Ah, right. We also learned which teams will compete in which group at the World Cup. The United States (one of three hosts, already confirmed to compete in Group D) found out they’d play Australia in Seattle on June 19 after Shaq— iconic American that he is— heroically pulled the Socceroos out of Pot 2 instead of something more foreboding like, say, Colombia or Morocco.

The U.S. played Australia in October and were the victors (the result in Denver was 2-1 thanks to a brace from Haji Wright) but Australia won’t be easy to beat. The collective sigh of relief from USMNT fans may add fodder for motivation. It’s also worth noting that despite being hosts, the Aussies are likely also breathing a sigh of relief that they’ll face us instead of other Pot 1 teams like, say, England or France or Argentina or Portugal or Spain or, to be frank, pretty much any other Pot 1 team save Canada.

In fact, Australia’s head coach and former player Tony Popovic was allegedly so pleased by the pairing that it riled Landon Donovan. Donovan, on a FOX Sports podcast: “I watched the Aussie coach’s interview after the draw. And it was really interesting. It was unique because most coaches say all the same stuff you’re expecting … His first comment was, ‘We’re satisfied.’ And I was like, ‘Really? Are you?’ And he just had this smugness about him.” The second-most capped player in USMNT history went on to suggest Australia would come last in Group D, adding, “Thanks for coming, Aussies, and your smug coach, you can get back on the Qantas airplane and head back home.”

Whatever the merits of Donovan’s ire, potential over-confidence in the matchup was noted in the other direction, too.

Speaking via the Socceroos website, St. Pauli captain Jackson Irvine said this: “I was actually kind of hoping that it would happen. I know the hype around those games is going to be enormous. So especially playing the US, and seeing some of their reactions in their media to facing us, having beaten us in recent games - I’m expecting that to be a fiery encounter again.”

In D.C., I caught only the tailend of Tony Popovic departing the mixed zone, looking like an Australian just badgered by a gaggle of reporters pleased by the draw. He said the following before departing, “Sure, you’d expect U.S. to be, to be a favorite. They’d expect to go through as a host nation, playing at home. And you know, if that’s the case, I’m happy for them. As long as we’re with them. As long as we join them.”

The Socceroos will be the second match the U.S. plays in the ‘26 World Cup. The first will be Paraguay, who they play in Los Angeles June 12, one day after Mexico opens the 2026 World Cup in Mexico City with a re-match of the 2010 opener against South Africa. As luck would have it, the USMNT also recently played Paraguay, and won.

Like the Aussies, though, Los Guaraníes probably like their chances in Group D. Paraguay finished sixth in South America’s highly competitive qualifying table (they were just one point short of second-place Ecuador) and beat Brazil and Argentina en route. In the 2010 World Cup, they made it to the quarterfinals (where they lost to the eventual champions Spain) after finishing Group F in first place, and beating Japan in the next round.

The USA’s final group of Group D, also played in L.A., will be against the European winner of a playoff between Romania, Turkiye, Slovakia and Kosovo. Should Turkiye win that playoff, as they’re favorites to, the U.S. will have played each of their group opponents in the year previous to the World Cup.

That’s certainly convenient. Will it have a monumental impact on the World Cup results? Not necessarily. The coaching staff will be pleased by the foundation of information they’ve just gathered, though.

Pochettino—looking dapper in the mixed zone, three hours after Bocelli commenced the ceremony—said this in response to what it means that they’ll play rematches of recent friendlies in Group D: “It means let’s work.” He continued, “We’ve already done the homework, because it’s fresh, when we play in Denver against Australia, and Paraguay in Philadelphia. But, by the way, I think it’s still six months. We need to update everything.” Notably, he added: “And we know them, but they know us.”

Time, a fluctuating player pool, deeply rotated lineups, and Pochettino’s flexible tactics could prevent the extent to which Australia and Paraguay “know us” come next June. But the same can be said in reverse. And though we beat both, neither game was secured by an insurmountable margin.

So, we know the first opponents. Now what?

Now we wait, we observe as Christian Pulisic continues to score goals for AC Milan (the soccer star from Hershey, PA leads all players in Europe’s top seven leagues in goals and assists per 90), Folarin Balogun scores a third straight Champions League goal for Monaco, Ricardo Pepi adds one for PSV, and we wonder anew if this team can pull off something historic.

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Notably, the 2010 quarterfinalists qualified out of South America in sixth place (with four teams tied on 28 pts) after absconding with wins against first-place Argentina and jogo bonito juggernauts Brazil. With a coach known for delivering results against the odds (having once advised his team that, sometimes, an imposing shadow belongs to a midget, not a giant) La Albirroja arrived in Pennsylvania prepared to deliver an arduous challenge to next summer’s World Cup hosts.

From the first minute it was a physical joust. I clocked the first shove at about the 28th second; that tempo of tussle continued throughout. Pochettino has repeatedly called for intensity, requesting a ferocity in the way this team fights and last evening, they delivered. Over the course of a testy friendly, which featured a brawl at its tailend, Pochettino’s evolving squad showed gumption while returning notable names to the starting XI and continuing to pan out the new system.

With goals from Gio Reyna and Folarin Balogun, they secured their third win in a four-game undefeated streak. La Celeste awaits ominously in Tampa to see if they can stretch it to five.

Progress with Pochettino

September’s disappointing friendly against South Korea is starting to feel far off. With caveats and questions still pertinent, the team has comported themselves well against four-straight World Cup participants (Japan, Ecuador, Australia, Paraguay) while evolving their setup and competing without key players.

Last evening, as was the case against Ecuador and Australia, they created quality chances, though they’ll need to be creating more of them by next summer. (With three on target, they forced just one save from Paraguay’s keeper).

Sergino Dest returned to Pochettino’s XI looking seamless in his right wingback role. Max Arfsten continued to impress on the left (and provided the assist to Reyna’s goal), though multiple team veterans (Antonee Robinson, Tim Weah) will likely supplant him in the starting role. As an option, he’s proved consequential.

The back three is an area of particular question, especially on the right. I’m interested to see Mark McKenzie and Auston Trusty get a chance Tuesday night.

Tessmann and Roldan were stolid in the midfield, with Tessmann’s cameo particularly bright. Brenden Aaronson looked strong in his return to Subaru Park, though the competition is crowded in that area of the pitch. And Reyna, still short of full fitness, showed the vision and skill that makes him unique.

Balogun scored his third goal in three starts and four appearances, delivering exactly what is needed as the team’s clear striker of choice. Importantly, there are strikers in camp that keep the role competitive, though Pepi fumbled an opportunity off the bench. Haji Wright (who scored a double against the Aussies) likely awaits his opportunity Tuesday night.

Diego Luna, who created multiple chances and at one point lost a shoe, impressed me most off the bench.

Gio Reyna

The 23-year-old (whose birthday was this week) took four minutes to score his ninth career goal for the United States, handing a crowd of 17,244 outside Philadelphia a reason to celebrate. Over the course of 75 minutes, he gave Pochettino a reason to keep calling him in.

Afterward, Pochettino told the press: “He scored and I think he did a very good job. I’m so happy with him. He showed why he started. He has confirmed that he’s a player that needed proof, because he needs to play more with his club. But we can see today that he was great, score and assist. And in the way that [he] always [has] the capacity to read the game and find the free space in between the line I think it was a nightmare for Paraguay and I think he did a very good job.”

In the mixed zone, Reyna was a vision of calm confidence while reflecting on his goal: “It was great. I was just really excited. Honestly, I knew it was an opportunity for me to show that I belong here.”

Still fighting for minutes at Gladbach after moving from Dortmund in the summer, Reyna described his current fitness level as “Probably 80-85 percent” and pushed back on the suggestion that things were going poorly at his new club. With one more friendly this week and then a four month break before the next USMNT camp, eyes will very much be on his fitness and form with Gladbach, as last evening’s reminder of what he can do as a creative spark will need to be solidified by more minutes on the pitch in order to secure what could be a pivotal role next summer.

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But between now and then, a program palpably at odds with large swaths of its fanbase has just four windows and eight games to prepare (plus a potential January camp and any pre-tournament friendlies next June). The bitter end of a strange summer still lingers in the air. Former and present players are sparring publicly aboard their various podcasts and eponymous docuseries. Valiant retired veterans responsible for some of the program’s greatest moments (like Tim Howard’s World Cup record-holding 16-save performance against the Belgians, for example, or Landon Donovan’s GOAT of World Cup goals against Algeria) have rolled back the hype on the younger generation, and accused them of not caring enough. Tim Weah—responsible for some memorable World Cup moments himself—called them “evil”.

Hardly the headlines you want as the tournament looms near.

This summer, when the countdown clock hit the one-year-out mark, the marquee names of a still-young team were nowhere to be found. Through a mix of request, injury, club duty and in some cases football reasons, an essential team-building summer was spent on brand new names who presumably had an outside chance of making the World Cup team.

For many spectators, that was frustrating, though there were positives to be found. Admittedly, I was entertained— still a main point of sports, is it not? Chris Richards stepped up after a big season. Diego Luna and Malik Tillman made their mark in a midfield dense with talent. Matt Freese showed he’s great with pens.

But they got worked by Mexico in the Gold Cup Final. And ahead of the tournament, they set a new record against Switzerland after conceding four goals in the first 36 minutes. After more than a year of poor results, they got booed off the field at halftime and the final whistle. In the mixed zone afterwards, I asked Diego Luna about those boos:

Diego Luna has certainly won over the fanbase with his unique style, flourish and heart. After that loss to Switzerland, a clearly committed team ground their way to a Gold Cup Final. To the chagrin of Mauricio Pochettino, U.S. fans were vastly outnumbered and appeared in low numbers, but the boos did stop.

Still, time to prepare is dwindling. And Pochettino’s roster drop this Tuesday has further befuddled fans ready for preparations to find a new gear.

Christian Pulisic is back, as is Tim Weah. Dest is here, after recovering from injury. Folarin Balogun also returns, though only added yesterday after an injury to Vancouver Whitecaps striker Brian White. With questions swirling, the list of excluded players is long.

Reasons for their exclusion are somewhat inconsistent. Weston McKennie is the most glaring omission, with Poch explaining they want to give him time at Juventus to start the season, noting: “We already know Weston, it’s not necessary to call him.” Players like Tim Weah, though, who just made a big move to Marseille, were called in. Other players that just moved clubs are left out, including midfielders Johnny Cardoso, Yunus Musah and (understandably) Gio Reyna.

Whether he’s still sending a message— playing 5D chess to boost player motivation— or believes it be true, Poch emphasized that players don’t need to go abroad to compete, noting that MLS is more competitive than many European leagues:

"I think it's not necessary to move to from MLS to Europe, because sometimes the MLS, under my assessment, maybe is more competitive than some leagues in Europe. We have some players competing in different leagues that maybe are not so competitive, or in every single week compete in the same way that you compete in the MLS every single week."

