If you’ve been watching here in America, I’m sure you’ve seen the spot: The image of Captain America, Christian Pulisic, on a corner kick, Elvis Presley’s “The Impossible Dream” as the mood-setting sound beneath the moving image, Tom Brady shaving Zlatan’s head after John Elway’s bobblehead on someone’s pickup-truck dashboard is replaced with Weston McKinnie’s, with U.S. Hockey icon, Mike Eruzione, captain of the 1980 “Miracle on Ice” gold-medal, sport-defining Olympic team at the end standing up, walking out of frame, asking: “Do you believe in miracles?”
The only thing missing to make the commercial any more moving were the Clydesdales, the dog and Budweiser as the sponsor.
But it’s in the middle of the spot where the lie is told. It pops up somewhat unceremoniously on the screen as a news chyron overlay of a drone shot in the midst of American celebration unlike any we’ve ever seen: “USA WINS WORLD CUP.”
Yeah, that part.
A “stars of stripe” fantasy that unfortunately in this lifetime of ours will probably (even with the best DraftKings or FanDuel odds) never have those words flash across any newscast or even have that moment in that Fox promotional “Miracle” spot become reality.
As the New York Times would call something like this, “a metaphor for a broader national malaise.”
And this is not to say that the USMNT victory against Bosnia and Herzegovina to reach the World Cup Round of 16 is not a big deal. For this country, even with the unrealistic expectation placed on them coming into this World Cup as one of the three host nations, it was a larger-than-the-game-itself-sorta-like-a-huge deal.
But at the same time, in all of its glory, the win is the one that begins the reality-check of America’s path of how every game moving forward will be the reminder of our true place in the world when it comes to the world’s beautiful game — the true distance between us and those other countries when it comes to applied greatness at this level of competition in global men’s soccer, and of how much more the countries we play love the sport they appropriately call “futbol” in a way we never have or ever will.
(Sorry for any of you who believe ‘‘Ted -Lasso’’ is real or based on reality, you should stop reading here.)
Making that mythical miracle of the USMNT winning this (even if they somehow continue to advance) or any World Cup just that . . . a myth. Something more impossible than a miracle. A difficult actuality for our country to accept because in sports the lies we sell ourselves about our greatness in anything we put our “stars and stripes” to pacify our superiority complex. Except for in this sport, except for in this tournament.
Even while at our best, the sport of soccer will never mean to us what it means to every other country left standing for the four-year ownership of the FIFA trophy. And of all of the depth and talent in the world that has some form of American DNA in their bodies who decide to play for and represent this country, they collectively as a single unit will never match the will and desire of a country that equates winning a World Cup to breathing.
And of those teams and nations — be it France or Argentina or Brazil or Spain or Morocco or Mexico — even if America finds a way to win against one of them, eventually the meaning of the sport, the meaning of that trophy to that team’s country and that country’s history, will outweigh any and everything Pulisic, McKinnie, Malik Tillman and even Folarin Balogun, once the red card has expired, will bring to the pitch.
Because winning the World Cup to us is an achievement. To the remaining 15 countries and beyond, it’s their identity. It reflects who they as a country are and why they exist. Yes, it’s that deep. The World Cup reflects their whole life. And until soccer becomes that important to America (when it can match the importance in men’s sports here as football, NFL or winning a Super Bowl), then “USA WINS WORLD CUP” in a promotional ad will be as close as it gets to being a profound prediction.
With John Denver’s “Country Roads” blasting throughout the Bay Area stadium after only our country’s second-ever knockout-stage win, first in 24 years, Coach Mauricio Pochettino and his players circled the pitch in unison with the close to 69,000 in the crowd in a karaoke scene never experienced on U.S. soil. A scene that could realistically be the last.
There’s meaning — deep-seeded, historical, empirical meaning — to this. Meaning that we, America when it comes to the meaning of futbol, will never understand. Most importantly meaning (i.e. Cape Verde) we’ll never match when comparing and competing against other countries who are defined by that meaning.
Look, the come-up of American soccer on the men’s side of this and future World Cups is real. Being in the final 16 with a chance to advance to the final eight in the most important sports tournament in the world is evidence. But this ain’t hockey, this ain’t 1980, this ain’t destiny. Meaning matters. And miracles belong to the arrogance of those who forever believe in myths that they know will never, ever happen. At least, not in this lifetime.