retired_aurie

This sort of refereeing performance is the reason why I want that "Criticise The Referee" feature back in the game. How are they AI refs going to to find out how we feel about them if we can't moan a bit?

Still amazed to see you holding the job still. KUTGW :thup:

retired_bbcarr

cheers, axeman I'm amazed that one referee can be so stupendously bad in the game, and I definitely want the criticise the referee feature back

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Canada were sitting pretty atop the qualification group with five games remaining, but so unused to winning are Canucks, that everybody knew it couldn’t last. Having been beaten by our enemy from the frozen northern wastelands on the last three occasions we had met though, I was far from confident that we would be the one to dethrone them when they came to L.A..

During the week before the game, the repeated attempts on my life had made me take to wearing the bullet-proof vest again; my mission to not get shot in L.A. was looking an ever less realistic goal, especially when a Glock was held to the back of my head as I sat in a McDonalds (admittedly I deserved it just for entering a McDonalds) but apparantly that’s par for the course around these parts, certainly nobody else seemed unduly worried about it.

My plight was the talk of chatshows across the country (at least I could say that I had finally got Americans talking about ‘soccer’) and the country’s lawmakers even discussed my forced removal and deportation back to ‘whatever sh*tty part of the world you came from, boy�. In the end, of course, they decided that it would be far more fun to let the lynch mob get me when it was needed, left more time for them to find another country to bomb.

Despite having won the past three games since we last faced the Canadians, I felt it necessary to change to formation that the players were thoroughly used to. Our 4-5-1 morphed into a 3-5-2, maybe I figured it would make me look like I had the slightest clue what I was doing; not that I expected for the first minute that the fans would have any clue of such nuance, they were far too busy drowning themselves in cheap beer.

We started well enough in the game, certainly the Canadian attackers were seeing less of the ball than when we lasthad met. And we even managed to grab the lead inside fifteen minutes, DaMarcus Beasley was looking in fine form down the left flank, and it was his cross deep to the back post that Landon Donovan steered past Pat Onstad in the Canada goal.

I’d like to have been able to say that we pressed on from there, took the game to the Canadians and walked away with a four or five goal victory, but you wouldn’t believe me even if it had been true. The visitors came back at us strong, and I remembered all too well when we took the lead in Edmonton only for them damn Canucks to go on and win 5-2 to have any sense of security until we led by at least a double figure scoreline.

As it was, the best efforts of our opponents went largely unrewarded, thanks in no small part to the efforts of Brad Friedel, who had kept his place ahead of Nick Rimando after the Costa Rica debacle. The Blackburn goalkeeper was on his finest form, culminating in a quite wonderful double save on the hour mark when first Radzinski and then Jim Brennan had fired in shots from point blank range.

And, much to my even greater surprise, we actually went on to score a second, and then hold on – without conceding – to claim all three points. The clinching goal came with ten minutes of the match left, Beasley again causing problems down the flank, again crossing deep towards the back post, and again seeing it converted via a slick half volley. This time the finisher was substitute striker Jamil Walker, building on the debut goal that he had netted in the win over Costa Rica two months earlier.

My amazement at winning was equalled only by the fact that it now meant we sat on the top of the qualification group. Suddenly people realised we were winning something again, and I was toast of the town. My tactical awareness was lauded on sports shows across the country, and I was hailed as clearly the right man to take the nation forward. Now if I could just get one over on them dirty Mexicans, I’d be in the running to be considered a true American hero.

Final Score: U.S.A. 2 – 0 Canada
(Donovan 12�; Walker 80�)
MoM: Pablo Mastroeni (8)

U.S.A.: Friedel; Cherundolo, Bocanegra, Vanney; Donovan, Kovalenko, Reyna, Mastroeni, Beasley; Wolff, Kirovski
Subs: Grabavoy for Reyna (58) Walker for Kirovski (58) Quaranta for Beasley (86)

retired_w0lfpack1

Brilliant! And surely the right tactic.

