these women wouldn't make money doing what they love.

"It's just the way the world is now," Fair says.

The ESPN interview has its moments. Fair is asked whether one particular player--a league star who doesn't attract publicity for her appearance--would be better served dolling herself up for the cameras.

"Believe me, I've seen pictures of her when she just looks gorgeous," Fair says. "But she just doesn't do it all the time. Maybe she should, I don't know. It's all a matter of how agents want to handle their clients."

Fair doesn't want to slam the player. She saw the damage words can cause back in high school, when a reporter accurately quoted her belittling the quality of her competition. Though she doesn't want to look "like an absolute idiot," she admits the question may have some merit.

"With golf, they were talking about having players wear skirts to get more attention," she says. "It's just a different way of marketing."

When the WUSA draft established team rosters in May 2000, Fair was the lone member of the World Cup team to come to Philadelphia.

At 19 she played a reserve role as the youngest player on that widely loved team. By 21 she was the closest thing Philadelphia had to a big-name female athlete besides Dawn Staley.

Advertising campaigns soon touted Fair as the up-and-coming star of women's soccer. And it's hard to imagine a better poster girl. Not only was she personable, attractive and driven, but she was a good role model.

She refused a hefty paycheck a year earlier to turn pro so she could return to play one last season at the University of North Carolina. She then led the team to a NCAA championship while locking up national youth-female-athlete-of-the-year honors.

Still, the prognosticators picked the Charge to finish last in the league, which made selling personalities all the more important. Not until they came within a game of the Founder's Cup championship last August could the Charge advertise on-field successes.

On a personal level, it was anything but a pleasant surprise for Fair, who missed several games--and was kept from reaching lofty expectations--by a hamstring injury. It may have hampered her on the field, but it didn't diminish her appeal.

Before the season started this year--with a 2-0 victory over Atlanta two weeks ago--I-95 billboards and television commercials touted "LORRIE FAIR AND THE CHARGE!" On the WUSA's website droves of fans logged on to chat with her, asking about her favorite foods, TV shows and M&M flavors.

Her marketing flair--Fair gets an extra page in the team's media guide--will prevail this weekend. The first 2,000 kids at the home opener will get a Lorrie Fair bobble-head doll to call their own. The problem is they might not recognize her.

"That doll," she says, "looks more like a black man than me."

If Fair's a bit less stressed this year it could be because other teammates have started getting attention--albeit for different reasons. The team's happy too, since their newfound publicity means people are starting to get to know them better.

Athletically, Kelly Smith has been called one of the league's best scorers, a reputation solidified by her jaw-dropping, game-winning goal in the team's first game this season. Then, on Saturday, she lifted the charge to a 2-0 record by winning a game with a last minute penalty shot. She may not get much attention outside the soccer world. But Charge coach Mark Krikorian thinks she soon will.

"The stars will always shine, and they'll always get the public's attention," he says, referring to Fair. "Somebody like a Kelly Smith, she's somebody that everybody will know. She's making her mark in world soccer."

Heather Mitts has made a mark as well. Fair's knockout blonde roommate finds a receiving line of men greeting her whenever the two go out on the town. She even became gossip-page fodder when the New York City paparazzi captured her fending off a kiss from actor John Cusack last summer. (The New York Post article pointed out that she was dating Phillies slugger Pat Burrell at the time).

While there's a place for Smith, WUSA officials know the Fairs and Mitts of the league are the ones who can attract new fans. And they're not above smiling over their good fortune.

"The Charge is fortunate to have players like Lorrie and Heather. They're intelligent, outgoing and articulate," the WUSA's Courtemanche says. "They understand what it takes to promote the sport, and that's important. They're the future of our sport."

While Charge spokesman Greg Wiley says most interview requests involve Fair and Mitts, Krikorian knows Fair remains the team's on- and off-field ace.

"She's our marquee player and the best teammate imaginable. What better can you say about somebody than that?" Krikorian says. "All of us in the league have to sell our sport and sell our team. Our players have to market their personalities so people can get to know them.

"We need people in the stands and people watching on television. The league wouldn't be successful if that didn't happen. As a coach, I wouldn't say it's more important than winning games, but there has to be a balance."

The WUSA needn't search far to explain why they took this kind of marketing approach to selling soccer in the United States.

Men's professional soccer leagues traditionally struggle to grab a niche. Now in its seventh year, the men's Major League Soccer outfit folded two of its 12 teams in January. Barely part of the national sports scene, MLS players are more often the stuff of sports trivia than well-known athletes.

Meanwhile, the WUSA exceeded expectations by drawing an average of 8,104 spectators a game in its debut season last summer. While their draw is below the league average, the Charge saw nearly 700 more fans per game than their preseason projections. (Fair looks forward to a time when 15,000 fans turn out for their games.)

Television ratings aren't much to brag about yet. A spokeswoman for team owner Comcast-Spectacor--they air most Charge games on CN8--wouldn't provide numbers, but would say the games "reach" four million cable subscribers. (Other games are shown nationally on the PAX Network, while the WUSA recently inked a deal to air games on a Canadian network.)

League officials concede that bolstering viewership is their biggest challenge.

It's why they've been out and about for months, shaking hands, posing for pictures, granting interview after interview and getting word out that there really is a women's soccer team in Philadelphia.

If it's a tedious task, the players don't let it show.

"Even if you have a bad game, you have to swallow your pride and sign," says Fair. "Sure, it takes a little time but it makes the kids happy, you know? And you know what, it makes you feel good too."

