Did you all see that shocking decision on Saturday night? No, I don’t mean LA coach Sigi Schmid’s choice of Chris Albright as a midfield starter. And I’m not referring to the DC bench leaving Marco Etcheverry on the pitch for 84 minutes. I’m talking about a fashion decision - Ray Hudson’s choice of cream-colored slacks as his preferred trouser while directing DC United from the touchline.

The entire Barra Brava could have worn techni-colored dreamcoats and it wouldn’t have diverted the gaze from Ray’s natty vanilla breeks. Initially it seemed to be a ruse to distract Kevin Hartman from long-range shots, much like a rogue spectator holding a mirror to the floodlights to dazzle the LA keeper’s eyes. When United went 2-0 up from distant strikes it seemed to be working fine.

Perhaps the coach was heading straight off from RFK to a 70s revival disco in downtown DC, and was worried he wouldn’t have time to change after the match. Or maybe some wealthy old maiden aunt was over visiting from England and he was trying to make a good impression. "Look at wor Ray on the touchline, he’s reet smart these days," she was proudly telling the VIP box where the coach had set her up with a comfy chair and a stiff G and T, busily re-writing her last will and testament.

All wrong. Ray, it turned out, didn’t choose those trousers. He was wearing them because MLS told him to.

"That is an MLS mandate," Hudson told a posse of shocked fashion reporters after the game. "The commissioner has told me that I have to improve my appearance on the sideline, because they don’t like coaches in boots and tracksuits."

Ha ha ha. I love satire.

"I’ve had these pants since 1979," he continued, briefly dangling one of the offending legs from behind the pressroom dais. "They were flares, but I’ve had them taken in especially, [because MLS] wants to improve the image of the coaches."

Hang on a second. It’s not satire. This is really true. Don Garber and his deputies are the new style Sandinistas! Where will it all end?

Rumor has it that they’ve also ordered Bob Bradley to wear a wig or he will be forced to undergo a close-season hair transplant. Steve Nicol has been told to start a crash diet immediately in order to lose that burgeoning double chin, and wear a kilt too. Sigi Schmid must breath in, indefinitely. And an industrial-sized package of hair colorant is on its way from New York to Denver, Colorado, so Tim Hankinson can change his silvery-grey look to a more youthful, buoyant and investor-friendly shade of auburn.

No doubt MLS will soon publish the results of its coaching makeovers in the form of rocketing revenues. You can picture the scene on Saturday evening in Millionaire Mansions across America:

"Honey, come on now, the guests are all waiting for you in the ballroom."

"Not yet, sweetie, I’m watching the soccer. Holy Cow, look at Ray Hudson’s beautiful slacks! Get Don Garber on the phone, I’m going to pump 50 million bucks into MLS right this minute."

Common rooms full of college football jocks who accidentally switched channels to Fox Sports World saw Hudson and his fellow dandies strutting the grass-covered catwalk (previously known as the touchline), and they wanted some of that new cult soccer clobber too. "No more gridiron for us," they just had the time to shout as they knocked over buckets of Bud and swarmed towards their nearest MLS stadium in their Dads’ old trousers.

Meanwhile, in corporate boardrooms on Monday morning, potential sponsors were collapsing the switchboards at MLS headquarters, fighting to have their big brand names emblazoned on that conspicuous cream background. All of them are convinced that MLS’ new anti-tracksuit trend will sweep the sporting nation, and that when Hudson starts to market his own brand pants there will be a whole new meaning to Saturday Night Fever.

And come on MLS, why stop at the coaches? What about those sweaty players, covered in muck, their socks half way down their shins? What sort of an image is that conveying to potential fans and investors? Surely it’s time to send them out in tuxedos and zoot suits, with different colored ties denoting team affiliation. Tell them to stop running, it’s unsightly. And while we’re at it, get those flag-waving, beer-drinking fans to comb their hair and sit still with their shoulders straight.

Poor old Ray. "They’re not gonna let me wear my tracksuit, which I don’t like," he lamented. "I like being a tracksuit coach, I just do. I hate this. I’ve got a belt on, you know."

Still, along with the rest of us, once he’s unbuckled at night and laid his head down on the pillow, he can sleep safely in the knowledge that the future of soccer in the US is in the safe hands of the marketing geniuses at MLS. Never mind stagnant attendances, gridiron groundshares, egregiously inconsistent refereeing, constant national team fixture clashes with league games, and the ongoing financial losses and lack of investment. The main thing is, our coaches don’t look like coaches any more.

Cut the man some slack. Give him back his bloody tracksuit.