The Rookies

On Sunday, your intrepid blogger and some of his more soccer-inclined friends ventured out of the relative safety of verdant Central Jersey for the freeway-striped land of North Jersey, specifically Giants Stadium, for the CONCACAF Gold Cup Final. We knew what we were in for by midnight Thursday night when Mexico beat Costa Rica in penalty kicks, setting up the USA-Mexico final everyone wanted (admittedly this was the USA’s “B” team). We knew the crowd would be pro-Mexican, but we had no idea how pro-Mexican until we got on the New Jersey Turnpike and got stuck in traffic 10 miles before the stadium.

Literally every other car had Mexican flags or Mexican jerseys hanging out the windows. Horns were honking, and cars and minivans were stuffed to the gills with fans of El Tricolores ready to cheer on their team.

As my friend so eloquently put it, “The Mexicans are so much better than us at carpooling.”

The atmosphere was festive already, despite the fact that we sat in traffic for an hour and missed the first 30 minutes of the game. Once inside the stadium, we were swept up in the swells of a sea of red, white, and green. Mexican fans outnumbered US fans 3 to 1, and from our seats in the corner of the 2nd deck, we could see Mexican flags hanging from every section, except for the lone section of rabid US fans clad in red who are known as Sam’s Army.

Multiply this by 50,000 and you get the idea.

While what we saw of the first half could only be described as boring soccer, the second half started quickly. Although Brian Ching missed a point blank chance, the US seemed to be in control until the 56th minute, when a Mexican player and a US defender became entangled in the box, resulting in a penalty for Mexico. Captain Gerardo Torrado slotted the PK and Mexico’s newest (and smallest) state erupted. I have been to quite a few sporting events in my life, including several pivotal playoff games, and that was the loudest I have ever heard a stadium.

The air, which had previously been filled with improvised paper airplanes, was now enveloped in Mexican flags and beer bottles thrown from the upper deck. After that, the US defense did their best impersonation of border guards, allowing El Tri into the box at will.

The next 20 minutes were a blur of green jerseys streaking down the pitch, white jerseys furiously trying to catch up, the roar of the crowd, and the spray of bottles being thrown after goals. After the third goal, the drunk Mexican fan in front of us turned and screamed “Who has the giant chocha now, Americanos?”

In the 89th minute, we slunk out of the stadium to chants of “Cinco! Cinco!” The Mexican team obliged, punctuating an ugly 5-0 scoreline, all in the 2nd half.

Despite the terrible play of the JV USMNT and the traffic jam on the Turnpike, I thoroughly enjoyed my trip to the Gold Cup. As I wrote for Last Call recently, I think we as sports fans have lost touch with the emotion of actual sporting events. Seeing the passion of the fans and experiencing the game in person turned what would’ve been a boring blowout on TV into a memorable experience.