Now you're talking. I was worried, what with your apparent perception that Canada are your main rivals, that you weren't long for the job. No, the side every American footie fan wants to beat is Mexico!

retired_bbcarr

cheers, amaroq I got a little concerned with Canada 'cos they kept on beating us. I guess I expected to lose to Mexico so I wasn't so bothered when it happened

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The month of September was going to be a crucial one for me. The sombrero sporting Mexican side would arrive in a few days, but before that, we had to dispose of Surinam in Paramaribo. We had taken them apart in a six goal fun fest when they had visited L.A., and my demanding public were of the opinion that nothing less again would be satisfactory.

Despite winning with the 3-5-2 against the Canadians, it was back to the trusted and often failing 4-5-1 for the trip to Surinam. More surprising to many of my ‘fans’ was the inclusion in the side of youngster Freddy Adu, who had not featured in my squad since the 5-2 Canadian spanking, but who had been performing ever better in his domestic game. With the quality of the opposition so poor, Adu was given the nod to start, it was just a shame for me that he decided to prove himself worthless and not up to the job.

We did dominate the game, from first to last just as I had expected, but if we were anticipating a goal filled Saturday afternoon, we were very, very wrong. Daan Spelbos, who had become accustomed to plucking the ball from his own net in L.A., had obviously taken his superman pills before kick off, and damn near earned his side a point in the process.

We rained shots in on Spelbos’ goal throughout the ninety minutes, and time after time saw the Surinam ‘keeper palm them away with arrogant ease. The frustration was spilling over into other parts of our game as well, as passes began to go astray, tackles were mistimed and shots spanked well wide of their intended target.

Just as the home nation began to believe that they could hold on for the final five minutes though, an effort was unleashed which even the super human Spelbos couldn’t do anything about. Josh Wolff rolled the ball back to the edge of the penalty area, and PSV winger DaMarcus Beasley thumped it goalwards with every ounce of power he could muster. The ball nearly ripped through the back of the net before Spelbos had even moved, and we could at last relax in the knowledge that, even though we had not met the demands of the people, we had at least won ourselves the three points needed to stay top of the group.

Final Score: Surinam 0 – 1 U.S.A.
(Beasley 85�)
MoM: Daan Spelbos (10)

U.S.A.: Friedel; Cherundolo, Pope, Bocanegra, Vanney; Beasley, Grabavoy, Mastroeni, Klein, Adu; Wolff
Subs: Whitbread for Bocanegra (63) Kovalenko for Mastroeni (68) Donovan for Adu (75)

retired_aurie

Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Good work :thup:

retired_bbcarr

Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Good work :thup: </BLOCKQUOTE>

Cheers for pointing that out. I think I might have got sacked if that had been the actual score

retired_bbcarr

The importance of Mexico’s visit to L.A. had not been lost on the soccer-ambivalent public, any excuse to beat them gringos was happily taken. They had also not forgotten that last time we faced them, we came away with some serious egg on our faces, having led before falling to a five goal spanking.

“Don’t make me hurt you, boy.� Had been the warning I got from the President of US Soccer, but it was the selection of weapons laid out of his desk which truly got my attention. I knew he’d most likely prefer the basball bat, but I wasn’t able to rule out the axe or chainsaw; I figured the Samurai sword was just for show.

Nearly eighty thousand blood-thirsty fans had turned up at the Rose Bowl, many had purchased one of the inflatible electric chairs on sale around the ground; signs proclaiming my sentence were prevelant around the stadium, and there was me thinking that a few previous wins had got them on my side.

I was breathing far easier than I had at any point the past week after four minutes of the game had passed. Carlos Bocanegra had done my survival attempts no harm whatsoever with a goal which caught the Mexican defence sleeping. Cherundolo had launched a Scud-like long throw into the penalty area and Bocanegra climbed highest to head past Oswaldo Sanchez.

