Friday, June 24, 2010:
Where do I begin. Or better, how do I begin to explain what it was like to be in the stadium yesterday to witness the USA’s 1-0 win over Algeria.
It was a calm morning for our bunch: some went to the nearby mall; others hung around the lodge, patiently waiting for the 4 pm kickoff. It was a much-needed day of no plans, no driving or trying to decide on what to do.
It was game day, and the game was being played in our temporary hometown. And a win would secure the US a berth in the Round of 16.
Three hours before kickoff, I was already antsy. Our group, at times, has a tendency to move slow – or, slower than I wanted on this day. I wanted to get out to Hatfield Square to see how fans were arriving; check out the atmosphere hours before kickoff.
My buddy Steve is also in town, and staying only a few blocks from us – and, he too wanted to get going. So the two of us met up and took off while the rest of the crew applied the face paint and otherwise prepped.
I had to take cash out, and also had two tickets I had been asked to try to sell for a colleague back in Denver. We walk on the street that borders Hatfield Square – it’s been closed off to traffic. The pedestrians – all Algerians!
I don’t know how it was coordinated, but the hundreds of Algerian walking the street were dressed almost exactly the same: in a white jersey and green sweatpants. They waved flags as they walked around chanting in their language. We caught the words Washington and Algerie – that’s it.
The night before, we’re told, the Square was full of Algerians – and seeing how many were walking around outside, we decided to walk towards the stadium in search of what for sure had to be a large group of Americans, somewhere.
We first stop at the Stone Lion bar and see our first Americans, quietly eating at a couple of tables. This was definitely not the scene I had anticipated, and it was bit concerning given that it was only two hours from kickoff.
On our walk to the stadium, which is in a neighborhood of houses, we begin to see more Americans flags. We go to our customary corner where we’d previously scalped tickets for other matches, but there were no visible fans looking for tickets. We notice the raised level of police presence – and watch how closely cops are looking for scalpers. Yea, that did not make me comfortable, either.
Walking a little further, we find a shopping plaza with a restaurant that hosts about 200-300 decked-out American fans. Finally! We stop in and grab a couple of beers, and since they allow it, we walk back to the stadium with beers in hand.
Too scared of the cops, and no one clearly looking for tickets, I decide to eat them. We catch up with the rest of the group – they had all been at Hatfield for the past hour, and tell us it was a lame environment. We walk in 30 minutes from kickoff, wondering how this crowd will look.
Coming out of the tunnel into the stands, we’re realize we’re in a sea of red, white, and blue. There are so many Americans, all already loud and ready. It got the juices flowing.
Once again, we only have three tickets in this section, but once again we take over a row. It was a little different this time, because the other seat holders also showed up, and the section was crowded. We made it work, with three of us standing in front and the others squeezed in, not uncomfortably.
The U.S. National Anthem comes on, and from above a large US flag begins to be unrolled down from row to row. We’re now under this 30’ by 50’ foot flag, singing the anthem louder than can be imagined - joined by the other thousands of neighboring American fans. Goosebumps.
The chanting starts before kickoff.
“USA, USA, USA…USA, USA, USAAAAA…USA, USA, USA, U.S. Aaaa, U.S. Aaaaa.”
We breathe a sigh of relief when Algeria hits the crossbar in the first minutes.
“Oh when the Yanks, go marching in. Oh when the Yanks, go marching in.”
We grab our faces and hold our heads when they call back Dempsey’s goal.
“Fuck you, FIFA.” Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.
Jimmy pulls up the England score on his phone – they are winning, and we need them to tie.
We briefly sit down in amazement when Dempsey’s shot hits the post, and his rebound is wide.
“Stand up, for the USA. Stand Up, for the USA. Stand up, for the USA, stand up, for the USA!!”
We’ve had so many chances, but it’s not going in.
We look at each other, that look that says we’re all thinking the same thing: it could be one of those days where the ball just won’t go in.
We don’t stop, and neither does anyone in the entire section. We yell louder, making sure everyone can hear us. Our group has loud voices: what we start is quickly picked up and spreads through the section. The vuvuzelas have nothing on us today!
“USA ain't notin to fuck with” (Wu-tang clan).
Beasley enters with 10 minutes to go, we look at each and wonder why? Then we welcome him “Here we go Beasley, here we go!”
We’re in stoppage time, but the energy the players are showing makes us stay strong and loud. We sense it.
Tim Howard catches a soft shot, and we see Landon take off down the right. Howard see him, too, and hits him in stride with a long pass, like a quarterback to wide receiver. Landon’s first touch advances the ball. Jozy Altidore and Clint Dempsey are right next to him. It’s a counter attack that has so much promise.
The chanting stops, it’s now quiet.
Landon passes right to Jozy, who enters the box. We couldn’t stand and taller, but try to by getting on our toes.
Our heads move slowly as the players run by down below. Our eyes see Dempsey running in the middle. Jozy sends cross – which I think is a shot. Dempsey, the keeper, and a defender collide. Everything is in slow motion.
The ball is sitting 10 feet away from the 'keeper, who is on the ground. From the stands, we all think we can reach it to knock it in. Landon is there, and neatly touches it in the back of the net.
Hysteria in the stands. We have no idea how the player celebrated. A brief look at the linesman and ref, and it looked like the goal stood. Did we really just see this?
Our group ends up rows apart – jumping up and down the entire section. Someone grabbed me from behind and gave me a massive bear hug. I have no idea who he was. I actually see an American guy our age crying - he couldn’t even scream. The little kids in front of us hugging each other. It's just a reaction - you do whatever to celebrate. You lose your head in emotion and joy!
We miss the final three minutes, just going crazy. Waving whatever we have. Trying to be louder than the guy next to us. Some just can’t. They can only hold their heads. Yes, you just witnessed that, I try to tell them.
For the next 45 minutes, you would think the USA won the World Cup – it was so awesome to look around and see the madness, and we’re part of it. We watch the players on the field looking up at the big to see the replay. They come over to the sidelines and give their routine waves and appreciation. I wondered how cool the stands had to look to the players.
Three quarters of the stadium had emptied, but the U.S. fans remained in the stands. As it began to whittle, some 30 minutes after the end of the game, we walk out. All the fans had stopped in the concourse – thousands, it looked like.
I felt like I was at an Argentina game. Our group, many who have been to many World Cups, looked on from the side, smiling. To see so many American fans – and celebrating like the biggest soccer countries in the world – it was something to step back from and realize how far soccer in the U.S. has come. It was, just amazing.
