Finishing touches

Before lamenting the United States’ inability to finish its scoring chances this summer, let’s at least acknowledge that the work – and the skill – that went into said chances. Thirteen years ago, it took a minor miracle (Wynalda’s free kick vs. Switzerland, for example) for the Americans to generate any sort of offense at the World Cup, In the last couple of World Cup cycles, the likes of Reyna, O’Brien, Beasley, Donovan and Dempsey have allowed the U.S. squad to build a far more sophisticated attack. Youngsters such as Feilhaber and Bradley appear primed to expand on those efforts in the next decade.

But damn, can’t anyone put the ball in the net?

At the Gold Cup and Copa America, the United States scored 15 goals in nine matches – not a terrible rate by any means. But one-third of those goals came from the penalty spot, and the total was inflated by a four-spot against an entirely overmatched El Salvador squad. In the Gold Cup, the failure to finish turned what should have been easy victories into nail-biters. At Copa America (particularly the enormously frustrating Paraguay loss), it cost the Americans a shot at advancing to the quarterfinals.

Brian Ching squandered two 1 v. 1 opportunities against the keeper in the first half of the Trinidad and Tobago match alone, then wasted a heroic run late in the Mexico match by plunking the post with what should have been the insurance goal.
Dempsey, Beasley and Eddie Johnson often didn’t press the issue in the penalty area, holding the ball too long or playing it back rather than going to goal.
And for all of the open headers the Americans had in both tournaments, they only scored once with the noggin, courtesy of Carlos Bocanegra in the Panama victory.

Johnson vacillated between dynamic and maddening. As mentioned, he often put himself in position to score, only to pull up and wait for support rather than blowing by the last defender. This tendency drew plenty of attention in the Argentina and Paraguay matches, but it was evident in his first U.S. performance of the summer, against Guatemala. His speed and his tenacity when pressuring defenders are wonderful assets, but his instincts seemed to fail him in the box (and when it came to beating the offside trap). On the whole, he did so many things right in his two Copa America matches that one has to consider his tournament a success.

At 23, however, he needs to take the next step forward, and it should be a giant step across the Atlantic. Perhaps no U.S. player stands to benefit more from a move abroad.

And then we have Taylor Twellman, whose international struggles puzzle me. I covered his first 4½ seasons with the Revolution and saw him thrive under pressure. In 2005, he scored several game-winners and/or equalizers in the waning minutes of the match; it was a run of nearly Ortiz-esque proportions. Sure, you could argue that he struggled in the postseason, with scoreless (and largely invisible) MLS Cup performances in 2002 and ’05 as evidence. But then he buried one against Houston in overtime in last year’s final, and you couldn’t blame him one bit for the shocking equalizer that followed seconds later.

Obviously, the international game is a vastly different creature than MLS, and some guys simply aren’t cut out for the transition. Jason Kreis and Ante Razov are the top two American goalscorers in league history, yet their U.S. careers never took flight. Twellman will likely eclipse them on the leaderboard in the next couple of years; the question is whether he’ll also be a bigger bust with the national team than they were.

Strangely enough, Twellman’s best moments this summer were moments of playmaking rather than scoring. Against Guatemala, he turned a defender, used a burst of speed to break free toward the end line, and slid a nice pass across the goalmouth to Dempsey. And in the Copa America match versus Paraguay, he made a fantastic touch with his back to goal, redirecting Drew Moor’s long ball to Ricardo Clark for the equalizer. Those efforts and a few other smart passes outshined his lone goal of the summer (a shot that nutmegged the Salvadoran keeper in the Gold Cup; it wasn’t a great strike).

They could not, however, compensate for the shoddy finishing: the open header over the bar from 10 yards out against Guatemala, the sitter in second-half stoppage time vs. El Salvador, the left-footer that glanced off the post early in the Panama match, the misfired right-footer later in that game, the header off the post and the weak side volley against Paraguay.

He put himself in position to score in most matches he started (Argentina being a key exception), but repeatedly wasted the opportunity. Maybe it was a case of trying too hard to impress, especially when you know that a couple of fellows named Adu and Altidore are climbing up the depth chart. But Twellman has been part of the national team pool since 2002, he’s still an unproven commodity at this level, and he didn’t help his cause at Copa America, the biggest stage of his career. As a result, one commentator (Phil Schoen) wondered aloud if it was time to send Twellman (and Kasey Keller) to pasture.