In some cases that’s true. And with 12 MLS players in camp, across multiple positions, Pochettino has clearly prioritized US-based players over their counterparts in Europe.

Yunus Musah, Ricardo Pepi, Antonee Robinson (returning from injury), Haji Wright, Brenden Aaronson, Cameron Carter Vickers, Mark McKenzie, Aidan Morris, Malik Tillman (returning from injury), Joe Scally and Tanner Tessman are all European-based players I would have imagined are vying for World Cup spots. Pochettino did note this was the last camp to see new players. And this could still be a motivation game, carrying forward from the summer, or to do with the start of a new season abroad. But it’s also possible Pochettino disagrees with that list of contenders. Will Ricardo Pepi (who’s also just returning from injury) be left off a World Cup roster (again), for example, in the place of an MLS striker, because he plays in the Dutch Eredivisie?

Even among the MLS-based pool, though, some selections feel strange.

Players that moved back to MLS from Europe with their eye on the World Cup roster are left off, including the team’s No. 1 in Qatar, Matt Turner, as well as Paxten Aaronson. MLS players that were given little to no chance to prove their stuff in the Gold Cup are back. Pre-injury, that would have included Brian White, who played just 10 minutes of the 540 available. Jack McGlynn is back in camp after playing 186 minutes in the Gold Cup, and Nate Harriel is back after strangely clocking none (I did, for the record, feel he deserved more). But if you didn’t trust them against Haiti, why run them out against Japan?

To note: I do believe MLS-based players deserve to be and will be in the World Cup roster. I also think the MLS vs. Europe-based players debate is a toxic, tired game. But ahead of next week’s friendlies, the players Pochettino plans to run out together in the most important tournament in the program’s history is exceedingly, concerningly uncertain this far out.

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Operating outside of a FIFA window, the U.S. played with a youth-focused, MLS-heavy squad as they beat FIFA’s No. 47-ranked La Vinotinto and No. 54-ranked Los Ticos. For whatever rankings are worth, the U.S. are 16th.

Given the window, the first-choice senior team was in Europe and absent from this roster. January’s exploits were achieved with an experimental, ‘can they break in’ class of talent. Pochettino— operating in his third window in charge— said in advance of both games that his instructions to the crew were: “... be confident and show their real quality”, advising that they be undeterred by where they play.

A few certainly did. And while the odds are uphill, possibility remains before them. 24-year-old Charlotte FC striker Patrick Agyemang scored in both games, certainly making his case for another call up. 21-year-old Diego Luna and 21-year-old Jack McGlynn are unique, skillful players that could one day break into a competitive midfield. The goalkeeper situation is an odd one. Turner remains solid though lacks playing time at the club level. Zack Steffen excelled when tested, making three saves, including two impressive ones.

But beyond predictions of who could reach that next level— or the simple pleasure of watching the program re-gather and play— what strikes me most this January (and will likely remain with me through the year) is Mauricio’s Pochettino’s continued emphasis on the necessity of a more inspired intensity.

In Pochettino’s pre-Venezuela press conference, he told reporters one thing he hopes to translate from Argentine football to American soccer:

“One thing from Argentina I can apply here, I think is so simple. Because it's the way they compete, [the way the] the Argentine player competes, the mentality. When you lose a ball, you cry. When you lose a game, you spend maybe one week, you know, in your room and you don't want to go out. How [you] defend your badge, your flag. I think how you defend your identity, your culture, I think that is what we want to translate.”

The 52-year-old center back born in Murphy, Argentina went on: “Because, when you play for your national team and you've listened, you're listening [to] your anthem, you need to feel something in your skin, inside yourself. If you feel that ... I don't know the percent that you are going to give more. But for sure it's one, or five, or 10% more. You are going to have an extra energy, an extra everything, you know, in all the areas that you are going to put on the pitch. If we are capable to feel that, we have the quality and the capacity, we are professional, so professional. Discipline we have. And I think we can find, or we can build a very competitive team.”

This, of course, carries forward reports from Pochettino’s first two camps in charge. “Intensity” has been the buzzword of the early Poch era. When I spoke with Tim Ream for The Guardian earlier this month, he told me this:

“The energy is ramped up, but it's also an intensity of focus, an intensity of a mentality. When training starts, the idea and the thought is we're going to do everything at 100%. We're not going to take anything off. We're not going to hold back. We're going to make sure that we're focusing, and we're trying to be perfect with each touch, each pass, each movement, and doing that with a purpose from the very, very, very beginning of training.”

Diego Luna, who got the deserved start against Costa Rica, certainly took the mandate to heart:

Luna, who had eight goals and eight assists for Real Salt Lake last season, broke his nose early in the second half Wednesday evening in Orlando. Bloodied but undaunted, Luna ran back on the field after a quick change of shirt with plugs in his nose, then promptly assisted Brian White for the first goal of the evening. Luna played out an impressive half, notching six key passes as he showed his creative flair, before subbing off and having surgery after the game.

In the post-match, Pochettino told the TNT crew about his interaction with Luna on the sideline, minutes after his nose was broken. Apparently, Luna asked to stay in the game, before running on and promptly setting up a goal. Poch summarized: “Big balls”.

Luna’s talent is worthy of looks at the senior team level. And while I hope no injuries befall any player in the coming year, I can’t help but feel the immediately iconic incident sets the tone for the year. The ‘brotherhood’ era set a firm foundation. But Pochettino’s intensity era is here.

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Things thrown on the field, raining down on the players? Yes. A checklist of topsy-turvy things that can happen in this match-up, did happen in this match-up last night.  

“The chant”? Unfortunately.

And clearly: pausing the game, flashing the warnings, and going through “the protocol”... doesn’t stop the groundswell of in-stadium frustration coalescing whenever Matt Turner had the ball, spilling out into some of the loudest “chants” I’ve ever heard in person across Concacaf. 

It reared its head rather vaguely in the first half. At the end, after the red cards, after Ricardo Pepi made it 3-0 in the USA’s favor, it showed up with renewed force.

… That tends to be when it finds force. Truth be told, when all is lost on the field anyway, the pausing and warnings make it worse. I’ve seen that happen multiple times in person now.  

“Officially”, technically, the chant didn’t end the game. The referee ended the match with 5-6 minutes remaining in stoppage time, because… you know, just at his discretion. Or, so went the refrain.

The Concacaf officials in the press area following the match refused to confirm or say the match ended directly because of “the chant”.  It just simply ended, amid the chant.

When pressed by various members of the media waiting for B.J. Callaghan, they said, “send us an email”. Eventually they made this statement. It was a chaotic evening.

It was all very, well… Concacaf. 

But it was also a convincing evening and a regenerative evening, when it came to how well this team can truly play together. After a long club season, the USMNT got together and absolutely balled out.

And as Christian Pulisic later pled to the press in the mixed zone, it would be a shame if we lost the convincing-play part as our main takeaway, sacrificed at the altar of undeniable, utter chaos.

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B.J. Callaghan (assistant to Anthony Hudson until just a few days previous) is now the interim to the interim, in charge for the summer, and steering this limbo-era toward two trophies. Callaghan named a 24-man Nations League squad this morning. 

Worth pondering:

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The road to 2026 began the moment Tyler Adams sank to the ground in Doha, fallen at the feet of the Dutch.

It began in the raw moments before full sense had been made of defeat. It began as players filed out of the locker room: Tim Ream glassy eyed, Antonee Robinson in tears, Gio Reyna defiant-faced and walking too fast to be stopped. It began in the slow shuffle of Christian Pulisic, last or near last to emerge, so overcome with emotion he could barely speak. He whispered his disappointment to the crowd of mics, an apparent weight keeping volume from his voice, saying: “This is going to hurt for awhile.”

We’re still at the beginning -the beginning of the road to the next one- though it’s been more than a month. And that month has been a lifetime, rife with intrigue we didn’t want.

Investigations, resignations, interim managers, strange decisions, friendlies defined by chaos more than anything else. This beginning- it must be said- is a mess.

But hear me out, dear reader. It’s also fun!

We’ve got a brand new era of stories to track. We’ve got a Weston McKennie in Yorkshire. We’ve got El Tren from El Paso scoring goals among the Dutch. Taylor Booth, my word. If you didn’t watch AZ Alkmaar draw Utrecht 5-5 with Americans on either side this Saturday, friend, you missed out.

And high on the list of exciting paths to track, is that of a young man named Daryl from Oklahoma, who’s scored two goals for West Brom this month. Alongside a colleague, I caught up with him this morning over Zoom.

Through some combination of injury and timing (and perhaps managerial assessment) Daryl Dike was not a part of World Cup Qualifying, and he was not a part of the World Cup in Qatar.

The 22-year-old has clocked 439 minutes with the national team, all with Berhalter. That includes three 2021 friendlies and five matches in the 2021 Gold Cup. He scored 3 goals in those 8 appearances. The first came against Costa Rica, the first match that he saw more than 27 minutes of play.

Despite the promising start, Dike’s last call up was 17 months back. Three separate injuries sidelined him from 36 non-consecutive club games in that timespan. With injuries likely the biggest cause for his absence, though with periods of fitness in between, Dike admits its been difficult:

“Not even being able to put myself in a position to be on the roster and play in the World Cup is obviously something that's a little bit upsetting. But you know for me I think that just kind of gives me more motivation.”

He continues to say that it’s his goal to be the “undeniable” choice, and if the choice isn’t undeniable, then he should be doing more. Returning to USMNT as the undeniable choice of striker, is what drives much of what he does.

“With work, with a lot of time I can continue to you know, be in more camps, be on that team and not even just be a player. I want to be the guy that people look at and think okay, he's gonna be on the team sheet, he's gonna score us a goal, he's gonna help us win the game. And I think that's something that's very, very important for me.”

You can never say for certain, but he hopes the injuries woes are past. He’s had support from the national team there, as well as from people across England, across Europe, advising him on how to take care of his body and avoid injury. He’s incorporated exercises in the gym that are focused more on control than say, getting bigger, and has gathered advice on things like lifestyle and diet that could help keep him available on the pitch.

At the moment, Dike is fit and scoring goals again. With a wide-ranging fan base hoping the best for him, Dike’s been a part of most conversations surrounding who that striker could be next. And given interim manager Anthony Hudson’s recent comments, one wonders if we’ll see him as soon as March.

Americans Abroad, Together

There’s a sense of friendship among the growing number of “yanks” in England, stitched together by history, a common experience, and of course, the national team. Dike says it’s odd to call himself a “fan”- since he’s a part of the national team- but he does try to watch everyone’s games. He’s always loved the Premier League, and as a Chelsea fan, he says he texted Brenden Aaronson “Bro what are you doing” after he scored on Chelsea:

“I watch everyone. I'm a big fan, honestly. It's kind of weird to think, because obviously I play with the team sometimes, so it's weird to think of myself as being a fan. Even though I play alongside them, but I'm still... I see Brenden, I'm still messaging like "yo, sick".