If I thought that was ecstacy, I was sadly mistaken. A truly orgasmic moment arrived fifteen minutes later when, just as we had in Mexico City, we took a two goal lead before a quarter of the game had been played. Whilst the stadium sat in stunned silence, I paced the touchline after Jamil Walker had thundered in a shot from the edge of the penalty area having been sent clear by Eddie Pope. I couldn’t rest, I couldn’t sit still, I knew disaster was lurking around a nearby corner.

Fittingly, it was from a corner that disaster struck. With the clock ticking down the final seconds until half time, my sense of déjÃ* vu shot through the roof of my head as Mexico pulled a goal back. Davino’s swinging corner was creamed goalward from the edge of the area by Juan Palencia and a palpable excitement rose up amongst the supporters.

I couldn’t muster any words during half time, the room sat in silence as we contemplated the serious nature of potential defeat. For the players it meant the possibility of not making the World Cup after they’d done so well at the previous one. My concern was all too much more immediate.

My disaster detector looked to be tuned to perfection when Mexico bagged an equaliser twenty minutes into the second half. This time Palencia was the provider, he chipped a ball over Pope’s head for Cuauhtemoc Blanco to race onto and fire past Brad Friedel. I felt like running as fast and as far from the stadium as I could, but my feet entirely failed me, making me watch as my world came crashing down around my ears.

The killer blow – and for once that term is used in its literal sense – came three minutes from the end when Vanney went to sleep and allowed Palencia a free run down the right flank. The diminutive midfielder swung in a wonderful cross, and after Friedel’s wild punch had missed it entirely, all Blanco had to do was calmly divert the ball into the empty net.

I knew what the referee’s final whistle meant. We had slipped off the top of the table, we had indeed slipped even below Canada and into third place. This, I was sure, would not be acceptable; nor would it be accepted.

Final Score: U.S.A. 2 – 3 Mexico
(Bocanegra 4�; Walker 19�; Palencia 45+1�; Blanco 65�, 87�)
MoM: Juan Palencia (9)

U.S.A.: Friedel; Cherundolo, Pope, Bocanegra, Vanney; Donovan, Reyna, Mastroeni, Klein, Beasley; Walker
Subs: Dempsey for Klein (59) Alvarez for Beasley (76) Kirovski for Walker (76)

retired_bbcarr

“Ah told you not to make me hurt you, boy. Lucky for you Ah’m not gunna. Ah got me here some probation for killin’ a sumbitch like you. Ah ain’t never goin’ back there. Mah butt’s still sore. Ah am gunna fire you though. Git your big fat butt outta mah office, don’t ever let me catch you ‘round these parts again.� As if to emphasise his point, he once more spat tobacco at my feet, I was just grateful that he’d passed his habit of spitting it in my face.

I was also grateful that I was getting away from his array of weapons upharmed. He had been lovingly holding his baseball bat all the way through the meeting, and he’d cast more than a few longing glances at his Samurai sword, but thankfully he seemed restrained.

I was less enthusiastic about my chances of getting to the airport, boarding a plane and getting the hell out of the country before being lynched though, and indeed a quick glance out of the window confirmed that there was a mob baying at the doors.

I summoned all my cowardice and made a dash for the back door. As I smashed my way through the plate glass without bothering to stop and open the door first – the shard that pierced my forehead smarted a bit – I came face to face with the barrel of a gold, grey gun. It seemed the President had superhuman speed, either that or I’d taken the long way round and he’d casually descended in the elevator and waited for me.

“I thought………..�

“I lied.�

You don’t really remember much about when searing hot lead smashes through your skull and renders you instantly lifeless. I guess it was a messy affair, certainly they’d have needed some new carpet inside the door, I doubt the red too-well complimented the beige. Neither did the itty-bitty pieces of skull, I presume. But that was the least of my worries. Not only had I failed in my target of leading the U.S. to World Cup glory, but I also failed in my goal of not getting shot in L.A..



The End

retired_swmchick2006

RIP.

Not saying you didn't serve it though.

retired_aurie

What a grandiose finish to the story
A bloody well entertaining tale :thup: