Widespread blackouts sabotaged large segments of Erie, Pennsylvania’s power grid yesterday evening, most likely due to the sporadic heat wave that struck the city after weeks of comfortable weather in the high 60’s and low 70’s. It was a growing concern for myself because of all days to lose power at home in my west side neighborhood, it was the day of the most anticipated American soccer fixture on the 2013 calendar – United States vs. Mexico at home. However, with a little impromptu planning and crossed fingers, I rallied some patriots to the local pub scene downtown, praying for electricity and game access.
The city’s epicenter seemed to be dealing with the energy shortage much more efficiently but even at the heart of it all, traffic lights displayed blank expressions while some local business and restaurants appeared unlit; the only light source keeping them visible was the fading dusk sky over the bay. After a trial and error experiment at the first bar, I was pleasantly uplifted upon walking into Erie’s Taphouse. Dimly lit even its brightest hours, the ambience was inviting. Nearly all the televisions were tuned to ESPN for the match, and the moderately crowded bar was populated by those seeking refuge from the shadowy abyss, businessmen who had extended their happy hour, and a couple soccer fans scattered throughout.
The lineups flashed across the screen as I shuffled my way to the front of the bar counter to order a Great Lake’s Commodore Perry Ale. It seemed as American as could be; Perry and his famous blue “Don’t Give Up The Ship” flag sailed Lake Erie during the War of 1812 and recorded a famous victory aboard the Big Niagara, which makes berth in Erie’s Presque Isle Bay. Meanwhile, coach Jürgen Klinsmann had carefully made adjustments to the United States’ starting XI. With no Michael Bradley due to an ankle injury, and the absence of Altidore, Cameron, and Besler through yellow card suspension, the central core of the United States lineup was depleted. Clarence Goodson, who received an emergency call up after the lamentable Costa Rica game, was plugged in at center back to start. It’s curious how one can go from without a call up to the starting XI against our strongest rival in the span of a couple days.
Kyle Beckerman slipped into the holding midfield role that Stoke City’s Geoff Cameron temporarily filled out of necessity last Friday, while Alejandro Bedoya of Ligue 1 side Nantes made his first ever World Cup Qualifier start for the red, white, and blue. All said and submitted, the team sheet wasn’t the most intimidating the U.S. have ever handed in, especially after the bloop performance in San José fresh in everyone’s minds. Nonetheless, optimism was key in a pessimistic first half to come.
I sipped my beer slowly, anticipating the arrival of three friends who all filtered in minutes after kickoff. One of which arrived carrying a flag-poll appropriate American flag for the occasion. Following a bit of musical chairs, we finally decided on a half-booth tucked neatly away in a corner. As we took our seats the television screen panned across the faces of all the usual suspects in green, Salcido, Chicharito, dos Santos, Guardado, etc. Having been freshly instated after Mexico’s worrying home loss to Honduras on Friday, the camera was sliding down the smug expressions of Luis Fernando Tena’s first starting XI as national team manager. Not to say it was a quick fix but de la Torre’s chapter of El Tri was pathetic to put it nicely and with last summer’s Olympic gold medal to boast, few could argue that Tena would be a poor quick replacement. All considered, Mexico had their own issues to deal with.
This first half unfolded unfavorably for the hosts who seemed to be lacking any concrete presence in the midfield. The Mexicans casually dictated most of the play, leaving the U.S to fight for set plays or spring forward on the odd counter. The very pro-stars and stripes crowd could be nothing but rattled by what they saw in the first half. That being said, whatever Mexico unleashed, Tim Howard was equal to, producing some valuable saves in the opening 45 minutes.
“It looks like we’re playing away,” remarked one of my mates from across the table. The observation couldn’t be more spot-on. You could have picked up the pitch and put it in Mexico and not know the difference if you were looking at the play alone. Of course, as usual the atmosphere could be felt all the way from Columbus through the flat screen hanging across the room. The American Outlaws really outdid themselves again with the crowd display tifo on show and their fervent support from behind the goal was reported at nearly 9,000 strong. Yet, the United States couldn’t quite find a way to utilize that energy. Eddie Johnson came the closest on 32 minutes when he climbed highest to thump a header at goal from a corner situation, but other than a few shots that had the sting taken out them via deflection, Klinsmann’s men were lacking bite to their performance.
With the whistle sounding for halftime, you could easily observe who was there to look the match as they turned to their drinks with a lack of appeasement. On my bathroom break tour of the pub, it appeared that even those who were just around for a casual lager had taken interest in the game, not letting their eyes stray too far away from the green glow of the television as they carried on conversing. I’ve typically observed that Americans revel in a great deal of pride to see their colors put up against another country’s, no matter the contest. And with the 12th anniversary of September 11 only a sunrise away, nearly all in attendance had a reason to be patriotic.