I don’t buy it – yet. If he weren’t getting the chances, I’d be more worried, but he’s simply not burying those opportunities he usually finishes off in MLS. It’s not too late for Twellman to replace Brian McBride as the fearless poacher of the national team. McBride was 26 when he made his World Cup debut at France ’98; Twellman was the same age when Bruce Arena controversially bypassed him last year. Bob Bradley would be foolish to give up on him, despite this summer’s disappointments. But his window of opportunity is beginning to close.

Entering World Cup qualifying, Johnson should be a fixture in Bradley’s starting 11. After that, it’s a mix of midfielders in strikers’ clothing (Donovan, Dempsey), underachieving target men (Twellman, Ching) and untested, talented youngsters (Adu, Altidore, Cooper). It’s a group full of potential, but who’s going to convert potential into goals?

Next up, the shaky state of affairs in the back.

Wet Hot American Summer

Thirty minutes into yesterday’s Under-20 World Cup quarterfinal, I was ready to pencil – no, Sharpie – the United States into the final … of the 2014 World Cup.

Freddy Adu had rediscovered the form that made jaws drop in those “60 Minutes” highlights. Jozy Altidore looked like a more dynamic, more predatory version of Eddie Johnson. Robbie Rogers was torching the Austrian defense as if it were an order of crème brulee. Maracana, here they come!

By the end of regulation, however, I was feverishly penning a letter to Sepp Blatter, begging him to revoke the United States’ FIFA membership, to spare the nation any more shame. The second half was that wretched – surely the worst I’ve seen a U.S. team play in years.

Yesterday’s vicissitudes provided a fitting coda to a wild summer for U.S. Soccer: brilliant Gold Cup, brutal Copa America, bittersweet U-20. The performances were all over the map, making it virtually impossible to draw conclusions about the national team’s future. So as we look back on the last month and look ahead to World Cup qualifying, it’s imperative to put the Sharpie away, grab that pencil and resist the urge to mail that manifesto to Zurich.

****

Clearly, no U.S. player made a better impression than Benny Feilhaber, the Hamburger SV midfielder whose golazo won the Gold Cup. That wonderstrike might have been a once-in-a-lifetime moment, but Feilhaber’s quality on the ball is no fluke. Quick combination plays, splendid diagonal passes at inventive angles, precise long balls in transition – he delivered them all. And especially in the Gold Cup, Feilhaber also won his fair share of balls in the midfield.
He faded a bit in the Copa America, perhaps due to fatigue, but even against Paraguay he had his moments, such as a superb ball (struck with the outside of his left foot) that sprung Justin Mapp for what should have led to the equalizer.

Is he the next Claudio Reyna? It sure seems that way.

****

Ricardo Clark had more than a few inspired moments on the ball in addition to tending to his defensive duties. He made an instant impact in the Mexico match, and it’s hard not to note the symbolism of him replacing Pablo Mastroeni in that game. The guard may not have changed yet, but it will soon.

Otherwise, it was a mixed bag for midfielders trying to make a name for themselves. Justin Mapp’s pace and touch on the left flank injected energy into the team at times, but his indecision (and some poor decisions) proved costly at Copa America. Michael Bradley played masterfully at times (particularly the friendly against China) and displayed a solid work rate, but reckless tackles and a dreadful showing against Austrians his own age hurt his final grade.

Perhaps it was merely a coincidence that the United States fell apart against Argentina when Eddie Gaven replaced Ben Olsen, but Gaven did little to prove that it wasn’t, and an improved, earnest showing against Colombia couldn’t erase the sense that he’s nowhere near ready for prime time. Sacha Kljestan showed intermittent flashes of quality on the right side, but also set the tone for the Americans’ nightmarish performance in the box against Paraguay with what Ray Hudson aptly deemed a “toilet-bowl finish” on an open header. Kyle Beckerman and Lee Nguyen didn’t make much of an impact in limited minutes in Venezuela, and Danny Szetela was hard to find against Austria.

