MANAUS, Brazil — On the fence, indifferent, didn’t care—nothing matters. At this point, if you call yourself a sports fan or supporter of anything USA, there’s no way you’re not hooked on, at minimum, the U.S. Men’s National Team, if not the entire World Cup.
Sunday’s draw against Portugal had the widest range of emotions that it seems only us Cleveland fans are used to, and it didn’t matter if you were watching on TV or in the stadium like me and my friends were.
I anticipated that we’d have much fewer fans than we had in Natal for the game against Ghana, but a morning stroll through the historic harbor area of Manaus showed I was wrong. USA Soccer fans were everywhere.
We taxied over to the stadium around 3 p.m., under a stifling heat and burning sun that felt like it was ten feet above you. It’s actually difficult to explain how hot it was.
Like most stadiums, security controls started a few blocks from the ground. Upon clearing he first obstacle, we found a gas station that was selling Brahma beers for 5 reals—or about $2.50—in just outside the stadium. We were not alone, all of us trying to get some fluids in while crammed under the shade.
We entered the stadium around 4:15 p.m., all of us with tickets in the upper deck. Like always, we marched into the lower level behind the goal, in the middle of the action. Before kickoff it felt like I had already lost five pounds in sweat.
The goal Portugal scored was unfortunate, but we were psyched with how well the guys played the rest of half. We could feel a tie was coming—and went absolutely nuts when Jermaine Jones curled that ball into the goal that was about 50 feet in front of us.
But we felt there was more, and we got it in Clint Dempsey’s goal. Beyond nuts at that point. It was pandemonium. We have no idea how the rest of the stadium reacted, but it felt like we could hear all of the United States yelling with us.
We believed that we would win. We believed we deserved to win, never talking about the Ghana game where we all realized we had some luck.
I shook my head as I’ve done way too many times in Ohio, loving the team but amazed at how cruel sports can be.
We yelled at DeAndre Yedlin to keep the ball in the corner, and all grabbed our heads when Michael Bradley lost that ball. It was almost like slow motion—two passes and we were tied again. It sucked the air life out of us. We were drenched in sweat, feeling like we just played in that game. We knew we had the round of 16 locked up—if not for that goal. I shook my head as I’ve done way too many times in Ohio, loving the team but amazed at how cruel sports can be.
Exhausted, we tried to congratulate the guys with chants, but we were spent. The talk in the stands quickly turned to tie-breaker scenarios, and wondering if Klinsmann and Low could agree on tying the game on Thursday, a storyline bound to litter headlines for the next 72 hours.
We walked out of the stadium feeling as if we had lost—a feeling usually only reserved for top teams with a history of success. Over beers at a nearby sidewalk joint, we laughed at our absurdity. We have four points after two games, something all of us would have taken when the draw was announced. Now we head to Recife with the entire country pulling for the US team—with us representing a nation of soccer fans.