The American players reemerged from the tunnel after halftime with a sense of revival. I don’t know what Klinsmann said in the locker room but it must have done the trick. The German had replaced Fabian Johnson with Michael Parkhurst at the break but the mood about the match had changed when the 24,000 plus at Columbus Crew stadium heard the ring of the whistle to commence the second act.
Suddenly, El Tri was seeing a lot less of that round thing being pinged around on the grass and the United States grew in confidence as they did in possession. A mere three minutes in, a corner was won in favor of the hosts, Donovan trotting over to take the out-swinger.
“Don’t give up the ship!” I sprung up a finger outstretched at the television. Amongst a fluttering American flags in the section behind the corner flag was a mighty blue flag waving to it’s own rhythm, white letters as bold as the as they are the top of U.S. Brig Niagara back in shadowy Erie, PA, where a bar full of people looked on to look the impending set play. It was our city’s most recognizable symbol! I took a gulp of my Commodore Perry Ale with a strangely more confident attitude and sunk back into my seat. Landon Donovan hung a mouthwatering ball up in the air for Johnson to get second crack at a header that was saved in the first half. This time, the Seattle Sounders’ forward made no mistake. Corona, Mexico’s man tending the goal, came out to clear but got no where near it, allowing the high flying USA man to drill a header down and across the line. 1-0.
Our booth and the table nearest us collaborated for the most noise but a modest sprinkle of applause could be heard elsewhere in the bar. To give up such a goal deflated Mexico’s ambitions and set the tone for the remainder of their evening. After having started so brightly, they were now trailing a goal to their greatest adversary under the suffocating pressure of their own fading World Cup qualification ambitions and the deafening of cheers of “U-S-A” reverberating throughout the ground in central Ohio.
The goal-scoring hero, Johnson made way for Mikkel Diskerud in the 76th minute, his triumphant header still the difference. Still a relatively fresh figure in the United States’ fold, Diskerud was impressive during the CONCACAF Gold Cup tournament that made up a large chunk of the stars and stripes’ recent 12-match winning streak which was snapped in Costa Rica. But the Norwegian-born Diskerud has met nothing but approval from most United States fans. In fact, prior to the match in Columbus, FOX Soccer’s Facebook paged posed a poll to users as to who should replace Michael Bradley against El Tri and the majority of users selected the Rosenborg midfielder. “Mix,” as he is commonly referred to, didn’t take his sweet time impacting the match.
Two minutes after his entry, Diskerud collected a short pass at the edge of the area by cleverly clipping the ball around two defenders before slotting it across the six. Dempsey’s outstretched effort couldn’t quite get a stud to turn it in, but Donovan’s late far post run was timed to perfection to paddle the ball routinely into the goal. The provider of the first had turned assassin in the second, killing off Mexico’s realistic chance to get back into the match and with little to be proud of in the second half, Mexico was all but finished.
The Taphouse erupted once more with Donovan’s strike, surely sealing the fate of the match. The only question at that point was whether or not Honduras could do us a favor by beating or drawing Panama at home. If that were the case, the United States would have successfully booked their place for Brazil 2014. However, having started an hour later than the ESPN-broadcasted USA v Mexico, we’d have to await that result until later in the night.
Downing the last bit of beer in my bar glass, the four of us eagerly prepared for the final whistle to record the historic result - but there was one more twist at Crew Stadium before the game could conclude. Late in stoppage time, Dempsey drew himself a penalty after dancing by a pair of green shirts on the byline before being chopped down just inside the area. But when “Deuce” got to the spot, he flashed his spot kick wide right. In the end, it mattered little but ultimately could have condemned Mexico in their fight to qualify with another strike on their goal differential column. Nevertheless, job done for Klinsmann and his troops. Perhaps the penalty was never meant to bulge the net. The 2-0 score line ran in uniform with every other final result against the neighbors to the south in Columbus, OH dating back to 2001: 2-0 United States. “Dos a cero,” was the provocatively-themed quote going into the match and it couldn’t it really couldn’t have fallen into place any more fitting.
The streets were still eerie when I emerged from the pub’s threshold out into the night, no lights. Darker than it was when I entered, the sky was clear and without the exuberance of urban light pollution, the stars were more visible. The ride home was haunting, peering down the city corridors like black chasms in underground caves. When I finally arrived home, I parked out on the curb and spent the next 45 minutes out on the breeze of my front porch, consumed by the opaque shadows, like some sort of Batman. The only light was that of my phone, waning in battery life but powerful enough to confirm Honduras had earned a draw against Panama.
A Cheshire cat smile flashed across my face. We’d done it, qualified for the World Cup. I dragged open the front door and disappeared into my rayless house for bed, all the while hoping Americans could wake up the next morning with a reason to celebrate while they never forget those lost 12 years ago. Rest in peace.
