The Miracle in Pasadena

On This Day in 1994, the USA's Historic Victory Over Colombia at the World Cup

Four days after their hard-fought draw with Switzerland at the sweltering Pontiac Silverdome, the United States Men's National Team found themselves facing an entirely different kind of pressure at the Rose Bowl. The oppressive heat and artificial atmosphere had been replaced by something far more daunting: legitimate expectation.

The 1-1 tie with the Swiss had been survival—a point earned through Eric Wynalda's redemptive free kick and sheer determination in brutal conditions. But as the team prepared for their June 22nd encounter with Colombia, everyone understood that mere survival would no longer be enough. Romania's stunning 3-1 dismantling of the tournament favorites had reshuffled the entire Group A dynamic, transforming what should have been the Americans' most difficult match into their most incredible opportunity.

After their shocking defeat to Romania, the South Americans needed nothing short of a victory to keep their World Cup dreams alive. For a team that had entered the tournament as many experts' pick to win the entire competition—a team that had humiliated Argentina 5-0 in qualifying and carried a 28-game unbeaten streak until recently—the psychological weight was immense. 

Francisco Maturana, Colombia's dentist-turned-coach, faced a media storm that made American soccer coverage look gentle by comparison. "As long as we lose, everyone in Colombia criticizes everything I do," he had told reporters during the buildup. "The only way to deal with it is to win a game, which is what we plan to do." The pressure had grown so intense that star midfielder Gabriel Gomez was removed from the starting lineup after reportedly receiving death threats against his family.

For the Americans, the tactical equation was simple, even if the execution would be anything but. Colombia would control possession through the orchestrations of Carlos Valderrama, whose flowing blond locks had become as iconic as his ability to thread passes through the tightest spaces. Faustino Asprilla's pace and finishing ability posed a constant threat, while the creative interplay between Colombia's forwards had dismantled defenses across South America.

Bora Milutinovic made one crucial change to his starting lineup, replacing the struggling Cle Kooiman at right back with 37-year-old Fernando Clavijo. The veteran's inclusion wasn't just about his surprising pace—it was about his intimate knowledge of South American soccer, having been born in Uruguay. "They are going to control the ball 70 to 80 percent of the time," midfielder Tab Ramos predicted accurately. "We have to try to counter fast and hope that the 20 percent of the time we have it, we can get it in the goal."

When the match began before 93,194 passionate fans at the Rose Bowl on June 22, something remarkable happened: the Americans didn't just survive Colombia's early pressure—they matched it. Where the Swiss had been content to probe methodically, Colombia attacked with more urgency, but also with less patience. The desperation that Maturana had hoped to channel into positive energy instead manifested as a team pressing too hard, taking risks they normally wouldn't consider.

The breakthrough came in the 35th minute through a sequence that perfectly encapsulated both teams' contrasting states of mind. John Harkes, his confidence soaring after his strong performance against Switzerland, surged down the left flank. His cross toward Earnie Stewart was perfectly weighted, but Colombian goalkeeper Oscar Cordoba—already shaky after his errors against Romania—made a fatal decision. Cordoba moved to cover Stewart's run, leaving his goalmouth exposed. Andres Escobar, sliding desperately to intercept Harkes's cross, could only watch in horror as the ball deflected off his outstretched leg and rolled past his own goalkeeper. The own goal that gave the United States a 1-0 lead was cruel for Escobar individually, but it crystallized everything that had gone wrong for Colombia since their opening defeat.

“We have struggled for years, and today we showed we can play with any team in the world,” Harkes said. “We knew we could do it, we could see it in their eyes after we scored the first goal.”

The lead transformed the dynamic entirely. Colombia, now needing two goals to advance, abandoned their usual patient build-up play for increasingly desperate attacks. The Americans, meanwhile, discovered something they had rarely experienced in international competition: the luxury of playing with a lead against elite opposition. The second goal, arriving in the 52nd minute, was a masterpiece of American efficiency. Thomas Dooley, playing his role as the midfield anchor to perfection, found Tab Ramos with a perfectly weighted pass. Ramos, showcasing the technical ability he had honed through four seasons in Spain's La Liga, slipped the ball through to Stewart, who had timed his run behind the Colombian defense with precision.

Stewart's finish was the kind that transforms careers and lives. With Cordoba advancing off his line in a desperate attempt to narrow the angle, the 25-year-old from Point Arena, California, calmly lifted the ball into the net. As the Rose Bowl erupted around him, Stewart stood momentarily stunned by the magnitude of what he had accomplished. The goal represented vindication for Stewart after being overlooked in the Switzerland match. The forgotten man had become the hero, but more than that, he had delivered the most important goal in American soccer history to that point. His teammates understood the significance immediately—this wasn't just a goal, it was a statement that American soccer had arrived on the world stage.

"My first goal in the World Cup... it hasn't hit me yet," Stewart said afterward. "At the bench [when he was substituted in the 65th minute], I started thinking about it and almost started crying. It's once in a lifetime."

Colombia's late goal through Adolfo Valencia in the 90th minute did nothing to diminish the magnitude of what the Americans had achieved. By then, Francisco Maturana's men were a broken team, their World Cup dreams effectively over. The contrast with the American celebration was stark. While Colombian players left the field without the traditional jersey exchange, refusing to acknowledge their conquerors, the Americans remained on the field long after the final whistle. They draped themselves in American flags, embraced fans who had stayed to witness history, and savored a moment that many of them had dreamed about but few had truly believed possible.

"This is a thing that at one time seemed like a dream," said Milutinovic, the man who had guided Mexico and Costa Rica to World Cup success and was now working his magic with a third nation. "We have made it come true."

The victory's implications extended far beyond the Rose Bowl. Combined with their opening draw, the Americans now sat atop Group A with four points, virtually guaranteed of advancing to the Round of 16 for the first time since 1930. They had not just beaten Colombia—they had dominated them, outplaying the tournament favorites at their own game.

"With all due respect to the 1950 victory, this is the biggest in the history of soccer in the U.S.," declared Alan Rothenberg, president of the U.S. Soccer Federation. "That came and went in a flash. This will have a permanent impact."

The path to the second round would hit one final obstacle four days later when Romania, displaying the tactical discipline that had served them so well against Colombia, absorbed American pressure and struck with clinical efficiency. Dan Petrescu's 17th-minute goal proved decisive in a 1-0 defeat that left the Americans waiting anxiously to learn their fate as one of the four best third-place teams. The mathematics was complex, but the outcome was favorable. The United States had accumulated enough points and goal difference to advance in third place in Group A, setting up a Round of 16 encounter with Brazil that would test whether their group stage heroics were sustainable against the tournament's ultimate aristocrats.

But all of that lay in the future. On this warm evening in Pasadena, with American flags flying and 93,194 voices raised in celebration, the United States had achieved something that transcended sport. They had proven that American soccer belonged on the world's biggest stage, and they had done so in a manner that no one—least of all themselves—could have imagined possible just days earlier. The miracle of Pasadena had become reality, and American soccer would never be the same.