Dike scored on fellow American and Luton Town keeper, Ethan Horvath, earlier this month. “I’m not sorry at all”, he says, laughing. When you’re a striker, and your friend is the opposing keeper, friendship goes out the window. Well, kind of:

“Yeah, obviously like you're sitting there thinking, because you want him to succeed, you want him to do well. But in the grand scheme of things, you know, when you're playing against him, I think that kind of - I wouldn't say the friendship goes out the window, because obviously we're still friends... People couldn't see but during the game, you know, we're still joking around. But yeah, I'm still going to want to win. And obviously he wants to win.”

As a striker, he’s also had the chance to play against Zack Steffen, who he lists as a good friend.

“With Zack I mean, it's the same thing you know, when we were on the pitch, it was like my first game here. I think it was the first match of the season, we played Boro. And now they're doing really well, and he's a big part of that. So it's good to see everybody kind of succeeding and being able to compete with them on the pitch.”

I was actually at the game, way back in August, and wrote about my visit to Middlesbrough here.

Developing in MLS

Like many US teammates overseas, Dike played and developed in MLS. When I asked, he gushed about the trajectory of the league:

“The league is great. I mean, some people may look at it and say it's behind a lot of these other leagues. But if you look at the players that are now making the transition, and how they're able to compete immediately, I think that's a big product of the MLS. Now, you're even seeing tons of players getting big money moves to the MLS, people wanting to go play for the you know, the American teams. And on top of that, you can see that through the national team, you can see how much better our players are now just because of the development in the states, developing in the MLS and everything. So I think that's the main thing and for me personally, it was the tactics, it's the mentality, it's learning to be a professional from a young age. It's, you know, it's the training, everything, and I think the facilities are incredible. I think there's just so many obvious positives about the MLS and looking at it from the outside of course, having been there last year, a year and a half ago... you can see how close it is. You can see how it compares to a lot of the places here, and that with time, I think it'll be here. It'll maybe even surpass some of the places around here, with all the tools that American soccer has.”

Dike moved from Orlando City to West Brom one year ago. I asked if there were shifts in perception among his teammates, noting the impact of players coming out of MLS:

“I think coming from the MLS, before as I said, people would talk about it thinking oh, it's more of a retirement, the people go over there after retirement. Now the talk is just seeing players come out of the league and succeed in the high leagues. You're seeing obviously players at Leeds, you're seeing Brenden, you're seeing Tyler, you're seeing people at Juventus...”

He went on to state the impact evident in the national team from players that were developed in MLS, before achieving at higher levels, coalescing in a national team that has higher standards of expectation that any come before:

“You're seeing all these people go through these big stages from the MLS. And now you're seeing, you know, more young players going out and succeeding at a higher level, and this translates to the national team. You look at the World Cup, we go into those matches, we get out of the group and even as a player, as a fan base, people are still, they still want more. Because they realize that potential. They realize the quality that our teams have. I think a few years ago, we go lose to Netherlands, and people would be like okay, we probably should would have lost to Netherlands, it makes sense. But now we lose to the Netherlands and we look at ourselves saying: we could do better. I think that's kind of now the standard that we hold each other to, we have like a certain accountability to each other. Because we've seen how well we can do. We've seen the players, we see the staff, and see how good the MLS players are doing. So, now getting to the end of the 16, getting out of the group, losing competing to Netherlands isn't enough for us. I think that's kind of the progression you can see with it with the MLS that brings, you know translates to a national team.”

A Footballer

Thinking about how he’s grown in England, Dike says he’s been blessed with good coaching. He’s worked under quite a few. Each shifting tactical style and approach of management has helped his game, he says. He also credits himself with the ability to work hard, adapt, and succeed under a wide array of managers:

“I think having that coaching staff and you know, my eagerness to learn to, you know, play every single game with you know, walking off the pitch knowing that I learned a new lesson, I did this, I improved in every single trading system, like that. I think it's, you know, something that keeps driving me, keeps getting me to improve as a player, become better and better.”

Of his current coach, Carlos Corberan, Dike says he’s learning to be “more of a footballer”:

“I think he's kind of taught me more how to be a footballer. Whether it be you know, coming shorter, maybe not everything into my chest, and you know runs in the box. He wants me to become you know become more of a footballer, get involved with the link-up play, hold up the ball a little bit more. Defensively, the work, work, work, work mentality that he loves to emphasize so much. So whether it be pressing, be holding…”

Dike added that every time he comes off the pitch, Corberan has a new piece of advice or feedback to work on in the next training session game. He’s clearly dedicated to incorporating that feedback, with a determination to improve and a will to achieve self-evident throughout our conversation.

When I asked if there was anything in particular he’s working on to improve, he tells me link-up play:

“For me personally, one of the things I really really want to get better at is, you know, my link-up. I want to get out and get more involved in the play. Whether it be you know, not everything going long, not everything in behind. I want to be able to come and get the ball to my feet and link-up more. And I think that's something that I've gotten better at but I'd love to get so much more so much more better at.”

And in regard to his strongest attributes as a striker, Dike says:

“I think getting into the box. I love to get on the end of crosses. When you have someone like Jed Wallace whipping in tons of crosses in a game, you're always gonna get your chances. And running in behind is something that I've always loved doing. I love to run behind, it's… I love to run, you know, sprint, take on defenders.”

Dike is a competitor with high potential, willing to put in the work to capitalize on what he’s good at and round out his game. He’s also exceedingly likable— humble but driven, sharing his vision with a smile, and wearing a Spongebob hoodie.

I think there’s a lot of people rooting for him as he works toward his goals: promotion from the Championship, playing in the Premier League, getting called back into the national team. He doesn’t just want to be a striker, but be the striker— the one we can all rely on.

Four years from now, if he is the starting striker for the USMNT, Dike says he’d want US fans to know he’s right for that role because he worked harder than anyone else to arrive.

It will be a winding journey toward that moment, should it come. His mentality is to do what’s necessary every day to get there, and trust the chance will come. For those of us watching him progress, it will be a journey that’s fascinating to track.

I’m in Leeds again. I’m sitting next to a space heater, drinking instant coffee in an old place made of brick with a kind caretaker who found a way to say “cracking on” in every sentence while showing me around.

“Right sign this, then we’ll crack on” 

“Make sure you take a photo, before we crack on”

“You can make coffee or tea like x,y,z, okay, cracking on”

“Milk’s in there, crack on”  

“The code is 1234. Right! Cracking on”.

I’m in Leeds, again. It’s been five months since my first arrival. It’s been five months since the start of the new season and Jesse Marsch had the full scale of it to himself, a test. It’s five months since a pair of young Americans debuted, joining a proud old club in the world’s mightiest league. It’s five months since a whole lot of people wondered how they’d get on. 

As individuals, they’ve done rather well. As a club, it’s been a scrap. Very likely, it’ll stay one. 

Five months forward from now- on May 28th- Leeds will play Tottenham, a curtain call at Elland Road to their third consecutive season in the Premier League. Their success at scrapping through this will determine whether they remain for a fourth. 

Our collective Leeds-watching will be suspenseful, every second, starting now. They recommence their scrapping today with a handful of clubs at the very top. Erling Haaland- the most menacing person to ever wear french braids- will pay a visit to Elland Road. And I’m in Leeds, again, to watch. 

Arriving- much like Leeds did upon return to the Premier League- was quite the ordeal. At times, I wondered if it would ever happen at all. It involved a montage of overcrowded or cancelled trains from Wales, every one of them godforsaken. 

Wrexham

There will be much to say on Wrexham in the paper from the town where Rob McElhenney was born. So in lieu of saying what I saw in Wrexham, I’ll focus for now on what I saw when I left. Which is the stadium- The Racecourse Ground- sitting just beside Wrexham General Station. 

A cold, gray, misty December morning, and there it sat beside us, bidding us farewell on a journey further north. It’s the oldest international football ground in the world. All of it is loved- kept alive by its supporters- even though some of it is falling apart, in desperate need of restoration, or repair. 

There’s poetry, in retrospect, to setting off beside by the Racecourse, only to end a winding journey in the home of Elland Road. Both grounds historic, proud, unique, kept painstakingly alive and preserved in the character of place by the unfettered passion of their supporters. 

No small feat— many have fallen to uniformity over the years. 

And I suppose on opposite ends of a footballing spectrum, both clubs need consider how to advance and update, while keeping some things in place. Wrexham wages that battle from all the way down, looking to pry their way into the English Football League by June. And Leeds does so from all the way up in the top flight, waging their campaign to remain. 

Godforsaken train number one

Whether the football pyramid or yesterday’s voyage, it’s a long winding journey from end to end. 

Inside godforsaken train number one, we were packed in like sardines— packed in like an overcrowded football calendar and adding more tournaments by the day. The otherwise hourly train to Chester was the only available. The seven or so surrounding all cancelled. And so there we all were, inside of the one train and in a crowded human pile. 

At least ten of us were crammed into the standing end space of one compartment- the unlucky among us falling through the gravity of any opened door- treated to an American (Canadian?) woman telling her Scottish boyfriend it’s time to join a gym. Just incredible timing, it must be said, as we all stood balancing nearly on tip toe, back to back and silently waiting for it to end. 

“I think you should join a gym” she goes. He’s hrmming and hmmming, clearly uncomfortable. We’re all listening, no real choice. She begins to list off all the gyms he can try in proximity to their flat. 

A lurch and a stop, a man by the window clashes hard into it with a bang. “Shook me if I’m honest” he says to us, “thought I’d launch through.” A bit of levity, we all laugh, he begins to recommend gyms to our new Scottish friend, who’s still hrmming, unenthused. 

The weekend crowd, on a Tuesday

I suppose for some, the holiday season makes all the days a weekend. Godforsaken train number two was filled to the brim with the already drinking and the very high-heeled heading to Manchester to have a nice time. 

The young lads

I can’t actually recall if this was godforsaken train number three or four. There was a required change. There was overcrowding, there were cancellations, there was needing to exit one train to enter another with more cars. There was a stalled train in Manchester when the driver disappeared (??), and an announcement made saying we’d move when they found one to take us further north. 30 minutes later, a new driver emerged. 

And so aboard train three or four - somewhere in the expanse of England east of Liverpool and west of Manchester- there was a group of young lads aged maximum fourteen- one perhaps all of just nine- behaving as if they were about twenty-eight. 

A similar vibe actually also happened aboard train two- to an extent- wherein an exceptionally loud group of boys were among the crowd heading to Manchester for the night, one among them shouting to the whole train about how he’d turned fifteen last week. “Nobody is getting through here!” they’d yelled to the train compartment from their overcrowded end, only to politely get out of the way when somebody did need to get through, shoving each other into the toilet at to make space. 

