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’s 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 “kids who had a passion for the game and wanted to play at a higher level,” especially those who can’t afford club fees.
“From an equity perspective, it’s pretty hard to beat,” says Camille Lesseig, a grant officer in local government. “Youth soccer is incredibly expensive.”
Why We Wrote This
Amir Lowery, co-founder of the nonprofit Open Goal Project, believes that the pay-to-play soccer club model shuts out all but the most-resourced families. But remove the monetary obstacle, and the soccer talent in the United States could brim over.
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.
“Incredibly valuable”
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. “I had people around me who really wanted to see me succeed,” he says. “Parents who sacrificed time and money and energy.”
His dream was to go pro. Even his older brother, Jelani, considered it an impossible dream. “It’s never going to happen,” his brother recalls thinking.
But Mr. Lowery won a full soccer scholarship to Wake Forest University and captained the men’s 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’s nonvoting seat in Congress.
Open Goal Project’s annual budget is roughly $700,000. It’s in the final year of a three-year, $684,000 grant from the Washington mayor’s out-of-school-time programs office. Ms. Lesseig says the demographic that the nonprofit serves would not otherwise have access to high-level soccer. “I’d say that’s incredibly valuable,” she notes.
But Mr. Lowery has another goal: to lay the foundation for a top-rated men’s 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’s 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’s 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’s team is among the world’s 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. “We’re not even scratching the surface with engaging the talent in the diverse communities that are in the U.S.,” 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’s club. Mr. Batres, a house repairman who migrated to the U.S. from El Salvador, couldn’t be happier.
Mr. Lowery “is good with the boys and the families,” Mr. Batres says. “We’re lucky. It’s so expensive” to join a soccer club.
Then it’s time for another drill. Kids practice turning with the ball and calling out teammates for passes. As the pace picks up, balls go astray. “Vamos, vamos,” Mr. Lowery calls from the touchline. “It’s not about the mistake. It’s about how quickly you can fix it.”
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. “Nobody looked like me,” 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’s due to graduate this fall.
Seeing Mr. Lowery on the field is a reminder, Ms. Ogu says, of how important role models are. “He’s a father figure to these kids,” she notes, adding “this is an environment where they feel welcome.”
Her experience showed Mr. Lowery that his program had to forge its own path. “We saw how necessary it was to have our own club with our own value system,” he says. This fall, it has eight teams, along with an in-house league for the youngest players.
When it’s 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. “You guys are doing a great job,” he tells them. “Let’s break it down.”
The chant goes up: “1, 2, 3, 4! D-C-F-C!”