A year and a half from now, when the final stage of World Cup qualifying begins, DaMarcus Beasley and either Landon Donovan or Clint Dempsey should still be manning the flanks (with the other up top). All three impressed at the Gold Cup, but all three should impress at the Gold Cup. Meanwhile, Feilhaber and Clark are primed to take control of the central spots, and Bradley and Mastroeni should provide quality depth. It’s a pretty solid midfield. Now the trick is to find some finishers, but that’s a story for another day – perhaps tomorrow.

An open letter to Revolution fans

You poor, miserable bastards.

When I started covering the Revolution in 1999, my days as a supporter instantly ended – they have to when you’re a journalist, and the process is quicker and more painless than you might think.

Now that I’m no longer on the beat, I wondered if I’d subconsciously revert to the old days, when standing in the Fort, singing a drunken rendition of “Super Revolution” and informing the opposing keeper of his undeniable suckitude was ritual.

Alas, once you go hack, you never go back, and I found myself watching Sunday’s MLS Cup final in my office with the same sense of detachment that I had while sitting on press row in 2002 or 2005. Sure, it was nerve-racking (it was a pretty damn exciting match, after all), but once it was over, all that remained was faint disappointment … and pity for you folks.

You supporters have had to suffer through some excruciating moments over the years, but Sunday surely ranked at the top of the list. With a goal in hand and seven minutes separating the Revs from sweet redemption, it seemed as if a 10-year (and 11-season) quest for glory had finally reached its conclusion. After so many heartbreaking defeats, at last, you’d have your catharsis, your festive release.

And then a Hawaiian guy in a Creamsicle outfit stuck a shiv in your back.

****

It’s not easy being a fan of any MLS team. You devote as much time and passion (and in some cases, money) as do supporters of more popular sports, but your countrymen tend to laugh at the effort. The jokes at the office never change (“What was the over/under in that game, 1?”), the bartenders roll their eyes when you ask them to switch just one TV to soccer, and you long ago learned not to even bother with the sports radio guys.

Had the Revs won the MLS Cup, you wouldn’t have been able to share the type of communal joy that swept this region four times over the last four years. The culmination of your 11-year passion would have barely registered among a populace which thinks Sunsing is a Korean electronics brand. The Revs might have held a small rally somewhere, they’d have been introduced at halftime of a Pats game, and then the overwhelming majority of New Englanders would have forgotten about them. I watched as the 2005 Revs filed into the Logan Airport baggage claim following their defeat to the Galaxy; not a soul was there to greet them or, as far as I could tell, acknowledge their existence.

But if I may channel Lt. Frank Drebin: It’s a crazy world, and maybe the problems of an MLS supporter don’t add to a hill of beans, but this is your hill, and these are your beans. Your devotion is as fervent as that of a fan in any other sport, your desire for victory as powerful, your pain in defeat as intense.

And man, you got dicked over something fierce on Sunday.

****

This franchise’s history has rather neatly divided itself into two phases: first, six years of incompetence, in which finishing fourth in a five- or six-team conference rated as progress; and then, five years of vastly improved play besmirched by unimaginably cruel fate.

I don’t work for Elias Sports Bureau (although I did live on the same dorm floor with Steve Hirdt’s kid), but I can’t imagine that any professional team, anywhere, in any sport, has been ever eliminated from its league’s primary championship in overtime and/or penalty kicks for five straight years.

These are the worst types of losses, the ones that leave an aficionado re-watching the videotape or Tivo at 1 in the morning, wondering, “What if Griffiths’ shot dipped a little lower? What if Ihemelu hadn’t stuck his head out? What if Ching’s header had gone wide?”

In fact, I suspect you could study the tape, do the calculations and determine that those critical moments had come down to no more than a few feet combined. And they all went against the Revs, setting the stage for other moments that left you hollow inside:

Ruiz’s golden goal. Armas’ golden goal. Dempsey’s scuffed PK. Pando (Friggin’) Ramirez’s laser beam. A slow roller from Jay Heaps, landing ever so safely in the arms of Pat Onstad.