I’m reminded as well of earlier this summer riding a train south from London alongside a group of shirtless thirteen year olds cracking their beers on the sides of the train, all while the now memorized recording made the routine train announcement (ride any British train or any expanse of time and you’ll know the announcement I mean): “If you see any anti-social behavior, call x, y, z”... then, the slogan: “See it. Say it. Sorted.”

The young lads between Liverpool or Manchester didn’t need reporting by any stretch. Though they were conspicuously pre-pubescent and discussing their tinders, which I didn’t know twelve year olds could have. One proudly announced he’d matched with a nineteen year old in Edinburgh. “I’m gonna shag her”, he told friends. If only he could just find a way to Scotland. 

At some point I was identified nearby them and it was decided I was southern (not the American kind). The man beside them was now scowling into his newspaper and looking every so often behind. The nine year old among them was instructed by the lads, “ask her if she’s Southern. Say: are you southern?” Then, “ask her if she’s alright. Say, are you alright?”

I was quite looking forward to being asked if I was southern, so that I could clear my throat and announce to the crowded train: no I’m American. But the next stop was mine, and opportunity lost. 

A woman who wants Hemingway

And while we’re on the note of the state of things- the dating things, the fourteen year olds who think they’re going to Scotland to shag a lady they met on an app- as I did finally arrive to Leeds, I overheard a woman earnestly tell her friends she’s had enough with “the four word texts”. 

“I want to be courted” she’s telling a group of friends, “I want Hemingway”, she says. 

A lamentable sentiment, though I’m not sure it’s actually Hemingway she wants. Famously unkind to women, married four times, and if brevity is the issue, Ernest was famously concise. Enigmatic, sure. But he was a man that used a few words to say a whole lot. 

If he were a football team, for example, perhaps he’d be Leeds— direct, to the point.  

But really I think Leeds is Hunter S. Thompson— direct sometimes, but largely unpredictable, and on drugs. Unique though, and alluring, a thrill of a ride! Little rough around the edges. Can’t look away. Given the erratic behavior, it’s possible they won’t be around very long. 

Then again, they might be around for all time.

She probably doesn’t want to date Leeds, either. Unfortunately that might be her club. 

Leeds

And so, I’m here. I’m in Leeds. I’m waiting in the wings of the press room at Elland Road. Haaland, have mercy. Brenden, it’s time for your performance of the year. All that energy not used in Doha? Elland Road is the place. 

Tyler, alas, won’t play. The red card from a former scramble carries forward tonight. No matter, he’ll be needed as we ring in the new year, further north.

“Feels good, I miss it a little bit” Sargent said, laughing, about being back in Germany, “didn’t think I would, but I actually did miss it.” 

Last time we saw Sargent, he’d clocked 116 minutes across three World Cup Qualifying matches in September 2021, playing in El Salvador, Tennessee, and Honduras. He started both matches outside home soil and ran in for the final 7 minutes against Canada in Nashville, replacing Jordan Pefok. 

Sargent was yanked at halftime against Honduras- the third match of the three- during a particularly tense qualifying moment, with the squad down 1 on the road and staring down the barrel of a horrific start to a World Cup redemption campaign. He hasn’t been seen since. 

“I think nobody is happy not being called into the National Team. I understand at the same time, I was playing in a good league but not scoring many goals. It was frustrating. I knew I just had to keep my head down, keep working hard. I had a good start to this season. It’s been a fight, but I’m glad to be back.”

Sargent’s descent from presumed US starting striker to absentee depth option likely has less to do with that first window (though his performances were indeed lackluster, and had been that summer as well) and more to do with a relegation year at Norwich. It was a difficult period, he was playing out of position, and struggling for form with a club on its way out of the Prem. 

Sargent discussed watching the qualification process from afar, and conversations with Gregg Berhalter as he was left off the roster for the final four windows: 

“Of course I was keeping up on everything” (the qualification process) “I spoke with Gregg, and his point was I wasn’t getting many minutes at striker, I was playing on the wing a lot, and just wasn’t scoring goals. If I wanted to be called back in, I think the biggest thing was get minutes at striker and start scoring again, which obviously I have been doing so far this season.”

As he watched qualification from afar, we asked Josh if he’d ever felt as though his World Cup opportunity had slipped- or was slipping- away:

“I would just say it was just a frustrating time. I was trying to think about the situation I was in in Norwich and not so much about National Team. If I start performing better, if the team starts performing better in my club setting, I’ll get the chances with National Team eventually. It was very important for me coming into this season- into the Championship- to get off to a good start and to put myself back in the picture.” 

During dark days of scoreless bouts on the wing, floundering on a team in a relegation battle, fighting the resounding echo of no calls from the USA, Sargent said he rebuilt his confidence by focusing on achievable goals that would build toward success:

“...taking little things from the games. Having things going into the game you want to accomplish- not necessarily win the game in general- but little things throughout the game, setting benchmarks for yourself and if you complete those little tasks you’ll keep getting better and better.”

One of those “little things”, it turns out, might have been getting jacked. Sargent said he’d noticed immediately how physical the Prem was, and made a point to spend a lot of time in the gym. Responding to a comment that he looked stronger:

“I don’t want to brag or anything…” he began, as the room laughed, “during my injury at the end of last season with the Prem, I made it a goal for myself and with the athletic department at Norwich that, I realize these guys are pretty big and strong in the Prem, so I made it a goal of mine to hit the gym a bit more and try to work on that.”

On whether his newfound strength will impact the striker race, “It’s Gregg’s decision, I don’t know if that will be a big factor to him or not… but I’ll use it to my advantage.” 

A large portion of our conversation with Josh had to do with positioning on the field, the impact of being played out of your preferred position, and confidence – the confidence it takes to earn your way back to your natural position, and the confidence gained once you excel there. 

Sargent is a striker, but getting pushed to the wing is something he’s battled in Bundesliga with Bremen, as well as with Norwich:

“I had a little bit of experience in Bremen already, they were pushing me out on the wing when I had to. I’m a team player. I’m not one to say ‘no I’m not going to play winger’ if a coach wants me to play there.” 

It’s clear Sargent is willing to be- but doesn’t want to be- a winger. Nor does he see himself as one. That being said, he highlighted more than once the invaluable experience gained from playing in the Premier League, no matter where you are positionally: 

“Learning a new position, it’s not where I feel the most comfortable, but at the same time I was getting playing time in the Prem, in the best league in the world, so I wasn’t going to complain too much... In the end I think I feel the most free, I feel the most confident when I get to play striker.” 

This season, Norwich is playing in the English Championship, having been relegated from the top flight last season. In part due to Teemu Puuki’s injury, Sargent finally took hold of the striker position and started banging in some goals.

Sargent has notched 6 goals and 1 assist this season:

“I wanted to be playing striker, so when I got that opportunity I knew I had to take it. (I was) thinking: ‘do I still have my touch? I don’t know. I haven’t played there in awhile’ so it felt amazing to score that first game I got the chance. It started just coming back to me- the goal scoring touch.”

Puuki is back in the picture, which means Sargent is back on the wing. We talked with Josh about where he’s playing, and what the expectation is moving forward:

“Now it’s a little bit of a different situation. Puuki is obviously a great striker and a legend there. I think even if I’m just playing on the wing now, I think there’s an understanding between me and the coach- and the team also- that I’ll be playing a little bit more as a second striker, tucked in more on the inside, and not playing kind of a true winger role.”

Sargent has been able to work his way into goal scoring rhythm, and he’s been getting more minutes at striker. His battle to stay in that role will continue, and ironically, may even have continued on to USMNT training this week… When I asked him about the clip of him making the rounds on twitter- which has some fans excited about his form- he laughed, immediately knew the clip I meant, and said: 

“Yeah, I was actually playing on the wing in that clip… which allowed me to cross it to Pepi” (who was playing striker) “It was a little 8 v 8 at the end of training, which allowed us to play freely. I’m feeling confident.”

It is surely not an opportunity unnoticed, or a pressure not felt, that this next week will have an inordinate impact on Sargent’s career. Of the three strikers in camp, Jesus Ferreira is assuredly on the plane to Qatar. Sargent and Pepi are vying for a spot, and there may or may not be room for both of them. 

Sargent said he tries not to put pressure on himself, but he talked a lot about confidence. It’s clear he’s got it now, and it’s something he’s ready to ride to Qatar: 

“I think it’s huge for a striker to get that confidence. Everybody has seen me go through relegation and not scoring. It’s hard. You want to be scoring, you want to be called into camp. One of the biggest things in football is to stay as confident as you can, to still believe in yourself when things aren’t going right. And when things are going right and you’re scoring, to ride that wave out and continue with that momentum as long as you can”. 

With 6 goals and 1 assist across 10 appearances with Norwich this season, Sargent’s found that momentum: 

“I haven’t had a season like this in terms of getting a lot of scoring chances, getting minutes at striker like I have this season so far. Confidence is at an all-time high at the moment. Like I said, I’m just trying to keep that momentum going as long as possible, keep scoring goals.”

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The position of Brauhaus ManaMana is in the center, the very center, king of a small square from which a small, concise town spirals out. It stares opposite a Catholic church, with whom it shares reign over Mönchengladbach. 

The church rings out the time of day. The Brauhaus rings out the day of match, hosting crowds of supporters spilling out of it. On a Sunday, perhaps a rainy Sunday, maybe in September, the church and the Borussia Brauhaus are just about the only things left open in town. 

The journey from Berlin to Mönchengladbach could traverse more direct routes than mine. But if you traced my journey- five trains, four stops- you might find your eyes acquainting with the vast expanse of German countryside.

Trees, grass, windmills, small towns, German flags hung out of them. I’m reminded of France, not the cities but rather what’s in-between them. What they share is the churches, and the town clusters that sprawl out from them. 

Mönchengladbach is west, west of the Rhine, west of Düsseldorf, situated within 25 kilometers of the Dutch. It’s within reach of large cities, like Düsseldorf, or Cologne, though it’s rather small itself. 250,000 spread across its wider dominion, its broader region.

Its town center is a surmountable set of streets. They loop up to a small hill, from where an old church, and a certain Brauhaus, peer magnificently out. According to Joe Scally, “It’s very quiet, but if there’s 150,000 people in Monchengladbach, they’re all for the club. It’s a city based around the club.”

Joseph Michael Scally- nineteen-year-old Bundesliga baller, US National Team full back from Long Island- plays for the local football club, Borussia Mönchengladbach. But he doesn’t live in the town. Scally lives in Düsseldorf, which is where he was on Sunday when I called, hanging out at his house with Giovanni Reyna, before the two of them set sail for USMNT training camp in Cologne.

