RafaelFajardo

And so our “offense” became a series of three-second possessions in which we just kicked the ball downfield as far as possible. The Americans sorely needed someone like Blanco, the aging Mexican star who controlled the first 55 minutes Wednesday. Blanco might be 73 for all we know; he moves like the South Park guys are animating him. Didn’t matter. He’s magical. I am just starting to figure out soccer, but one of the first things I noticed is it’s all about the subtleties. Not the goals as much as someone spotting a teammate 40 yards away, making a telepathic connection with him, starting a long kick for him just as his teammate starts streaking, then somehow landing the ball on his teammate’s foot as though it were on a yo-yo. These moments set Blanco apart. The Mexican fans even bless them by screaming “Olé,” which basically means, “Beautiful play, I love what you just did.”