The Revs didn’t necessarily deserve victory in all of those matches, but it was there for the taking in each. And each time, it ended in agonizing fashion. At least the Buffalo Bills were blown out in three of those four Super Bowls; clearly, they were out of their league. Your Revs might have been the most talented team in their league over the last five seasons, and they have nothing to show for it.

****

And now, the band is breaking up. Dempsey and Joseph have to leave, have to strike while the iron is hot. Twellman will surely try his luck in Europe, as well, and maybe this playoff performance will convince a gaffer somewhere to give the guy a shot.

They’ll not leave behind an empty cupboard, but don’t kid yourself. You don’t instantly overcome the loss of three of the league’s most valuable players. Yeah, maybe Miguel Gonzalez, Willie Sims and Luis Figo (Beckham Rule, baby!) step right in and lead the Revs to the MLS Cup 2007 crown. In a league where the Galaxy can sandwich a title between vast stretches of ghastly Total Sampson Football, I suppose anything’s possible.

But in all likelihood, the window of opportunity has closed, and the trophy case remains empty.

As I said at the start, it’s no longer my problem. But I know enough of you guys that it’s impossible not to sympathize. You’ve waited long enough, endured more than your share of anguish (the sports fan’s version, not the real thing, of course) and paid your dues. Sunday should have been your day to rejoice. Instead, it turned into the most devastating day in franchise history.

And the thing about franchises (at least, the ones that last, and I suspect the Revs will) is that the fans live with the devastation longer than anyone else. In a few months’ time, some of the best players on this team will be competing in different kits, in different leagues, in different nations. Their time in New England will be irrelevant, ancient history; it has to be, because those are the realities of their profession.

The supporters, meanwhile, don’t leave on a multimillion-dollar transfer to Celtic or Benfica. They stay, and they reassemble their hopes and dreams behind whomever management signs. To be a fan is to submit to powerlessness. You don’t pick the manager, you don’t pick the players, you don’t pick the tactics. All you can do is watch, sing, scream, weep. And perhaps, someday, celebrate.

Now with pictures!

As promised (and several days too late to be relevant), the blog has been updated with some photos, such as above -- a collection of Polish and Portuguese fans (among others) gathering outside the Cologne main train station two weeks ago.

The dog ate my homework

I had typed up a lengthy post at 6 a.m. in the Munich airport, but the wireless network cut out on me (perhaps the half-hour I had purchased for 5 Euro had run out) and I lost the whole thing. Anyway, here's a recap:

1. The penalty call on Oguchi Onyewu was unequivocally awful. Referee Markus Merk essentially gifted Ghana a go-ahead goal right before halftime, and in doing so, he altered the course of the match. For all the Americans did wrong yesterday (more on that below), they got jobbed -- no question about it. Ghana didn't get off easy, either. Merk's bogus yellow card on Michael Essien means Ghana will miss its best player against Brazil.

2. On a day when Landon Donovan should have made the U.S. team his own, he totally flopped. With Claudio Reyna and John O'Brien out, the Americans needed Donovan to build on his excellent performance against Italy and carry them to victory against Ghana. Instead, he disappeared for long stretches of the match and did nothing with the ball on those rare occasions when he had it. A huge chunk of the blame falls on Donovan for this loss.

3. On the plus side, the American fans acquitted themselves wonderfully again yesterday. U.S. soccer supporters seemed to come of age in this tournament, specifically in the Italy match. Let's hope the passion continues, and extends to games played on American soil. That kind of atmosphere is one of the sport's greatest attributes, and we need far more of it in the U.S.

4. You haven't lived until you've downed a warm Weissbier on a Deutsche Bahn train at 1 a.m. The German train system, by the way, is as great as it was advertised. It wasn't easy to make the transition from those first-class train cabins to coach on American Airlines, although American was kind enough to show "Date Movie." Alyson Hannigan is our generation's Judi Dench, no?

Anyway, now that I'm home, I can post some pictures, which I'll intersperse into the previous entries. Look for that later tonight.

Grandma for sale

After going to a Spanish restaurant to watch the Netherlands-Argentina match last night, we returned to our humble abode at the Hotel Smile, waking up at 7:30 a.m. to the sounds of Turkish pop blaring from the auto repair shop that shares space with the hotel (don't ask).

