海角大神

After retiring from U.S. professional soccer in 2013, Amir Lowery moved back home to the Washington, D.C., area and began coaching at a youth club. He knew that the city鈥檚 immigrant communities include many soccer enthusiasts, but girls and boys from such communities were nowhere to be seen on the club circuit.

Two years later, Mr. Lowery co-founded the nonprofit Open Goal Project. He says he aimed to help 鈥渒ids who had a passion for the game and wanted to play at a higher level,鈥� especially those who can鈥檛 afford club fees.

鈥淔rom an equity perspective, it鈥檚 pretty hard to beat,鈥� says Camille Lesseig, a grant officer in local government. 鈥淵outh soccer is incredibly expensive.鈥�

This year, Open Goal Project is serving about 500 children who play on eight no-fee club teams, in a minileague, and at summer camps. Its 30 part-time coaches are mostly drawn from the same communities as the players. In addition to soccer skills, kids learn about nutrition and financial literacy and get help with college and test preparation.

鈥淚ncredibly valuable鈥�

Like many Open Goal Project players, Mr. Lowery lived to play soccer while growing up. He was 4 years old when he joined his first soccer program. He and his older brother went on to play for youth clubs in Washington, where their parents worked in the city and federal governments.

On weekends, their parents drove them to games, including out-of-town matches and tournaments. Mr. Lowery had a support network that undergirded his passion. 鈥淚 had people around me who really wanted to see me succeed,鈥� he says. 鈥淧arents who sacrificed time and money and energy.鈥�

Riley Robinson/Staff

Former professional soccer player Amir Lowery co-founded the Open Goal Project in Washington, D.C.

His dream was to go pro. Even his older brother, Jelani, considered it an impossible dream. 鈥淚t鈥檚 never going to happen,鈥� his brother recalls thinking.

But Mr. Lowery won a full soccer scholarship to Wake Forest University and captained the men鈥檚 team for two seasons. Upon graduating in 2005, he was drafted by the Colorado Rapids, then one of 12 teams in Major League Soccer. He played for two other MLS teams, then for minor league teams in North Carolina and Montreal, before retiring. He alighted on photography as a second career and, in 2020, unsuccessfully ran as an independent for Washington鈥檚 nonvoting seat in Congress.

Open Goal Project鈥檚 annual budget is roughly $700,000. It鈥檚 in the final year of a three-year, $684,000 grant from the Washington mayor鈥檚 out-of-school-time programs office. Ms. Lesseig says the demographic that the nonprofit serves would not otherwise have access to high-level聽soccer. 鈥淚鈥檇 say that鈥檚 incredibly valuable,鈥� she notes.

But Mr. Lowery has another goal: to lay the foundation for a top-rated men鈥檚 team, one that looks more like the country it represents.

Next year the United States, along with Canada and Mexico, will co-host the FIFA World Cup, the world鈥檚 most-watched sporting event. As a host, the U.S. will be among the 48 teams in the tournament. But it ranks far behind top nations in Europe and Latin America, and has yet to produce a world-class men鈥檚 team.

The popularity of other sports is one factor. Another is a perception that soccer is primarily for kids and women; the U.S. women鈥檚 team is among the world鈥檚 best. Promising young athletes gravitate to sports that offer career paths and, for the select few, rich remuneration.

But Mr. Lowery argues the biggest obstacle for soccer is the pay-to-play club model, which shuts out all but the most-resourced families. A 2024 survey by the Aspen Institute found that the average sports family spent $910 a year on youth soccer, up 69% since 2019. In Washington and other cities, elite soccer costs at least double that. Travel is the biggest expense, along with uniforms, equipment, and tournament fees.

Remove this obstacle, says Mr. Lowery, and the pool of world-class players will brim over. 鈥淲e鈥檙e not even scratching the surface with engaging the talent in the diverse communities that are in the U.S.,鈥� he notes.

A welcoming environment

On a sunny October afternoon, Mr. Lowery leads a practice on a city-owned field, where dozens of kids in colored pinnies dash between cones to receive and pass balls. Parents sit in bleachers and camp chairs, watching the action.

During a water break, Jose Batres strolls onto the field. His son Kevin plays on a team for DCFC, Open Goal Project鈥檚 club. Mr. Batres, a house repairman who migrated to the U.S. from El Salvador, couldn鈥檛 be happier.

Mr. Lowery 鈥渋s good with the boys and the families,鈥� Mr. Batres says. 鈥淲e鈥檙e lucky. It鈥檚 so expensive鈥� to join a soccer club.

Riley Robinson/Staff

Precious Ogu, one of the nonprofit鈥檚 coaches, works with a young soccer player at Edgewood Recreation Center in Washington, D.C.

Then it鈥檚 time for another drill. Kids practice turning with the ball and calling out teammates for passes. As the pace picks up, balls go astray. 鈥�Vamos, vamos,鈥� Mr. Lowery calls from the touchline. 鈥淚t鈥檚 not about the mistake. It鈥檚 about how quickly you can fix it.鈥�

Precious Ogu is one of the coaches. She began playing soccer in the third grade and was among the early beneficiaries of Open Goal Project, which placed her and another girl on a club team in McLean, a wealthy Washington suburb. But as a Black girl from the city, Ms. Ogu found it hard to fit in. 鈥淣obody looked like me,鈥� she says.

She excelled on the field, but suffered from injuries and a nagging sense of not belonging. When she won a soccer scholarship at Howard University, she turned it down, opting instead to attend the University of Maryland and forgo collegiate sports. She鈥檚 due to graduate this fall.

Seeing Mr. Lowery on the field is a reminder, Ms. Ogu says, of how important role models are. 鈥淗e鈥檚 a father figure to these kids,鈥� she notes, adding 鈥渢his is an environment where they feel welcome.鈥�

Her experience showed Mr. Lowery that his program had to forge its own path. 鈥淲e saw how necessary it was to have our own club with our own value system,鈥� he says. This fall, it has eight teams, along with an in-house league for the youngest players.

When it鈥檚 time for a final scrimmage, five versus five, Mr. Lowery prowls the touchline, calling out players, while parents drift over to chat. A food truck pumping out rap music pulls up at the curb. The sun sinks behind a hill.

The game ends, and Mr. Lowery calls the kids over. 鈥淵ou guys are doing a great job,鈥� he tells them. 鈥淟et鈥檚 break it down.鈥�

The chant goes up: 鈥�1, 2, 3, 4! D-C-F-C!鈥