World Cup

There’s nothing better than sitting in a crowded room, white knuckled to the edge of a couch or chair, eyes glued to a television screen watching your country play for pride and a chance to secure there spot in the round-of-sixteen. It’s almost like you can see the air in the room hovering mere inches from each person’s head as the ball gets knocked around just beyond the eighteen yard line. Tempers are already boiling because of a middle school-esque clear in the fifth minute leading to a Nani goal as well as the almost heartbreaking goal late in the first half—but since we have a keeper that has superpowers, we ended the half only one goal down.

But, as the air thickens because no one has inhaled in four minutes; the sound, feeling and atmosphere changes completely when that miraculous right footed bending shot by Jones from twenty-five yards out hits the side netting. Now those are moments to live for. With momentum and crazed American fans shouting from the stands, we manage to squeak another goal in by non-other than our crooked nosed, fifth-fasted goal scoring, don’t know where they got his face for the Fifa-Futbal game, American soccer hero, Clint Dempsey.

I spent most of the game talking with those around me and texting a friend—who I might add knows more about US soccer than anyone else I know—about changes we thought would were necessary going into the second half. And being a coach myself, it’s hard not to think you know the smart move, but the one person we all agreed on, was what led to a room filled with downcast faces. Please understand this is simply my opinion on a page, there’s more to life than winning the World Cup and he’s not the only one who made mistakes; but there’s a time for playing a ball off to a teammate and there’s a time for kicking it as hard as you can away from your goal when there’s forty-five seconds left on the clock and you’re up by one.

Now I have to admit, I’m a Chelsea fan at heart so I already have a loathing for anything Real Madrid or Christiano Rinaldo, so seeing him with his perfectly swooping hair and lightning bolt lines in the side of his head; I had no pity about him being unsuccessful during most of the game. But I’m one to give respect where respect is deserved. That cross and header with time literally dripping from the clock, was absolute perfection.  I guess it’s similar to Messi scoring against Iran in stoppage, or the young Belgian team “deciding” not to score until late in the second half. There are superstars that have that sixth gear and when it’s turned on there is nothing that can stop them.

That is one reason why I and most people around the world love the game of Fùtbol. Although some games lead to devastating heartbreak and a sick feeling being tossed around in our stomachs, the excitement of the game is enough for us to keep coming back for more.

This, my friends, is the World Cup of late goals.