Following breakfast, we took the U-Bahn (subway) into the old city. Nuremberg's center is surrounded by a wall, and it's quite picturesque, with a little canal flowing past the kind of row houses and shops that you'd see in the Stereotypical Germany brochure. Along one portion of the city wall is the red-light district, where, at noon, women as old as 60 were leaning out of windows, passively offering themselves for the right price. "Disturbing" doesn't do it justice.

You can see one of the ladies of the night in the left of the above photo. I thought I was just getting a shot of the old wall, but an old prostitute snuck into the frame, too. Such a deal.

The sight did not sufficiently squelch our appetite, however, because we then went to what's purported to be the oldest sausage restaurant in Germany, dating back to the 1400s. Bratwurst, potato salad, pretzels and beer -- what could be better? (Again, right out of the Stereotypical Germany pamphlet. Next: I don lederhosen and play an Alp horn.)

We were running behind schedule, so we couldn't tour the Nazi rally grounds. If the United States pulls off the miracle and advances, maybe we'll do that tomorrow. If not, I'm coming home in the morning. Needless to say, the next three hours will be interesting.

The fun's just begun

After being delinquent for a day, I return to you live from the Stadium Media Center in Nuremberg (say that in a Brent Musberger voice for added effect), where the United States and Ghana will play tomorrow afternoon.

We just finished one of the great pleasures of the World Cup, following two simultaneous matches that both had implications on how a group would finish. When Portugal led Mexico 2-1 and Angola took a 1-0 led on Iran, it looked like the Angolans might have a chance to move past the Mexicans into second place, thus earning a spot in the round of 16. Even sportswriters love an underdog, so we were pulling for Angola (especially after the Mexicans tried to draw another penalty with some pathetic play-acting).

Alas, Iran tied it up, and Angola couldn't pull ahead or get the two additional goals they would have needed to pass Mexico in terms of goal differential. So the Mexicans advance, thus ensuring that the CONCACAF region (North America, Central America and the Caribbean) won't be totally shut out of the second round. That would have been extremely embarrassing for the region that the U.S. calls home.

As for Nuremberg, we're staying in a rather ... eclectic place called the Hotel Smile, whose predominant motif is, you guessed it, a smily face. There's even one on the toilet seat. The decor's a little funky, but it'll do. Meanwhile, we're right next to the Colosseum-like stadium that Hitler used for massive Nazi rallies in the '30s. Sort of looks like Harvard Stadium, if Harvard Stadium had a really creepy vibe to it.

Finally, I'll note that the media center is right smack in the middle of a hockey rink, a practice rink located inside the large arena adjacent to the Frankenstadion. There are puck marks on the boards right behind the T-Mobile help desk, in fact. So in the spirit of my surroundings, I offer up a congratulatory chorus of "Brass Bonanza" to any Whalers fans out there. The Cup is yours. Sort of.

More tomorrow from the stadium as the journey (perhaps) comes to an end.

An off day

With no matches to cover and no stories assigned, I took the day off and explored Hamburg predominantly on foot. Unfortunately, I picked the only day it's rained in this city since my arrival.

I walked along the left bank of the Aussenalster, the larger of the Alster lakes, and had an Alsterwasser -- which is not water from the Alster, but beer with lemonade in it. Sort of like a Mimosa, but with a militaristic-sounding name. Much of the lakefront property is consulates, including two that are heavily protected by barricades and armed Polizei, belonging to ... you guessed it, the U.S. and Britain. I was going to take a picture of the U.S. consulate, but thought the Polizei might object.

I then took the subway to Blankenese, which is billed as the Amalfi Coast of Germany. Granted, it's a town built on a steep mountainside on a waterway, and it is picturesque, but I wouldn't say it's Tuscany North. Of course, the rain began falling when I got there, so I hightailed it out of there pretty quickly.

For dinner, I trudged through the rain to a German restaurant that billed itself as dated back to the 1600s. Nice place, decent food, and the traditional music ... of Bob Dylan and Tracy Chapman.

Anyway, we're going out for Guinness and to watch Spain crush Tunisia like a bug.

