“Sol Roll, Sol Roll, Sol Roll!" Abe Abebaw shouts at a blur of elementary-age kids as soccer balls fly around the small, concrete futsal courts, known as mini-pitches, behind St. Paul’s Johnson Senior High School.
“Coming over the ball, over the ball. A little more here. Last one, Sol Roll.”
A whistle blows and the scattered kids stop and look to their coaches. The next drills are explained—the Sol Hop and the Sol Delay. Outside the fence enclosing the courts, a line of kids sit on the curb planting succulents from Neighborhood Forest, a local tree-planting initiative. An hour later, it’s their turn to practice their Sol Roll, Hop, and Delay.
In the wake of yet another disappointing World Cup run, Americans are questioning what’s preventing the country from making it to the podium. The U.S. has nearly 350 million people and limitless resources, including the world’s highest GDP.
But who has access to those resources?
Here in the Twin Cities, Sol of the Cities Futsal League enters its sixth year as a serve-to-play program giving young Minnesotans an alternative to the traditional pay-to-play approach. Down in Worthington, an intramural soccer league, La Liga de Sueños, allows kids to enjoy soccer with friends at minimal costs.
Both operations aim to get more kids playing soccer. They might just power the U.S. national teams to World Cup victories one day. At the very least, more kids get to have fun with the beautiful game.
Abe Abebaw is a Sol of the Cities coach and a University of Minnesota student studying sports management. He works with kids at Life Time and reposts Star Wars and Messi fan edits on TikTok.
“Looking at every other country in the world, and looking at us—why can't we produce the same amount of high elite players to play with the national team as the other countries?” Abebaw asks.
Clinton Warren, a sports marketing professor, former collegiate soccer player, and occasional youth coach, says the reality is many potential players in the U.S. lack access to the game.
“There’s so much more talent in so many different pockets of the U.S.,” he says. “They’re not noticed, they’re not recognized, they’re not part of the model.”
The model, Warren describes, is one where families have to pay.
The Aspen Institute's 2025 State of Play Report found American parents spend an average of $910 per year on soccer. That’s the equivalent of an iPhone or almost nine years of Netflix. According to a 2025 Afterpay study, U.K. parents pay an average of about $387 per year. In fellow World Cup quarterfinalist countries—Spain, Norway, and Argentina—youth soccer is heavily subsidized by the country or professional clubs.
At Sol, athletes pay for one hour of play with one hour of community service.
Abebaw coaches alongside Kamran Wimberly, a Minnesota United FC academy graduate and incoming Division I soccer player at Howard University.
Both agree the soccer system in the U.S. needs improvements.
“The soccer community here is pretty horrible in a general aspect because a lot of it is about entitlement and who has money,” says Kamran, whose parents, Sparkle and Mario Wimberly, founded Sol six years ago in the Twin Cities. “They always have seen themselves in these kids and their situation. They just want to bring opportunity to them because they’re able to do so.”
Mario grew up in south Minneapolis, and his mom had to “break her neck,” Kamran says, working as an administrative assistant and taking a retail job on the side to pay for his soccer club fees.
Jeannette Aguilar, Worthington High School’s immigrant liaison, started a soccer club in 2025 called La Liga de Sueños—the League of Dreams—as a space for the school’s Latino population to have something of their own. “I like to be that person that connects them to things that they need and things that are fun,” she says.
When the school day ended on the first day of the spring tournament, Aguilar bought pizza for players and gave rides to those who needed it. That night, she worked the concession stand, selling Gatorade for $2 while still settling player disputes.
“Every year, seeing them grow up and still be excited about soccer is great,” Aguilar says. “I just enjoy my time with them.”
School-sanctioned and club teams require time and commitment from more than just the player. Jessica Thepmontry is a mother of two students who competed in La Liga de Sueños’ tournament.
She says that when her son, Kain, played in a Minnesota Youth Soccer Association (MYSA) league, many parents weren’t able to drive their kids to away games. Parents had work shifts during games or didn’t have a driver’s license. “There were a few times we went together to rent a van and just haul the kids to and from games,” she says.
The United States Soccer Federation (aka U.S. Soccer) oversees everything from the Twin Cities Soccer League and MYSA to the U.S. men’s national team and Major League Soccer. And its pay-to-play model has become "the lightning-rod issue" of the soccer world, The Athletic reports. “It’s primarily a system set up to use kids to make money for adults,” Tom Farrey of the Aspen Institute’s Sports & Society program tells The Athletic.
While international models are typically centralized, the U.S. system is fragmented; U.S. Soccer sanctions and recognizes the operational existence of national association members, but leaves the day-to-day administration to the organizations. However, U.S. Soccer announced last month that U.S. Youth Soccer, a main youth soccer organization, would transition from a national association member to full integration into U.S. Soccer. This change will make youth soccer more accessible and easier to navigate for families, U.S. Soccer claims.
The direct pipeline to MLS starts for Minnesota kids at age 8, when they can participate in MNUFC’s pre-academy program alongside competing in their club teams. MN United fully funds the academy program, which starts at the U15 level and takes the place of athletes' club teams, but players need years of training to have a shot at qualifying.
Participation costs differ from club to club. The Bemidji Youth Soccer Association charges $450 for a year-long U13 summer league. Salvo SC’s academy program in Eagan charges $314 per month. Programs often include other expenses, such as club membership, additional tournament fees, and required uniforms.
Most programs offer some form of financial assistance, but parents say it rarely covers the complete cost. The max scholarship granted by Fusion SC for the Tonka Fusion Elite team is $750. The program can cost up to $4,500.
To even be eligible to pay the fee, athletes typically have to make the team first. While school teams offer a more cost-friendly option, they often go hand in hand with club teams. If the clubs don’t know you, it’s hard to make a school roster, too.
Carlos Chapa didn’t make the team at his school, St. Paul’s Academia In Lak'ech, when he tried out. Instead, he got his start in soccer by playing in Sol’s after-school and summer programs. He has now been in the program for three years.
“With this, everyone is welcome,” Carlos’s mom, Rosalinda Chapa, says. “That’s where he was able to get his skills and start growing into this sport, instead of feeling left out.”
Kayden Wimberly, an incoming high school junior and soccer player, is Mario and Sparkle Wimberly’s daughter. “You can’t play varsity on my school soccer team unless you play for a club, and things like that keep people out,” Kayden says.
While Clinton Warren would love to see the U.S. win every World Cup, soccer is about more than success to him.
“There’s something so cool to me about the ability to turn up to a grass field with a soccer ball, not be able to speak the same language, but everybody knows what to do,” the sports marketing professor says. “I love what the game is in its purest form. So, to me, let’s let everybody play.”
Leyre Campos, who played in La Liga de Sueños, emphasizes the community the league built.
“In the high school games, there's a lot of drama. It gets really competitive towards the end, because everyone's trying to fight for a varsity spot,” she says. “Here, it's like we're not really fighting for anything. We're just fighting together as a team.”
Maybe putting more pressure on kids to become the next U.S. soccer phenom isn’t the answer. Maybe it’s simply letting kids—all kids—discover the beauty and art of soccer on their own.
As the middle schoolers prepare to start their soccer drills, Mario pokes fun at America’s tidy take on soccer.
“In America, soccer is too organized,” Mario says to them. “In every other country, they just go out and play. That's what we're doing here.”
Additional reporting by Leslie Jimenez, Ana Padro, and Morgan Heilman.
