The rhythm of the World Cup

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 08/06/2015 (4085 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

It’s funny, the things you notice on game day. Whether you’re a player, writer or hard-core supporter, your senses are heightened. Things you might not have otherwise noticed are suddenly there in the plain of day, almost asking to have meaning attached to them.

All those unfamiliar licence plates on the drive to the stadium. I remember trying how many I could spot on family road-trips.

There’s Oklahoma! Bingo!

And there’s the American Outlaws, marking off their territory in the Barley Brothers parking lot. That’s not something I see every day.

Hmm… Eye of the Tiger on the radio as I find my parking spot. Never really thought about this song before. But it probably means something. And it’s the song that was playing as I arrived at Winnipeg’s World Cup debut.

(I overthink things.)

The thing is, there’s meaning in everything. And on Monday it was sound — rhythm, music — that provided the context, definition and magnitude, the very essence of the occasion, for me.

It started with the Nigerians. I have a feeling we’ve already adopted them as our de-facto home team for the tournament.

But for the interval their brass band didn’t take a breath. And their players needed the dedication.

Trailing 2-0 after 45 minutes despite creating some of the first half’s best chances they might have been deflated at the restart. They might have gone on to lose by an even bigger score after the disappointment of conceding a pair of soft goals.

The band wasn’t having any of it.

Picking up where they left off at the whistle they, in turn, picked up the 11 Super Falcons, who quickly found the beat being played for them.

Asisat Oshoala was the first to adopt the rhythm.

Shifting to the middle from the right-hand side of the attack she repeatedly used her pace to get the better of the Sweden defense—and Nilla Fischer, in particular—and just three minutes after shepherding the ball to the flank to help set up Ngozi Okobi’s opener she burst onto a perfectly-weighted Okobi pass, powered past Fischer and stroked the ball into the back of the net.

She and her teammates celebrated the equalizer in front of the band — something they’d do again in the 87th minute, when Francisca Ordega had turned Okobi’s latest through-ball into goal.

In the end the 3-3 draw was a fair result for both Sweden and Nigeria, although by earning a point from their World Cup opener the latter served notice of further menace in the Group of Death.

Eye of the Tiger, indeed.

Not surprisingly, the evening’s United States-Australia match provided a rather different kind of sound.

The moment the American players emerged from the tunnel to begin warming up the stadium came to life, whipped into frenzy by the ultra-supporters in the north stands. Those American Outlaws, again.

Down came their gigantic banners; up went the energy level inside the building. And throughout the game’s early exchanges their orchestration of noise had their visiting countrymen feeling quite at home.

I, however, felt strangely away from it during the frequent repetitions of “U-S-A! U-S-A!”

Megan Rapinoe’s 12th-minute opener had the place rocking, but by the time Lisa De Vanna restored level terms in the 27th a sort of cautious hum had replaced the clamour.

But frustration, too, is audible, and by the hour-mark it had morphed from the hum to collective gasps at ill-timed tackles to the individual shouts of fury that accompanied Australia’s heightening of intensity.

Then, an explosion.

In the 61st minute Surrey, British Columbia-born Sydney Leroux worked the ball inside from the left to Chicago Red Stars forward Christen Press, who beat Matildas goalkeeper Melissa Barbieri to the far corner.

As if in a unified release of aggravation the pro-United States crowd detonated, and its team responded, fighting for every ball and matching Australia’s manner of physicality.

Rapinoe, who was a true combatant on the night, rounded out the scoring with an accurate strike to the far corner with 12 minutes remaining.

The match closed out with the sounds of battle — bodies hitting the ground, screams of both pain and accusation and whistles, plenty of whistles.

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And then the final one.

“It’s the thrill of the fight; Rising up to the challenge of our rival.”

On the first day of Group of Death play at the 2015 Women’s World Cup, sounds meant everything.

jerradpeters@gmail.com

Twitter @JerradPeters