It's too early in the morning for this

After getting about 3 1/2 hours of sleep, we got up, had breakfast and headed to the Mannheim Hauptbahnhof (main train station -- it's the most important German word I've learned so far) to catch the train back to Hamburg. As I entered the station, a young woman wearing pajamas approached me and said something in German.

Since it wasn't "Kaffee, Tee, Wasser?" or "Hauptbahnhof," I was lost. I mentioned that I didn't speak German, so she kindly translated: "Would you like to sleep with me?"

Now keep in mind, it's 10 a.m., and I'm going INTO the station with bags in my hand, and I just got out of a cab with two other guys with bags in hand. Isn't the answer to your question a bit obvious? Besides, ich habe ein Freudlin (inside joke).

Anyway, I simply said, "No, thank you" in English and went on my way, leaving behind the extraordinarily friendly (and entreprenurial) people of Mannheim.

U.S. wins, 1-1

I hope TV coverage back home did tonight's match justice, both in terms of the atmosphere in the stadium and the magnitude of what the U.S. accomplished. With their World Cup life on the line, the Americans were playing 9 vs. 10 after two red cards, and they were facing an Italian team of such quality, patience and opportunism that a game-winning goal seemed a foregone conclusion.

But remarkably, the U.S. hung on. Steve Cherundolo was an unsung hero, covering virtually the entire right side of the field after the ejections. Landon Donovan ran at more defenders than I've ever seen him do before, especially in an international game, and he displayed some extraordinary skill. Oguchi Onyewu was an absolute monster on defense. The Revs' Clint Dempsey played 61 excellent minutes, forcing Totti to pick up a yellow card early and giving the Italian defense more to worry about in 15 minutes than the Czechs had to worry about in all of Monday's game. And DaMarcus Beasley, out of the doghouse, was a key to taking the pressure off the U.S. defense in the late going.

The U.S. crowd was also great, but it was the kind of match that evokes passions people might not know they have. All of the officiating controversy, the complaints about Italian play-acting, the circumstances of the match itself -- it wasn't a game where you could sit on your hands and wait for someone to start the wave. It sucked you in and didn't let go until the final whistle.

So Thursday's game means something after all. But even if the Americans don't advance (they need to beat Ghana, and have Italy beat the Czechs), they can hang their hat on this performance in Kaiserslautern. It might not be the best result in U.S. soccer history, but it must be the best effort.

U.S. lineups are in

Surprising news for the U.S. -- the Revolution's Clint Dempsey will start, as will Carlos Bocanegra. They're the lone additions to the lineup, and they replace Eddie Lewis and DaMarcus Beasley.

Still no word on how they'll be aligned -- could be a 4-5-1 with McBride as the lone forward, a 4-4-2 with Landon Donovan paired with McBride, or even a 4-4-2 with Dempsey and McBride up front.

Meanwhile, the usually staid media corps couldn't keep its emotions in for the Italy-Ghana match, which was chock-full of great chances and a couple of goals for the unheralded Ghanaians. The 2-0 upset turned this group on its head, and should give the Americans just a touch of confidence as they prepare to mount their own upset bid in an hour.

The game is afoot

The vaunted Czech Republic just gave up a goal to Ghana 70 seconds into the match. Given how thoroughly the Dutch and Argentines have dominated Group C, it might be time to proclaim Group E the toughest at this tournament. And the Americans, who were quarterfinalists four years ago, could be the worst of the four.

Three hours to game time in Kaiserslautern. The media center here is already packed, as were the trains from Mannheim 3 1/2 hours ago. It's a tiny city (only about 100,000 inhabitants), and the stadium is on a hillside that's part of the picturesque Palatinate Forest, so it's not the most accessible place.

On the train here, you could pick out the tourists -- they were the ones taking a picture of the railroad sign at Frankenstein a few miles down the tracks (I didn't have a good angle from my seat, so no photo).

More later...

Mannheim, but no steamroller

Greetings from the business center at the City Partner Augusta Hotel in Mannheim, our home base for the U.S.-Italy match today in Kaiserslautern (it's an hour away by train).