“Gio’s been my best friend for the past five years, so we try to see each other at least once a week to play golf and just hang out with each other, because then it feels like you’re just at home, you know, you’re not in Germany alone, so that’s really nice.”

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Giovanni Reyna is the reason. The 19-year-old American potential phenom, the wunderkind whose injuries keep us waiting, the heartbreak talent kept sideline for too long: Reyna’s the player that brought me to this industrial Westphalian sprawl. 

I didn’t expect to see as much of him as we did Tuesday evening, nor do I think he expected to feature so early in the game. 

But Thorgan Hazard picked up an early  injury against FC Copenhagen, sending Gio Reyna into the thick of the 23rd minute in Champions League day one. For the remaining 67 minutes plus stoppage time, we saw what we’ve always known:

This kid’s got the finesse and the highest potential. He’s hungry. He wants the ball. He sees the field. He’s got the sauce. He’s almost ready, and just in time. 

Dortmund is known as a hard-working city but it sure takes its time waking up. I arrived around 8 on a Monday to meander with no aim. Only a few shops open until at least 11, I settled for a tall coffee beneath a taller steeple, techno music blasting for me and the barista to share. 

Dortmund certainly wakes up for football, though. Suddenly the population feels more expansive. BVB’s black and yellow covers the place. Away fans descend, swarm the city, cause trouble. More police, more people, more excitement decks the town.

The first signs of football life came Monday night. I went for a walk, looking for something to eat, not too many people out. Turning a corner, I found myself on Westenhellweg, walking headlong into a long wide column of menacing looking lads dressed head to toe in black. They were silent, straight faced- save for a few smirking at me- marching with a mission due west. 

German? Danish? It can be hard to tell. A large group of men, mostly blonde, no kit, no insignia, the kit-less look of Dortmund or Copenhagen look interchangeable to me. I’d guessed Danish, at the time, then went to eat a sandwich and didn’t think much more of it that night. 

As the day wore into the next evening, it turns out I was half right. 

Scattered reports on social media came first. FC Copenhagen supporters had been attacked in the city. Ah, so it was Dortmund supporters, went my initial thought. But that, too, turned out just half right. More on that in a bit. 

The next morning- matchday one of the UEFA Champions League group stage- I sat early morning with a coffee, marveling at the number of polizei personnel shown up. They’d sent in a surplus from nearby for support. 

Copenhagen supporters looped in between them, tracing their way around Dortmund’s concise set of central blocks. Dressed in blue and white, they flocked about in groups of 7-10 men, looking around with confidence and a sway to their gait, as if to say: “We’re Danish. And we’re here. We’re here and we’re Danish. And we’re going to walk around in circles with a swagger to our step until more things open, and we find something to do.”

I sat watching with my coffee, amused, scribbling in my notebook. A group of then-idle polizei watched me, perhaps also amused: girl laughing into notebook, drinking enormous coffee, watching the Danish footballers flock. 

Departing from Dortmund’s center toward Westfalenstadion- or, for sponsorship reasons now, Signal Iduna Park- one heads south. A forty minute walk does the trick. There’s transport, of course, but that skips over the in-between, and one mustn’t miss life’s charms. Along the hip in-between (called Kreuzviertel) you’ll discover that Germans are quite fond of buying cheap beer from kiosks, then drinking those beers on the corners and in the street. Cheap beers from kiosk and street side consumption is nearly a national pastime around here. 

You’ll also notice a fondness for drinking on bridges. If MollerstraBe isn’t full before the game- people occupying the full breadth of it, kiosk beers in hand- it’ll be crowded, assuredly, by its end. There are a few joints with beer and schnitzel or wurst or pommes, specifically dedicated to BVB fans. But nearly everywhere- from center to stadion-  is crowded with BVB fans regardless. 

It wasn’t all bratwurst and BVB beforehand, though. In pockets and places, more fights. Once inside, Copenhagen fans set off flares directed into the home sections (thankfully were not yet full). 

Supporters provoked each other, taunted cops, ran away. It became clear now, also, that there were supporters in attendance not from either featured team. These supporters were Danish (the part of my previous prediction come true) but they were not here for FC Copenhagen. Or, not here to cheer for them, at least. Brondby ultras (FC Copenhagen’s arch nemesis from nearby) had apparently traveled to Dortmund to team up with local ultras, the pair of them coalescing to cause a unified ruckus and reportedly attacking Copenhagen as a combined team.

Still outside the stadium, a congestion of Copenhagen fans were kept waiting before their gate. Eager to get in and surrounded (by a line of cops, their horses, an obstacle course of horse poop, and Dortmund supporters beyond that) they took to some light-hearted shouting back and forth. 

There’s solidarity in being outnumbered. Copenhagen’s pack was cohesive, their chants well-rehearsed. There’s fun in being outnumbered, too, and that was the vibe from Copenhagen I got. The away section was bouncing, chanting, loud and giving Dortmund trouble from the start.

Opposite Copenhagen, and surrounding the seats between, Dortmund’s supporters filled in, adding their own volume and drowning Copenhagen out.

Two things immediately stuck me: the prevalence of cigarettes and the number of women. Before the press box: a row of men, their cigarettes wafting unified smoke up into the air. Journalists lighting one up while mulling over their story. And while certainly outnumbered- the women, that is- there were far more frauen in Borussia than I’ve encountered in many other stadiums this side of the sea. 

The other thing that struck me was the sun, which made itself known with blinding aggression. Its position opposite the press zone left me squinting for sight, until in poetic coincidence, almost the exact moment Gio Reyna ran on. It dipped just behind the west stand as he ran toward its rays on the left wing, and finally, I had clear vision.

 A lengthy word must be saved here for that glorious yellow wall shouting Borussia!

The steep yellow facade of Dortmund’s south stand is the face of this famous stadium, a football mecca for Deutschland, home of the largest standing football terrace in Europe. 

With a 25,000 standing capacity, the Sudtribune could very well be its own stadium. Adding even more atmosphere this Tuesday, UEFA recently changed their regulations surrounding standing sections, allowing Dortmund to fill Die Gelbe Wand to full capacity for the first time in Champions League (previously curtailed to some 18,000). 

The distinct holy tenor of Champions League music graced the stadium just as Die Gelbe Wand reached its highest crescendo, and the Copenhagen supporters set their entire section aflame in flares.

As tensions rose and Copenhagen set more flares off, boards around the stadium displayed various signs meant to urge football into the future. Things like PEACE and RESPECT and “online abuse” crossed out rose up, somewhat comically marred from view by flare smoke. 

But through the chaos and juxtaposition, the music marking the start of Champions League stayed constant. All teams now race- for a brief moment, equal- toward Istanbul next summer. 

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With the north stand lit up by flare- its smoke wafting over the pitch, providing brief cover from the sun- the match began, and I could barely see. Rhythmic Dortmund! chants came from the south stand and the outnumbered Danes chanted “SheiBe Dortmund” defiantly back. 

Half of my notes before Gio Reyna’s entrance tracked the sun’s slow progress toward evening, the continued flares the Danes set off, and Jude Bellingham’s beautifully weighted and perfectly placed passes. 

Dortmund were aggressive going forward. They moved their way into the box, wasting no pass or moment in excess, but missed that final pass or lethal touch on arrival. Copenhagen’s supporters rallied from behind their keeper, who yelled to his team to stay compact while Dortmund stretched the field wide. 

In the 23rd minute, Thorgan Hazard picked up an injury. The severity seemed initially unclear, but it quickly became apparent he’d need to come off. 

Thinking I had forty minutes at least before a Giovanni Reyna arrival, I was snapped awake because there he was, standing ready beside Edin Terzic along the sideline. They shared a reassuring word, nodding to one another, a look of confidence between them, then Reyna went to wait for the referee to wave on his arrival. 

The stadium bid a thankful farewell to Thorgan Hazard’s departure, and as the announcer stated his replacement, “nummer sieben, Gio” Westfalenstadion rang out with what felt to me a momentous and heartfelt, “REYNA!

”Reyna has long been seen as one of America’s most promising talents. But he’s been struck by injury and sidelined for fitness repeatedly since last September. Last season, he spent months in rehabilitation only to be injured within minutes on return. The image of that tearful departure still haunts us all.

Dortmund has been cautious this season to avoid tearful repetition.  

Reyna hasn’t been traveling to away matches, and featured for just 35 total minutes across two matches heading into Tuesday, when he played more than 67. In his early cameos he’d been cautious, too, keeping his sprints and interventions to half-speed, easing his way in.

But Tuesday- with the energy of UCL contagious in Westfalenstadion and all of the match left to play before them- Reyna worked the pitch at full speed and determination. 

Never still, he worked diligently off the ball and moved proactively on it. He was running at full speed, and at all moments. In attack he was wide and moving forward, making use of space and overlapping with Raphael Guerreiro. He found space in the box or hung out at the top of it, ready to receive the ball and identifying final passes. He was tracking back, moving into the midfield at times, defending. 

With Reyna’s entrance Dortmund was really cooking. In the 34th minute Niklas Sule intercepted the ball from the back, then carried it forward on the dribble before slotting it to Julian Brandt, who found Marco Reus ready to tap it in for their first goal. 1-0 Dortmund. 

The team- and Reyna- got hungrier and more confident from there. Reyna was moving with a rhythm: dropping in for the pass, finding the perfect one, moving into the next open space moving forward. He worked hard to get open, and if not given the ball, demanded it. When he got the ball he was never selfish with it, always reading the game with impeccable vision, always knowing what the next move was. 

Take Dortmund’s second goal, for example. Reyna worked for space, got himself open, called for the ball, collected it running forward, saw Raphael Gurreiro and sent it over to him running behind him for the tap in. Another player might have tried to do something himself with it, but Reyna saw Raphael in a better position, and knocked it over. 2-0 Dortmund. Assist Reyna. 

There were times he got open, but was left waiting for the cross or pass. I was laughing, watching as he waved emphatically to his teammates to communicate this. Coming off at the half, he had a word with Marco Reus as they walked together. Reyna was gesturing enthusiastically at his feet. I can’t read lips from that far but it’s possible he was saying, yo give me the ball more. But hey, I’m just speculating.

 At the half, a bit of leg stretching, curry wurst in the press room, the distinct smell of marijuana on the terrace. More cigarettes, I think I spotted a beer in the press box. Dortmund was having a festive night. 

Not to be outdone by Copenhagen, Dortmund’s yellow wall started the second half alighting their entire section in flares of their own. Sunset and flare smoke covered us in an evening haze that hung rather majestically round the stadium. 

As the second half kicked off, Gio Reyna’s hunger for the ball stayed apparent. He was winning the ball, moving well in tight spaces, always getting the right pass in, and if open and not getting the ball back, he definitely made sure his team knew he wanted it. 

