When New York City Football Club and Red Bull New York met last week a few miles from where Aaron Burr consigned Alexander Hamilton to immortality (pre- Lin-Manuel Miranda), one of those teams really, really needed to win and the other team just wanted to.
Which has a lot to do with why RBNY were the winners.
But this week, NYCFC really, really, really needed to win. Heading out on a three-game road trip after dropping two in a row, and three out of four, would be all that the haters would need. “NYCFC were a ‘smoke and mirrors’ team”. Their first place position was a fluke. They were a joke. A mistake.
So it was important NYCFC beat the Colorado Rapids.
But that couldn’t happen, right?
Because the Colorado Rapids were a team on a historic defending tear: so stingy they were on pace to give up the fewest goals in the history of the league. And now they were backed up by one of the greatest goaltenders America has produced. A goalie that MLS’s own site described as “not only the Secretary of Defense, but a set and forget player”. And they were playing in Yankee Stadium – who’s diminutive hands, I mean, pitch, could only work to the advantage of such a defensive-minded team. So much tighter a space in which to park the bus, as it were.
Hell, even their head coach was a defensive midfielder.
Oh, and one more thing.
No David Villa. That is, no team leader in goals, wait, hold on, no league leader in goals on the pitch for NYCFC. And no RJ Allen nor Ronald Matarrita serving crosses into, well, who? Patrick Mullins whom the team traded away? Kwadwo Poku who took his talents to South Beach? Tony Taylor who hasn’t played since Steven Mendoza showed up? Steven Mendoza, who hasn’t played since Jack Harrison got healthy?
And, for what it’s worth, no Federico Bravo in the midfield, or Ethan White on the backline. And an Andrea Pirlo whom, though everybody loves, lets face it, will have just played an All-Star Game on the other side of the damn country and 3000 miles can take a lot out of a 37-year-old body.
And it might rain. A bit.
So really, a draw. If NYCFC could get a draw, take a point from a very good Western Conference team, that would be great. A point would get the team back on the right track. Maybe.
And then lightning struck.
It struck first in the 28th minute when Frank Lampard scored off of an insane flick-on from Tommy McNamara. It struck again when, you know, it really struck, and everyone had to leave the pitch. And fans roamed around Yankee Stadium, asking each other: “Could NYCFC beat Colorado? I mean, really?”
And then it struck a third time when Colorado’s Michael Azira picked up his second yellow card in the space of 16 minutes of and was sent off.
And then it struck a fourth time when Tony Taylor – Tony Taylor! – scored his second goal of the season! And if the fans who had roamed the concourse needed a sign that three points was an actual possibility, this was it. Maybe.
Now after halftime, an interesting thing happened. Amongst those hearty few of us who returned to our soggy seats in the section this writer reports from, was a father and his kids. A father who was not a soccer fan, kids who were. A father who frankly did not understand sitting in the driving rain for 45 minutes to watch people run around in the driving rain for 45 minutes.
He looked at his son. His son looked at him. “You gotta stay” I said to them both. “That’s what supporters do, right?” My buddy Leigh (to call him a long-suffering Spurs fan would be redundant in the extreme) said “Back home we call this perfect football weather” Our friend Molly, one of Dublin’s finest, nodded “Nothing better than watching footie in the rain”.
“Okay” the father said to his son, “I’m doing this because I love you.” And that’s when lightning struck a fifth time.
And that’s when they cheered for Tommy to get a goal to pay back Tim Howard. And when they exalted at Lampard’s second goal of the match. And then his third. And then Steven Mendoza’s goal.
And when the final whistle blew, and when the players came to edge of the seats to celebrate with the fans, fans of all ages and allegiances and ethnicities and experience, fans who hugged and cheered the players they had just stood out in a driving thunderstorm to watch, players who had fought the odds and weather to pull three points out of Colorado, players they would not see here again for nearly a month, players who a week ago had looked lost and confused, I was reminded just how many sins the rain can wash away.
And how many winning can.