Yesterday we took another train down here from Hamburg, went to the U.S. press conference at the Fritz-Walter-Stadion (a very cool setting -- the stadium is on a mountainside, with a great view of Kaiserslautern), then came "home" to Mannheim. We had a great dinner at a Greek restaurant (Opa!) right across the street, then talked fußball (I finally get to use the accent mark! -- by the way, the ß is pronounced as a double-S) with some England fans and a couple of U.S. college kids in town for the match.

The other highlight yesterday was being interviewed by Spanish TV for a story they were doing about the American team´s decision to stay at Ramstein Air Base, located 20 miles from Kaiserslautern. Anything the team does that´s remotely related to the military is going to raise eyebrows in Europe due to the distaste for the Iraq war, but the mini-furor about where the team spends the night was a bit silly. Anyway, I told the Spanish guy that we´re Americans and we can do whatever we want, wherever we want, and to whomever we want, and that if he didn´t like it, he could take it up with Senor Rumsfeld.

Or I just said that the Americans were just staying at the base for convenience reasons and that they weren´t trying to provoke anyone or make a statement about their sense of security. I forget -- it was a long day ...

Anyway, I´m hogging the computer, so I´ll take my leave. More from K-Town when we get there.

A taste of Dublin

We went to an Irish pub a couple of blocks away tonight for dinner, and to watch the second half of Paraguay-Sweden. The proprietor, a Dubliner named Aidan, boasted that he served the best pint of Guinness in Europe, including Ireland.

He’s pretty close – the Guinness was equal to what you get in Ireland, meaning it’s exponentially better (i.e., smoother, far less bitter) than its American counterpart. Guess it’s not Irish water that makes the difference after all.

It’s a relatively early night tonight, because we have an 8:30 a.m. train to catch. Going to Kaiserslautern, the city in the woods, for Saturday’s U.S.-Italy match. A full report on the proceedings tomorrow.

Cinderella has arrived

Trinidad and Tobago had auditioned for the part (and if they’d held on for a tie – or, perish the thought – a win against England today, they would have gotten it), but Ecuador has emerged as the Cinderella of the tournament, booking its place in the second round with a 3-0 victory over Costa Rica this afternoon in Hamburg.

Now 2-0-0, the Ecuadorans can actually win Group A if they tie the Germans in the first-round finale. Based on what we’ve seen so far, it could happen. Remember, Ecuador smoked Poland 2-0, while the Germans needed an injury-time goal to beat Poland 1-0 last night.

Ecuador has always been something a one-trick pony. Because of the altitude in their capital city of Quito (9,000 feet above sea level), they've dominated during home games in South American World Cup qualifying – they even beat Brazil and Argentina there in qualifying for this tourney. But without the best home-field advantage on their continent (and maybe the world), they’re just another team -- as a first-round exit at the last World Cup (Ecuador's first) attested.

Until now, that is. In this low-lying, port city, the Ecuadorans put on an impressive show, scoring three superb goals and exposing the Costa Ricans’ weaknesses. They capped it off with a bang, when Ivan Kaviedes headed home an Edison Mendez cross in stoppage time. That goal gave Ecuador a two-goal advantage over Germany in the race for first place. All the unheralded visitors will need is a draw, and they’ll win the group, which would be unbelievable. And pretty cool.

Worth the trip

They’ll play better matches at this World Cup, but it will be hard to match tonight’s Germany-Poland encounter for atmosphere. The Westfalenstadion in Dortmund is a fantastic stadium – extremely compact, yet big enough to hold 65,000 people ... and they were in a frenzy at the end.
The way I put in my newspaper story was that the entire stadium was like a bottle of seltzer water, and it had been shaken all night by the near-misses, the hard fouls, the time-wasting by the Polish keeper – not to mention the underlying doubts that German fans have about this particular team. But after 91 agonizing minutes, the Germans finally found the festive release they so desperately sought when Oliver Neuville scored in injury time. It was as if he popped the top on that well-shaken bottle, and a nation’s emotions burst out all at once.
More tomorrow, but I've got to sleep. It's 5:30 a.m.