Around the 66th minute, terror struck. Viktor Claesson came in for a rough tackle that left Reyna on the ground grasping his ankle. Jude Bellingham- clearly a close comrade of the young American- came running over, and spoke for all of USMNT-dom as he yelled down at Claesson (also on the ground) something that could have been: I swear to god, if you just injured him.

In a comforting assurance that Reyna wasn’t injured- and that he remains a reliably spirited Gio Reyna- he got up, stood beside Bellingham, and started yelling down at Claesson, too.  

By about minute 75, Reyna did seem to tire. He’d been running near nonstop until then. He had his hands on his knees a few times as the clock moved toward 90.

But when it was time to move and pass and find opportunity, Gio was definitely moving. He notched a second Champions League assist at minute 83, this time setting up Jude Bellingham. And if his teammates had finished their chances, he could easily have had 5 more beyond that. His composure on the ball impeccable, his turns and bursts of speed prophetic, he found pass after pass after pass to set his teammates up for goal-scoring opportunities.

As minutes dwindled, Copenhagen also found the back of the net.  Their supporter section went mental. Flares and a few small fireworks emerged, some tossed into opposing sections. The crowd hissed their disapproval (lots of middle fingers in their direction) and in karmic retribution for tossing fireworks, the goal was disallowed (unrelated to fireworks) and the match ended 3-0. 

Tossed in among my scribbled notes on the goal, is my somewhat comical but underlined overarching sentiment of needing Reyna healthy: “I swear to god if one of those fireworks lands on Gio”.

 I can think of no better way for Reyna- or Dortmund- to start this year’s Champions League campaign. The confidence gained by both in a comprehensive performance will impact what’s to follow in the season to come. 

With the World Cup looming, Reyna will continue to work with his club to return cautiously, but confidently, toward full fitness. Understandably, he looked gassed by the final whistle. But he’s got some time to get back to full speed, and a club with very clear interest to see him there safely. 

And speaking of safety, walking back into town I again found myself trailing a large group of ultras, head to toe in black. A police van was tracking them. The group was speaking English, pleased with the game, seemingly rather calm. The fact they were speaking English again corroborates: these were likely both Germans and Danes joined together, Dortmund as well as Brondby supporters, as was reported.

There were scattered yelling matches in town- a few Dortmund supporters following and yelling at some young Copenhagen fans- one Copenhagen fan yelling at a different set of Dortmund supporters the universally understood phrase: “Hey man, f**k you! F**k you, man!” 

But overwhelmingly, things were peaceful. Supporters from either side made friends over kebabs. A group of them, myself among them, found a spot to watch the remaining Champions League matches. 

It was a fitting end to a remarkable evening for USMNT players at the start of UCL, all of them (and us) staring down a steep countdown to a pivotal World Cup. Gio Reyna played more than 20% of his total Dortmund minutes (across competitions) since injury last September, and he performed them to the height of expectation, becoming the first American to notch two assists in a Champions League performance. 

And then there we were in Dortmund’s center just following, a crowd of Germans and Danes (and me), watching up at a large screen as Weston McKennie scored a goal at the Parc des Princes for Juventus.

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“What state are you from?” they ask. (I do occasionally feel for the plight of Canadians. Once they hear you speak, they do presume. The people of Saskatoon must always be correcting, it’s a province, don’t you know.) 

Can’t tell you how many times (feels like every time) somebody’s asked me this summer: “So where ya from then?” and I say, “the USA, baby”. And they look at me like, yeah, no kidding. “I meant which state?”

I don’t actually say “baby”, I just think it in my head. And when they ask “where from?” I still start with “USA”, for the sake of our dear friends up north. 

“Pennsylvania” I respond. The man with a key concentrates on something just above my head, then looks down disappointed. “Have you ever been to Pennsylvania?” I venture, wondering what’s gone wrong. No, he says. I wanted to impress you with my America knowledge. But I don’t know anything about Pennsylvania. I laugh, and for some reason, say: “It’s a rectangle named after William Penn.” 

Can you tell me more facts? For next time? 

“… Well, I’m from Philadelphia, specifically…”  I mention the liberty bell, independence hall (which he thought was in DC), cheesesteaks, Rocky… “also” I say, “Christian Pulisic is from Pennsylvania”. He slaps the table at the sound of Pulisic, throws his hand in the air. “Pulisic! I knew that. I did know that.”

As he checks me in, we start talking about football. He’s surprised I’m a fan. He is not, he laughs, emphatically, from Chelsea. Nor is he a fan of the club. I ask how he’d describe Chelsea. The area or the club? “Well, both”. Rich. 

He is from London, yes, but from Paddington. “Who's your club?” He looks over his shoulder. I can’t tell you here. “Why not?” He freezes, looks around, sly smile. “Tell me.” Manchester United. “Ah.” 

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Indeed. 

Friday night we befriended a set of couples split in loyalty between Chelsea and Leeds (a pair perfectly suited to my incessant questions regarding America’s alleged colonial revenge). The Blues fan assured me Thomas Tuchel was a mastermind tactician- the best there is, really- and that Christian Pulisic was an assured starter this year. I’m going to need answers from him as to why clearly neither is the case. 

The Leeds fan was near incomprehensible of accent and enthusiastically pro-Marsch. Previewing the pivotal season before us, he echoed the sentiment of most Leeds fans that weekend: not only will Leeds United stay up this year, they’ll finish mid-table, easy. They’ll be no late season terror like there was last. 

This fan in particular (swimming as he is in a sea of Marcelo Bielsa mourners, hopeful but skeptical of Marsch) credited Marsch entirely with keeping Leeds in the Premier League last season. Not only that (was he saying this for my benefit?) he felt it was the Americanness of Marsch that did the job. 

He elaborated, spending incredible emotional emphasis on the last word of each assurance: “It’s the belief. It’s the mentality. It’s the camaraderie. It’s the huddles.” 

The huddles?! Yes, the huddles, the very huddles Jesse Marsch was dragged for in British media as they tut-tutted over what this corny American was doing to their game. This isn’t basketball, mate. He went on at length about the huddles, which he pronounced hoodles: “The first time I seen the hoodle, I thought, ‘ang on, what’s this? Oh. Okay. Alright then.” 

My new pro-hoodle friend professed as much admiration for the fictionalized American manager as he did the real one. He can’t wait to watch the new Ted Lasso season, just a brilliant series. Comically, though (without malice, perhaps due to time of night on a festive evening) he began speaking of Marsch and Lasso interchangeably, calling Jesse Marsch “Lasso” when speaking about Leeds: “‘e’s going to do it. ‘e will. Lasso will prove ‘em wrong. Leeds is staying up this season. They’ll see.” 

“Marsch”, I interrupted, as he kept on about a Leeds manager named Lasso. “The real one’s called Jesse Marsch.” 

Leeds have something big to prove this season.  And for several reasons, so do the Yanks in their ranks.  Their mandate? This is the Premier League. Prove you belong.  

Leeds was among the 22 teams in the inaugural Premier League season, but after relegation in 2004, they disappeared for 16 years. Leeds spent time as low as League One- the third tier of English football- before climbing their way into the Championship, and in 2020, they cracked back into the top flight under the guidance of their dearly beloved Marcelo Bielsa. 

Halfway through last season, though, it looked like Leeds was going back down. Bielsa was out. Fans were distraught. An American was brought in. Skepticism, perhaps, was warranted.

What had this American manager achieved to warrant a Premier League appointment? How could they replace a legend like Bielsa with him? Seemingly everywhere, he was compared to Ted Lasso, the overly-smiley, shockingly-naive, and annoyingly-sincere fictionalized American (an endearing caricature of how some British people actually view Americans) who knew absolutely nothing about football before getting the job. 

But after an emotional season and much ado about huddles, Marsch kept Leeds in the Premier League (by the skin of their teeth, in the final match).

A new season is now upon us. And overwhelmingly, the sentiment of Leeds fans is they’ll give Marsch a chance. For now. The opportunity is now firmly Marsch’s to botch or bungle. 

Leeds enters their third straight Premier League season short of big names like Raphinha or Kalvin Phillips, both of whom left for bigger clubs in the off-season. Marsch replaced them with fresh faces, hard workers, and a pair of familiar Americans on whom he knew he could rely. Alongside Adams and Aaronson, Danish right back Rasmus Kristensen and Spanish midfielder Marc Roca made Premier League debuts against Wolves. In lieu of stars, what Leeds has is desire, cohesion, identity. What this will be- as Marsch emphasizes ad nauseam to press- is a team. 

Brenden Aaronson and Tyler Adams come to Yorkshire with a few key things in common. That includes the American northeast, the US National Team, ties to Jesse Marsch, and a history with the Red Bull system. They press and they win the ball high. They force errors. They win second balls. And they run, a lot. The USA hustle boys and Jesse Marsch mentality men are here to meld themselves into Leeds, a team known to play precisely in that style. But will it be enough? 

We’ll know by May. …or earlier, if things go awry at an accelerated pace.

Staying in the Premier League will be difficult work. Every match will be a fight. Missteps are nearly assured.

A victory at home to start the season is as solid a start as any could ask for, but the season expands outward over rough terrain. Marsch and his men still have everything left to prove in Yorkshire.

I’d been in Leeds since Thursday, and the population by Saturday morning had expanded about triple-fold. Where did all these people come from? Judging by the flow of kits- blue and yellow strewn across Briggate, expanding out- the culprit most responsible was Leeds United. They were joined by a healthy flow in town for Pride (happening Sunday, filling Leedsian pubs with football fans and drag queens in sometimes comical combination), as well as the ever reliable tumult of stag and hen parties descending on English cities every weekend. Why do the hen parties all carry blow up dolls? Tradition, I’m told. 

We arrived to Elland Road a few hours early, parking beneath the looming brick facade of the John Charles West stand. To our right, rows of suburban homes wound up a small hill, overlooking the proud old ground. First built in 1897, Elland Road has maintained its character through several renovations. It’s a pretty old stadium nestled in a red brick neighborhood just south of Leeds. A lot of new stadiums to me look sterile, feel placeless. They mimic the design of whatever’s been done everywhere else on earth. But not Leeds. You could be no place but Leeds, no place but England at Elland Road. 

We walked around to the opposite end, lingering beneath the decorated bronze statue of Billy Bremner. The largest collection of fans that early were those snaking out of the local fish and chips. Equipped with camera gear and eager questions, we began looking for people to chat. You can see some of what we gathered here. 

The people we asked to chat were fairly open, and happy to talk, though not everyone wanted to. The closer we got to the start of things, a few people approached us, rather than the other way around. “Philadelphia?” I could hear somebody shout at my friend, manning the camera as I interviewed somebody else. “Isn’t that in America?!” That’s the one, my friend replied. 

I turned to ask them questions (these are the ones featured near the end of the video, second to remind us soccer is an improper term). They were split in belief as to whether the trio of Yanks could do it. One believed they would, despite presumption. The other did not, because no Yank could. 

