There are many things that people don’t understand about New Yorkers, but the one that decodes much of their behaviour is this: New Yorkers are busy getting things done. That’s why they have those grim looks of determination on their faces, that’s why they will walk right over you if you stop in the middle of the sidewalk to look up at a building and that is also why, frankly, they get a lot of amazing things done. Incredible things. Improbable things. The Brooklyn Bridge. Abstract Expressionism. The Mets.
Bringing it All Back Home: NYCFC Home Debut
And if you’re going to live and work here, New Yorkers expect you to bring that attitude with you (if you’re just here to visit, you are more or less exempt; just please get the hell out of the way). This is astronomically true if you’re going to put New York’s name on your chest. Those who understand that – like, say Derek Jeter, or Bill Bradley or Mark Messier – will always drink free here, and those who don’t will experience the vicious impatience meted out to the divas and prima donnas who think that New York is some sort of prize, some sort of pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Kander and Ebb didn’t write “if you make it here, we will kiss your, um, feet.” No. If you are audacious enough to represent New York, you get to work when you put on the jersey.
Sunday at Yankee Stadium, in their home debut, surrounded by 43,000 New Yorkers who had stopped getting things done in their own busy lives for two cold hours, NYCFC demonstrated that they understood that.
That is, they put on their jerseys and got to work.
NYCFC put on a display of football – yes, football – that was on occasion stunningly beautiful to watch. The communication between Mix Diskerud and David Villa, for example, is something that will give other teams fits. The hustle of Adam Nemec – not only on the attack (an improvement on his game against Orlando) but back on defense as well was inspiring to anyone who has ever watched strikers lollygag aimlessly. The energy of Khiry Shelton who once again made things happen virtually from the moment he stepped onto the pitch was palpable. The relentless, furious pursuit and determination of Sebastian Velazquez was electrifying.
So when David Villa scored in the 19th minute, when Yankee Stadium rose to its feet to the third tier, when his teammates swarmed him somewhere near home plate, the celebration was not simply because they were leading, because they were on their way to their first three points in only their second game in existence. The roar was because New Yorkers – from hardened former players with bad knees to young neophytes experiencing their first game – recognized that this, this, was a New York team.
And when Patrick Mullins – Patrick Mullins! – scored in the 84th minute, literally seconds after subbing in for Nemec, against the team that left him unprotected in the draft and on the pitch, and darted directly to the screaming fans in the Third Rail stands (and they were stands – packed to the edges and no one sitting down for the full 90; and they were screaming – and chanting and shouting all match long), kissing the badge on his shirt, and again the stadium erupted in cheers heard from Wakefield to Tottenville, it was an acknowledgement of more than a goal. It was more than a shot at the top of the table. It was recognition of kin.
There were problems, of course. The back line is still a bit of a freakshow, especially on Williams’ side (in the first half the New England attack spent so much time on his side of the pitch one expected Tierney and Rowe might have to start paying rent there. Hence Velazquez relentless efforts). And if New England could finish – could even spell the word “finish” – the Citizens might have gone into half time down a goal if not two (note to Juan Agudelo: the clock is ticking son and you’re running out of time).
Similarly, if Josh Saunders hadn’t stood on his head to keep the ball out of the net (a head he was, thankfully, able to keep wound-free this time), New England might have had the upper hand. And while the New York attack was multi-pronged and multi-dimensional, one has to wonder that if Jermaine Jones weren’t still recovering from hernia surgery, would things have been different. Certainly the Revs fans in the crowd thought so.
But those are all fixable, addressable, correctable concerns. Those are things that Jason Kreis – if he’s even half the manager he’s supposed to be – can, you know, manage.
But you can’t “manage” passion. You can’t “manage” commitment. You can’t manage that ineffable element that makes a team – or a person – a New Yorker.
Recently, Yankee first-baseman Mark Texeira went on record as saying that letting NYCFC play in Yankee stadium was going to suck. He was referring, ostensibly, to the wear and tear on the infield. But if the passion, teamwork, instinct and workrate demonstrated by the Citizens on Sunday are any indication of what’s to come, it’s going to suck for the Yankees for another reason.
Because these guys are busy.
Just like real New Yorkers.
