There’s an old saying in the world of fútbol: “The World Cup truly begins when the bulls—t takes flight.” Well, it’s about 10 seconds old, considering I just made it up. But we’re here in the midst of the World Cup, and man, is the b.s. flying around the Americans now. Question is, what are we going to do about it?
You know the story. Midway through the second half of the USMNT‘s knockout-round match over Bosnia and Herzegovina, the great Folarin Balogun — who had already put two shots in the net, one of which actually counted — collided with Tarik Muharemović during a natural, if aggressive, run of play.
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Referee Raphael Claus initially decided to let the lads play, but a voice in his ear sent him to the VAR monitor, where slow-motion video showed Balogun stepping on Muharemović’s ankle. Intent, apparently, was not the issue, only the end result was. Thus a declaration came down from on high: red card for Balogun, meaning he was out for the rest of this match and all of the next.
This, to put it politely, did not land well with the American audience. From a pure gameplay standpoint, the red card seemed an absurd overreaction to what was, by all appearances, a standard, though violent, instant of impact on the pitch. When Claus didn’t even deign to throw a yellow in the moment, that should have been the first indication that this foul, while undoubtedly painful, didn’t rise to the level of a potential World Cup-altering red card.
Any fan base would have felt the same. But we Americans, though — we take this stuff to a whole new level, and we have ever since we declared our independence. (Happy 250th, by the way, America.)
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We’re a nation that tries to legislate physics with our NFL instant replays, and if we can’t legislate physics, we’ll sue the hell out of it. We haven’t even figured out how stoppage time works, and you’re asking us to swallow arbitrary officiating, too? We’re not used to just accepting draconian punishment with no hope for appeal. (It’s no coincidence that searches for the phrase “red card appeal” spiked at exactly 9:36 p.m. Eastern last night.)
Put simply: We’re not used to being told no.
Thing is, there’s a long and ugly history of this sort of thing happening in the often-sketchy, always-murky world of international soccer. Perhaps the most famous play in World Cup history, Diego Maradona’s Hand of God, rests on a rotten foundation — Maradona knocked the ball past England‘s keeper with his fist, but the referees couldn’t see it. National hopes and dreams have withered and died in the face of inexplicable red cards. Sorry, folks … we aren’t special.
What we are, though, is Americans. (Cue up “Free Bird” to the 4:55 mark as you read the rest of this.) We created this country because we got sick of bad officiating, and we used our hands to do it. We’re down a man now, friends, and that’s a tough blow to take. But we’re here now, in this moment, with this challenge before us.
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Is our World Cup over just because we lost our best scorer for a match? As a great American philosopher once said: Nothing is over until we decide it is. Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no! And it ain’t over now!
Are we going to sit and whine that this stupid World Cup is unfair? Are we going to pout and complain that the whole thing is rigged because it didn’t go our way? Are we going to just freaking give up, America?
Or are we going to fight? Are we going to step up, wave the stars and stripes, and kick the hell out of whoever stands before us? (Love your waffles, beer and chocolate, Belgium, but right now you’re in the way.) “Country Roads” may not be the most aggressive song in America’s arsenal, but let’s make damn sure it’s the last song these nations hear as they’re leaving town!
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This is America, dammit, and we’re not going to let one trash decision spoil four years of hard work and 250 years of hope. The bulls—t flew Wednesday night. But I can think of a certain bird that can fly even higher, and I bet you can too.
Yes, we got dealt the red card. Now let’s show the world what happens when you mix in white and blue. U-S-A! U-S-A!