We spoke to a healthy spread of fans as they milled around, weaving past the crowded carts of chips and burgers, past the The Old Peacock overflowing with fans, past the outdoor bar at the northeast corner where fans watched Fulham draw Liverpool. There were families, couples, friends, women, a large group of young boys walking arm in arm and singing, trailed by a trio of (I assume) their coaching staff. People met at the feet of Billy Bremner or Don Revie to pay tribute. One family placed a wreath at Bremner’s feet which read, in commemoration, “GRANDAD”. An enormous banner of Tyler Adams loomed just behind. 

The fans we spoke to trended cautiously optimistic. They were excited for Aaronson in particular, when asked about new signings. They were interested to see what the others could do. We need a left back, nearly everyone echoed, as well as a striker or two.

And Marsch? They’re willing to give him a chance. He’s got a whole season now. He’s had the full offseason to prepare, to implement a system that’s truly his. We’ll see what he can do, went the refrain. Only at the margins of either end did people confess they thought he’d fail, or that there was no way he would. 

Leeds fans don’t expect to be relegated (few teams do this early on). Only twice was I told it’s called football- unprovoked, mind you, I know better than to run round England shouting soccer- and only once did I imagine my interview was declined with some level of disdain, perhaps because of my accent. 

Just under an hour out, with time winding down, I departed our pre-match project for the press box. On arrival I went first to see about a coffee, sheepishly needing the aid of an aid to figure out the machine. Hearing my accent, he commented, very matter of fact, you’re American. Confirmed. So I bet you want Aaronson to score, then. That would be nice, I laughed, before departing with my coffee into the open air to see about a rather important match. 

(After the match, as I came back down to the media room, he was there beaming a smile at me from ear to ear).

I’ve stood in a lot of stadiums in my day. I’ve seen a lot of crowds go wild inside them. Elland Road on opening day of a Premier League requires a special tip of the hat. Atmosphere wise, for me? Top ten, easy. For Jesse Marsch? “Within thirty seconds [walking out from the tunnel] I want to play”. 

And to round out the doe-eyed American praise for an English crowd on match day, the ever wholesome Jersey boy, Brenden Aaronson, in the post-match of his Premier League debut: “I can’t stop smiling, because this is such a wonderful place”. 

The start of things erred fast. I felt, with some sense of foreboding, that this might not turn out to be wonderful. 

In the sixth minute, Rasmus Kristensen (who otherwise had a strong debut) got beat badly by Pedro Neto, who then crossed to Hee-Chan Hwang waiting unmarked along the right side of the box. As Neto crossed to Hwang, Robin Koch was the only defender in the box and Wolves players were fast descending. Tyler Adams came blasting back, covering for a center back and left back still further up field. Adams was first to arrive but outnumbered, occupying the space between the assist-man and scorer, adding pressure but stopping neither. Hwang received the ball with a tidy little header to the feet of Daniel Podence, and Podence put Wolves up 1 with a scissor kick that bounced the ball from crossbar to grass and into the net. 

Despite the setback, Leeds rallied and looked like the more dominant team the remainder of the half. Their pressure was relentless and suffocating, forcing errors and creating opportunities on the counter. There were a few quality chances (including a nice shot from Aaronson at the top of the box, following a pass from Tyler Adams- oh, what could have been!) before Leeds leveled the score in the 24th minute. 

Wolves’ left back Rayan Ait Nouri stopped the Leeds attack intercepting a pass, only to have Aaronson win the ball back from pressure. Aaronson poked the ball out for Jack Harrison to collect, finding its way to Rodrigo. Rodrigo made space and sent the ball right through the grasp of the keeper at the nearside post. 

Just when I thought Elland Road couldn’t get louder, it reached new decibels. Rodrigo ran straight toward a wild scene of fans who looked ready to burst out of the stands, pounding his chest in celebration. Exhales all around. 

Before and after the equalizer Wolves attempted to slow and control the game with a montage of blatant diving. Jesse Marsch and his home crowd were outraged in lockstep. The furor flamed higher in the 15th minute when Ramus Kristensen was taken out by Wolves goalkeeper Jose Sa, whose status as keeper apparently protects him from being held accountable for missing the ball and taking out Kristensen’s head instead. The crowd erupted in minutes-long demands for VAR, sung to the lyrics of: “where the f***, WHERE THE F***, where the f*** is VAR?!” 

Jesse Marsch is no sideline wallflower. As calls were missed or players dove, he could be seen pacing, waving arms, yelling. At one point- it became clear later- Marsch called the Wolves player rolling at his feet a cheat. This caused (in my opinion) excess indignation from Portuguese manager Bruno Lage. The pair of managers spent the remaining match (and post-match) in a heated feud which led to a refused handshake from Lage, and Marsch yelling in his face, demanding he be given one. Marsch sat in the post-match sucking on a lozenge of some kind, reliving the events calmly, saying, “but that’s okay. I’m alright.”

Whatever Bruno did to rally his squad at the half, it worked. Wolves played tidier and more controlled football coming out of the half, keeping sole possession for nearly twenty minutes. The high tempo of oppressive pressure ebbed as Leeds looked utterly exhausted, chasing and chasing and chasing but never winning the ball.

Frustrations in the crowd could be felt. Chants began in earnest to encourage the players. If the players weren’t alert, I certainly was, as the man just in front kept banging on the press box wall, yelling, GO ON THEN LEEDS! GET TO IT! GET TO IT THEN LEEDS!

It looked a bit like Wolves would surely score if this went on. But Marsch made a few well-timed and perfectly chosen subs which reclaimed momentum. Mateusz Klich replaced Rodrigo in the 65th minute, and Sam Greenwood replaced Marc Roca in the 73rd. The changes had immediate impact. Energy returned, and Leeds soon found a second goal. 

Like the first goal, the play started in part with one of the debuting Americans (and never mind what the Premier League says, it ended with one too). Tyler Adams slid a pretty pass into Mateusz Klich, who found Bamford on the wing. Bamford crossed the ball to Aaronson, descending at top speed on goal. Initially it looked like Aaronson ran it in, but it was ruled an own goal, knocked in by Nouri. To this day Aaronson claims it as his, and the crowd certainly felt that was the case. (Cue the first but not last USA chants of the day.)  

The second goal was enough to settle it. Marsch sent in more fresh legs to see things out. Aaronson came off in the waning minutes, to uproarious applause. Tyler Adams played tough, through until the end (though accruing, it must be said, a rather foolish yellow at minute 94). 

Down on the pitch, you could see Tyler Adams embrace injured Wolves and Mexican National Team striker, Raul Jiminez, after the final whistle. While making his way around thanking fans, Rasmus Kristensen wrapped Adams in an enormous bear hug before pumping his fist three times at the crowd.

The crowd was slow to leave. The duo of Americans were even slower. Adams and Aaronson walked around every corner of the pitch, thanking fans, giving their shirts away. Adams put his arm around Aaronson’s shoulder, just before they walked off. 

It was around this time that Aaronson made his comment about some wonderful place, and the reason he can’t stop smiling. 

I was in a Starbucks writing the next day- a pamphlet emblazoned with grinning Brenden Aaronson beside me- when a couple came in and sat beside us, looking down at Brenden’s smiling face and then up at mine in a way that conveyed: our cheery arrival was actually horrifying. “Americans”, they whispered in agreement, looking over with wary eye, like Paul Revere ringing the alarm in reverse. 

And what alarm is it, exactly, that they’re ringing? 

Perhaps in an anglophone nation so prone to absorption of American culture, there’s real fear we’ve come to infect this too. Maybe they think if too many Americans arrive, they’ll be forced to start singing the YMCA instead of We all love Leeds. Maybe they lay awake at night, haunted by the word soccer. Maybe, too, they just think Americans are shite at their sport. 

On a grander scale, it’s perhaps not without reason that a proud old club would tread cautiously round the hoards of American fans who’ve popped up just now and out of nowhere, and seem to all be talking and cheering for specifically three men. Americans aren’t the only ones that do this, of course. As a few Leeds fans commented, Anybody know if we still have Argentine fans?

But, well, we’re here. We’re here in the midfield, here in press seats, here managing a Premier League team. We’re here in Starbucks, writing essays. We’re looping round the stadium, putting a microphone in your face. And undeniably, not everybody is happy that’s the case. 

Make no mistake: if this goes poorly, if Leeds is relegated- hell, if Leeds doesn’t get relegated, but just barely stays up- it will be our fault. And to some extent, that’s not unfair, it’s just true. 

From what I know of Adams, Aaronson, and Marsch, though- having sat in media sessions with all three, and a great many multitude of times with the two former- this isn’t a trio afraid of that being the case. These are characters that crave the challenge, want the pressure. If given a high bar they’ll say, put it higher. And so, now- aware of the pressure, and with a high bar- we’ll see. 

The afternoon and evening trailing behind victory was festive and full of hope. Reviews were singing for the American trio, and positive about the team. Adams and Aaronson looked excellent, played hard. Marsch got the subs just right. The bit with Bruno? We love to see it. Did you hear Aaronson had the most pressures in the league? 

At one point I asked somebody for their thoughts on Brenden Aaronson, and he responded by simply starting to chant, USA! USA! (Fourth USA chant of the day, by my count). Never mind the lack of originality, I think it’s safe to say Leeds fans are (at least initially) enthused. 

The season is long, and just starting.  Leeds and their trio of Yanks have a long way left to go. Along the way, there may be wary eyes and pointed fingers. But you may also find that in downtown Leeds at the end of a match day, should you ask a stranger for thoughts on Brenden Aaronson, you’ll find strangers breaking out in chants of USA. 

What is the one thing Leeds United fans would like Americans to know about their club? Is Jesse Marsch the right man to take over from Bielsa? And which players are…

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Make no mistake, Middlesbrough is not a glamorous place. Middlesbrough is a small conglomeration of brick and grit and characters. People ask you in distinct northern accents that drawl, “are ya alright?” when they greet yo…

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The 19-year-old Arsenal product featured for England’s youth national teams from U15-U18 levels and as a teenager in London, he imagined that’s where he’d play. He could have represented England, Italy, or Ghana’s crest in international football. But last March, he decided to represent the USA’s. 

456 days since that fateful decision, there sat Yunus, king of the mud in San Salvador. 

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The event marked the last domestic camp before the 2022 FIFA World Cup. Typically, the big media send-off would happen much closer to the tournament. But with a November World Cup, a September camp in Europe, and the constraints of club seasons, it’s now, and there’s still five months to go, and at least 10 of these guys are still vying for a spot. 

High on that list of hopefuls is veteran goalkeeper Sean Johnson. And originally, he wasn’t called into camp. 