No girls in the window

I’m a little behind because Tuesday night’s festivities took a bit of a toll, I must confess. Mike Biglin and I went to the Hamburg Media Lounge for dinner and drinks (and to watch the Brazil match), and after that, we checked out the infamous Reeperbahn, Hamburg’s red-light district. Lots of sex shops and what I assume are strip clubs (no, we didn’t go in), but it wasn’t as seedy or shocking as it’s made out to be. Then again, we didn’t see everything; there’s a street that’s described as a block-long bordello that’s off-limits to minors and all women (except, of course, the ones who are working there).

We forsook the sleaze for good, old-fashioned bar hopping, and had several enjoyable conversations (and toasts) with people from all over. The night ended with two U.S. servicemen, a Hamburg resident in a Glasgow Celtic shirt and his Belgian buddy at our table. That’s what the World Cup is all about!

Sadly, wake-up time came too quickly on Wednesday, as I trudged to the Hauptbahnhof (main train station) for the 4 ½-hour trip to Dortmund for the Germany-Poland match. The morning and afternoon were not quite as enjoyable as the previous night, that’s for sure.

U.S. Oy! U.S. Oy!

The plan is to stay here as long as the U.S. team remains in the tournament, but I booked a June 23 flight on the hunch that they wouldn't make the second round. After last night's 3-0 pounding at the hands of the Czech Republic, that prediction looks pretty darn good.

The Czechs totally outclassed the Americans, who can no longer surprise good teams in the wake of their upset of Portugal four years ago. No one takes them lightly anymore, but that doesn't mean that they're as good as the best teams in the world. America has never produced a player with the skill of Pavel Nedved, and his successor in the playmaking role, Tomas Rosicky, could turn out to be even better. Last night, however, Rosicky did the most damage in the uncharacteristic role of shooter, not playmaker. His 30-yard strike, one of the best goals of the tournament, essentially doomed the U.S. to defeat.

The American fans came out in force, but when things didn't go their way, they turned awfully quiet, and the giant Czech contingent (dressed all in red -- what a sight) was naturally more boisterous.

We left Gelsenkirchen at 12:40 for a train back to Hamburg, which arrived at 4:30 a.m., just as dawn was breaking. I took advantage of a relatively slow day to sleep until 2 p.m. Best decision I've made on the trip so far.

Tonight, it's to the Hamburg Media Lounge, where the city's tourism board wines and dines us in the hopes of getting good press. Even better, Brazil will be on the TVs there. Should be fun.

Sea of red

The streets of Gelsenkirchen were choked with red-clad fans of both the Czech Republic and United States this afternoon, as the downtown became a giant block party. Once again, the liberal laws on alcohol consumption in public is a big hit among World Cup visitors.

It's shaping up to be the best, most impressive showing by American fans at a soccer match -- anywhere, anytime. The U.S. supporters were out in full force (and full voice) in the city six hours before game time, and they'll be loud by kickoff. Will they outnumber and outsing their Czech counterparts? I'm guessing: yes and no, respectively.

Meanwhile, an outrageous non-call has helped Japan take a 1-0 lead over Australia in Kaiserslautern. Root for the Aussies to tie it up.

So much for that German stereotype

Last night’s Angola-Portugal match was far more competitive than anyone anticipated, especially after Pauleta gave the Portuguese a 1-0 lead four minutes into the match. But the unheralded Angolans displayed a wonderful attacking style, created several great scoring chances and got some great saves from Joao Ricardo. I don’t think the Angolan fans could be too disappointed in the 1-0 loss, and the massive, boisterous Portuguese contingent got the three points they wanted.

The famed German organizational skills have yet to present themselves here. Last night in Cologne, the media shuttle from the main train station to the stadium was an eight-person van – entirely too small. After the match, there were so many media types waiting for these vans (which come only once every half-hour) that the organizers had to commandeer a bus that was bringing other journalists to the media parking lots.

Unfortunately, they didn’t tell the people who were already on the bus for the parking lots. Once the bus started toward the train station, the parking-lot people rightfully complained – and the driver told them to get off the bus. Multilingual cursing ensued. What a mess.

After taking advantage of Germany’s absence of an open-container law on the train platform (Bitburger, 0.5 liters, only 2.20 Euro – not bad), I rode from Cologne to Bochum, where we stayed in a hotel. Today, it’s the US-Czech Republic in Gelsenkirchen.