Imagine a rainy day at any given park, the slish-slosh of cleated feet, the thumpity thump, the chatter, shouts in English, Spanglish, Portugese, Japanese, McCarthese, soccer, the beautiful game. Consider what the Seattle Sounders thought when Joseph Paintsil, Gabriel Pec, Mark Delgado, and Riqui Puig all lined up on the left side of the field and stayed there for more than twenty minutes.
Sounders keeper Stephen Frei strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the ball, vanishing in waist-high spray only to appear to the right to the left, high in the air. Then a spin-less missile flew out from the crowded mist, a vicious dip and futile flail goal Galaxy. No system, just pickup soccer on a rainy night at Dignity Health Sports Park.
Thank you for whatever Greg Vanney saw in training that prompted him to overload one side of the pitch to start the game. Rarely in the modern game do we see talented players collected together like the Galaxy stars on Saturday. It produced one goal, and that was enough.
Something about a goal like that pulls a team together. The story will be retold and improved over the course of lifetimes in locker rooms, kitchens, restaurants, and living rooms. The improvised build-up involved Delgado and all three designated players. Puig’s vision, Delgados’ pass, Paintsil’s deft touch, and Pec’s strike, powered by pure joy, ecstasy unleashed—a goal fitting of a newlywed.
The defensive side of Vanney-ball resumed after the Sounders shook off the spell and pounded the penalty box. They strived and thrashed and pinged the ball around and into the Galaxy bulwark. Miki Yamane repeatedly outfoxed fleet left-back Nouhou Tolo and shepherded Jordan Morris away from the goal. Aude flew up and down the Galaxy left, throwing himself into tackles while marauding forward to threaten the Sounders back line.
In the center, Brugman, Delgado, and yes, even Puig chased and harried, grabbed and pushed, clawed and scraped, constantly nagging a Sounders midfield intent on breaking them down. The weather, the water, and the moment gripped them all. Seattle rightly believed they could take some points away, successful in every Galaxy game for more than five years.
But it was not Seattle’s night; it could not be. They brought the rain with them from the Pacific Northwest, but they could not overcome the beautiful game. In those first twenty glorious minutes, the Galaxy drew from the ancient well of tradition, from times without nets, lasers, pool table pitches, or officials. Soccer, just soccer, the beautiful game—a game that just might change everything for the LA Galaxy.
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