In order to accommodate the numbers inside of a time-crunch, USMNT players arrived in pairs and split the room. Media, take your pick: in one corner, so and so, in the other, so and so. 

Sean Johnson’s fifteen minutes were scheduled parallel to Weston McKennie’s. And as you might imagine, the weight of the room tilted heavily toward McKennie’s desk.

But McKennie was early, and Tyler Adams’ session ran late, so after Weston questioned Tyler he walked across the room and did the same to Sean as he waited for Tyler to get out of his seat:

WM: Can I ask you a question? 

SJ: Please.

WM: So what are your plans, given that it is your birthday, to celebrate with teammates and staff?

SJ: I would say that there is actually nothing more that I could ask for on my birthday than to celebrate with… especially you, my favorite teamma- (He trails off, they’re both laughing). Yo let’s turn up bro. 

WM: (Says something I couldn’t make out.)

SJ: That’s my motto in life. Never a bad place to turn up. 

(Weston raises his hand to ask another question.) 

SJ (Nods toward Weston, the only person sitting in the media rows): Yes?

WM: What do you think about the attire that we wear? Do you think it could be a bit fresher?... Do you think it could have some more flavor, given that we are the US Men’s National Team, one of the biggest Nike partnerships?

SJ: Yeah, I think we should start with pockets. That should be the first thing. And then we can talk about fashion after that. But, maybe a side satchel… something that’ll carry a phone, hotel key… 

(Weston McKennie continues as Sean laughs and says, It’s a packed room by the way. Most of the media are still over by Tyler Adams.) 

WM: How excited are you about this new generation coming up? You know, you've been a part of both… you know, some people call you an old head (Sean Johnson cuts in to say “Or Dad”)… that you’ve been a part of the past generations and the new generation heading into the World Cup. Have you noticed a difference in how the teams carry themselves through qualifiers, and leading up to the process of playing in the World Cup? 

SJ: It’s like being a team Dad with a bunch of children. 

(Weston interjects to tell him to lean forward and speak up. Johnson replies “No no no, you come closer sir”. McKennie moves past the empty chairs to the front row as Sean says “Next question”.) 

WM: What do you mean next question?! You didn’t answer my last question!

SJ: I answered your question, you were just too far away to hear me. 

(Some media are arriving now, and as Tyler Adams departs Michael Kammarman approaches: “Come on Wes!”. )

When Gregg Berhalter called 27 players into the final domestic camp, Sean Johnson wasn’t one of those names. The presumed pecking order of goalkeepers has Sean Johnson fourth, and just shy of a flight to Qatar. 

After the roster release Berhalter talked to media about “difficult conversations”, conversations which will only get harder the closer you get to the World Cup… at which point the hopefuls can no longer hope. He named Sean Johnson, in particular, as one of the phone calls that was “really, really tough” to have. 

But just before camp, Manchester City’s backup keeper and USMNT’s presumed number one- Zack Steffen- pulled out for personal reasons. And just like that, Johnson was in. 

Then on June 5th in Kansas City, the number four keeper suddenly found himself number one in net, featuring against the toughest competition of the four-match window: Uruguay. 

It was a nil-nil slogfest. The USMNT backline looked shaky at best. But Johnson came up big with a handful of saves, keeping a clean sheet and putting an end to La Celeste’s 5-game win streak. He looked cool under pressure, passed well through the press, and absorbed the mistakes of a backline in intermittent disarray.  He was, in fact, named Man of the Match. 

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The flummoxed few fans did wonder, though: how do you go from being off the roster, to getting the start against Uruguay? What, cried the everlasting flummoxed, is Gregg doing? It’s a fair question. 

Matt Turner is undoubtedly the keeper challenging for Zack Steffen’s starting spot. He’s the “shot-stopper”, juxtaposed to Steffen’s progressive style of play… or so they say. Turner (Moving to Arsenal this summer, in part to prove he can play progressive too, as a —backup— keeper in Premier League) featured against Morocco June 1. He looked sturdy as ever in the 3-0 victory. His beaming grin coming through the post-match proved he knew it, too. 

Steffen isn’t here. And we know what Turner can do, so rotation makes sense. But where was Ethan Horvath? Horvath has long been the presumed third option. He’s come up with big games whenever given the job. And with Nottingham Forest’s promotion to England’s top flight, Horvath makes himself USMNT’s third —backup— EPL keeper. 

But as we near the World Cup, the USMNT keeper position is looking among the most uncertain. Steffen has been shaky for club and country. All three preferred options are now playing backup roles in EPL, and the wisdom of launching a World Cup campaign absent any keeper getting regular minutes is looking increasingly circumspect. 

… And knocking hard at the door, on the fringe of that predicament, is Sean Johnson: hungry for that roster spot, and playing day in and day out for MLS reigning champions, NYCFC. 

After the Uruguay game, Sean Johnson spoke to media in the mixed zone. He looked calm and level-headed as ever. He also stood —and I have no idea if he meant this or not— in everyone’s way. At 6 foot 3, Johnson is a tall guy.

He didn’t exactly make himself smaller so the Uruguayans could get by. After what was admittedly a scrappy match, the NYCFC keeper stood his ground, looking confidently out at the media while names like Cavani and Valverde squeezed by in the sliver of space behind him, looking at him, like, is this guy gonna move? He wasn’t. 

Intentional or not, I dug the vibe. 

Johnson fielded the expected questions and gave expected answers: With the other keepers in backup roles, did he feel he could earn a spot in Qatar? All I can do is play my game. 

But then he said something that intrigued me. Coming into camp, apparently, Johnson talked to Berhalter. He told him he wanted a challenge. And apparently, they gave him Uruguay, the biggest challenge he could get. 

The man of the match stood there with the game ball in his hands, evincing no strong emotion, but surely knowing, if this was his one challenge to prove his name belongs in that World Cup roster, well. Ethan Horvath has his work cut out for him.

We’ve got months of club form left for these keepers to prove their worth, and any number of transfers could change the situation. There will be a camp in Europe with two friendlies come September. And we’ve got two matches left this window. Ethan Horvath will get his chance to prove something. And for that matter, so will Zack Steffen. 

But on Sunday in Kansas City, Sean Johnson made sure Gregg knows: if thrown in net against a big challenge, if needed as the last line of defense against a team like Uruguay, Sean Johnson can hold that ground.

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A certain stillness struck when Tillman walked in. 

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I can’t imagine many athletes love media sessions. Just imagine: the room full of prying eyes, the questions you don’t want to answer, the strangers who intend to arbitrate the contours of your character in the public square. (Like me, right now, writing this).

There’s an inherent difficulty in the relationship, evident even among the ones you don’t see sweat. Like Weston McKennie, for example, who arrived early and stayed late and re-emerged at some point to crack jokes between the whirlwind of USMNT interviews.

They’re right there when you’re high, and they’re right there when you’re low, McKennie said, discussing media scrutiny attached to success.

… He soon went back to cracking jokes.   

Christian doesn’t exactly stroll up to the media cracking jokes. Relentless attention and inevitable spin has fostered a bit of distance between the star and incessant writers.

But between the almost assured “you asked me that last time”, or “It’s fine”, you do get bits of laughter and levity from him.  And when you do see him strike sincere and show emotion, you know it’s from the heart. 

That’s what happened Tuesday when somebody asked Pulisic about Haji Wright. “Yeah, me and Haji”, he said, thinking back, affection audible, “that was the original pair”. 

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The United States was up 2-0 in the 64th minute against Morocco when Pulisic drew a foul in the box. You could feel the deflation of Morocco’s fans. You could see the disarray of their team. And in between that frantic energy, you could see Christian Pulisic hand Haji Wright the ball. 

The initial handoff was fleeting. Pulisic picked up the ball (De facto penalty guy, team captain, presumed man of that moment) and placed it firmly in Haji Wright’s hands. Almost immediately, Pulisic took the ball back and walked to the line. 

Up in the press box, Morocco media shook their head in resignation, mumbling something about their coach. Their team argued an ineffective case to the ref down below. And Pulisic waited calmly with the ball. 

As I watched, I wondered, is he going to give it back to Wright? 

Pulisic famously pulled a similar decoy against Panama in Orlando. (That time it went in reverse.) Jesus Ferreira took the ball, stood ready to take a penalty, then handed it to Pulisic to put away. 

I had a feeling… 

Sure enough, when the dust settled and the box cleared, Pulisic turned and bounced the ball back to his old teammate. Wright stepped to the spot. With a stutter and a pause, he found the back of the net, notching his first goal in his first cap with the USA. 

I had the opportunity to sit down one-on-one with Haji Wright the night before the match. I’ll post this interview shortly, but a few things right now stick out:

I asked Haji how it felt coming into camp. He indicated it felt normal, he felt welcome, he knew everyone. He was back with his friends. 

We sorted through the phases of his career: the promise he’d shown, the attention he attracted, moving to Germany (Where McKennie and nearby Pulisic provided a sense of home), migrating to Holland, then Denmark, finding his way to Turkey, getting that call from Gregg.

Through so many of those phases, there were familiar names who’d done similar things at similar times, but found their way to bigger clubs and the national team much earlier. 

“Not all paths are linear”, he said. 

I also asked what he thinks makes a successful striker, and what he brings to that role. He emphasized confidence. And sometimes, he said, you have to be a little selfish.

After the game Wright spoke to media in the mixed zone, saying that when the penalty was called he asked Pulisic for the ball. And as we know, Pulisic gave it to him no question. 

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The elation from Wright’s old teammates when he scored reverberated around the fanbase and through the stadium, speaking to an emotion bigger than just a goal.  

Gregg Berhalter later praised the decision. It speaks to the type of leadership there is on this team, he said, elaborating that Christian “desperately” wants to see Haji succeed. 

As Berhalter spoke on, I was struck once more by the indisputable strength of this team. This is a brotherhood. It’s self evident. It’s growing stronger. And one member of that brotherhood- following his non-linear journey to that evening in Cincinnati- may have found his way back, just in time for the biggest stage of their life. 

Time will tell if Wright can prove himself and be on his way to Qatar. He showed interesting capabilities against Morocco. It will be exciting to see more. 

But wrapped up in the emotion of that moment, it was impossible not to imagine the path possible. Should Haji Wright prove to be a striker USMNT rely on in a World Cup, the winding road that brought him back will prove all the more poignant when it was his old friend and teammate, Christian Pulisic, that threw him the ball to go get his goal.

As I took in the penalty exchange, Haji’s cool finish, and the reaction from all around, I had a distinct rare feeling we may have just witnessed a pivotal moment in time for the brotherhood.

… but Slonina chooses the USA

The biggest goalkeeper news of #rosterday belongs to a goalkeeper not on the roster:

Gaga Slonina (17-year-old Polish-American prodigy of the Chicago Fire) announced via twitter that he was committing to play for the United States. This comes amidst weeks of consternation o…

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