It's hard to imagine someone being better prepared for all this than Lorrie Fair.

She's been a soccer prodigy since age five, but she's always had something else going on. She and her twin sister Ronnie--who now plays on the league's New York team--juggled basketball, volleyball, track, piano and clarinet.

Like many parents, Fair's were hesitant to sink much money into any of those hobbies, fearful that they may be just a passing phase.

In high school Fair played soccer on both her school team and with an area club squad that often traveled throughout California. She also had daily 6 a.m. marching band practices. She played the saxophone--"because it was cool," she says--during football games while donning a team jersey for track meets.

"To this day I wonder where I found the time," says Fair, who remains the spontaneous type. (One recent day, on a whim, she hopped on her bike and rode from Valley Forge to South Street.)

By 17 Fair distinguished herself as one of the country's top youth soccer players and was invited to try out for the 1996 Olympic team. Landing a reserve role meant it was time to pack everything up and head to Florida for a six-month training camp. It also meant kissing the second half of her senior year goodbye.

"Oh yeah, I missed that one," she says of the lost time. "But the thing is, this was the Olympics. How many people get to do that, you know? I was ready to get my dream started. When something like that comes your way, you have to go."

While playing with the nation's best players she took correspondence courses in English and economics so she could graduate on time. She even managed to find time for the prom too, but only after Ronnie set up everything--including her date.

It only made sense that she'd go to Chapel Hill, home of the University of North Carolina. The UNC women's soccer program pumps out star players regularly. Eight players from the 1999 World Cup team, including Mia Hamm, had attended Carolina.

It was there that Fair says she learned to fight.

"There are all-Americans who couldn't even start for North Carolina," she says. "They basically just throw you into a pool of sharks and let you fend for yourself. You either sink or swim."

UNC Coach Anson Dorrance--the former National Team coach who now calls WUSA games on television--says Fair swam from day one.

"When we recruited her, we had no money to give her," Dorrance recalls. "Since there's so much prestige tied up in the size of scholarships, I called her to wish her luck wherever she went. I didn't think there was a chance that she'd come here. Well, she had passion to come play here and money wasn't even an issue. Her value goes beyond the game. This is a kid with a big heart."

They way Fair played not only ultimately brought scholarship money, but it convinced Dorrance she was a special player, the ultra-competitive type who rips teammates' jerseys during practice, doesn't forget losses and recalls plays down to the most minute detail years later.

"Superstars are usually divas. They don't like doing all the grunt work that helps a team win," he says. "Well, Lorrie does that dirty work. That kid's going to be a winner her whole life."

After her junior year at Carolina the national team came knocking again, this time for the 1999 World Cup. After they won the tournament that started the women's soccer ball rolling, her decision to return for a senior year at Chapel Hill raised eyebrows.

Dangling in front of her was a six-figure bonus. With the team she'd travel the country, cashing in on their newfound popularity. But having lost in the NCAA championship her junior year, she opted to go back to win that--and to not miss another senior year.

"Everybody thought I was crazy. They thought I should take the money and run," says Fair, the only World Cup member to return to school after that defining experience. "But there was just something special about being a senior at Chapel Hill. I just couldn't leave."

While it's an honor to play for the national team--especially with just a year to go before the 2003 Women's World Cup--it can sometimes become an intrusion.

On Saturday the Charge headed north for a match with the New York Power, which meant Fair would play against her twin sister. Her mother was planning to head back east from California to see the girls. Even their "crazy Uncle Bobby," who once shaved Fair's number 2 into his head along with lightning bolts, would be there.

But when you're part of a team that filled more seats at Shea Stadium than the Pope, sacrifices must be made. This time it meant blowing off the reunion for a national game against Finland in California. (They won 3-0.)

"Yeah, I was really looking forward to it," she says. "But the national team comes before everything."

Fair isn't embarrassed to admit her hard work has paid off. She's living quite the life for a 23-year-old. She may not make Donovan McNabb-style money, but being a women's sports star can be a comfortable existence.

She had a new townhouse custom-built in King of Prussia, deciding on everything down to the hardwood-floor patterns.

"Sometimes I come home and still can't believe it's all mine," she says.

In the garage, Fair's Mercedes Benz sits near the green mountain bike she pedaled around the UNC campus, along with dozens of cases of Gatorade, courtesy of her contract with the company.

In the basement, boxes hold memorabilia from her college and World Cup days. Her retired UNC jersey sits in a frame against a wall not too far from a signed picture of her World Cup teammates. She reaches into one of the boxes and pulls out her tickets from the past two Super Bowls.

"So, we're at the Super Bowl and the people are thanking us for coming," she recalls. "Thanking us for coming to the Super Bowl? Are you kidding me?"

Fair is cruising up Route 1 in her Mercedes, sporting her Charge jersey for a soccer club banquet in Middletown. When she stops to pay a toll, the guy in the booth doesn't want her to go.

"You play for the Charge?" he asks. "Who's that drop-dead gorgeous girl? You know the one I'm talking about."

"That's my roommate, Heather Mitts," she responds, having heard it all before.

"Yeah, Heather Mitts. Is she still dating Pat Burrell?" he presses.

The question sends the quick-to-laugh Fair into hysterics that return when she relays the story a couple days later. In a way, it's the best evidence she has that their plans are working.

"I guess we're finally reaching everybody," she says. "Even the toll guy knows who we are now."

Brian Hickey (bhickey@philadelpiaweekly.com) has been covering the Pennsylvania governor's race for PW.