When Confidence Crumbles

On This Day in 1997, America's Sobering Draw with Jamaica in World Cup Qualifying

The victory over Costa Rica had solved everything, or so it seemed. Tab Ramos was back, healthy and scoring crucial goals. The path to France appeared clear—three home matches in the final four qualifiers, favorable scheduling, momentum building. Coach Steve Sampson spoke confidently about returning to the attacking style that had defined the team's golden summer of 1995.

"We have to impose our game," Sampson declared. "We have the responsibility of attacking and getting the victory."

His players echoed that certainty with even less restraint. Forward Roy Wegerle dismissed Jamaica's threat entirely: "I don't feel they feel they can beat us." Eric Wynalda was more blunt: "If we do the things we are used to doing, it shouldn't be a contest." Midfielder Mike Sorber articulated what seemed like conventional wisdom: "Small countries are mentally weak. They lack discipline, organization, tactical awareness."

But this confidence overlooked two inconvenient truths. Jamaica was no longer disorganized—coach Rene Simoes had imported four English-based players of Jamaican descent who had transformed the Reggae Boyz into legitimate contenders. And the United States hadn't received a goal from a starting forward in four matches.

October 3 arrived with Washington transformed into a Caribbean carnival. They came roaring down Interstate 95—an armored division of cars and vans bearing Jamaica's green and yellow, filling parking lots with reggae music and Bob Marley banners. The 51,528-person sellout at Robert F. Kennedy Stadium split almost evenly between red-and-white and green-and-yellow, with the Jamaican contingent matching the home supporters in volume and exceeding them in intensity.

Sampson's tactical gamble became apparent from the opening whistle: an aggressive 3-5-2 formation designed to overwhelm Jamaica with attacking numbers. The strategy assumed the Reggae Boyz would sit deep and absorb pressure. They had other plans. Their defenders pressed forward with purposeful intensity, refusing to be pushed back. The Americans, caught flat-footed, struggled to cope. Within 37 minutes, Sampson was forced to abandon his attacking blueprint, pulling midfielder Mike Sorber for Jeff Agoos as a fourth defender. The team that had promised to impose its game was instead reacting, adjusting, surviving.

The tactical retreat slowed Jamaica's momentum, but couldn't disguise the Americans' offensive impotence. Earnie Stewart whiffed on an inviting chance from 14 yards. Claudio Reyna's threatening shot near halftime forced a diving save. The Americans controlled possession without creating quality chances, passing sloppily and failing to maintain rhythm.

The second half opened with both sides pressing. Then, in the 49th minute, fortune smiled on the Americans. Wynalda sent a cross from the right flank, where Jamaican defender Ian Goodison raised his arm to block it. The contact occurred just outside the box, but the referee pointed to the penalty spot—a generous call. Wynalda drilled the ball low into the right corner. One-nil United States.

They couldn't protect the lead for two minutes. Deep in United States territory, Agoos received the ball under pressure from Jamaica's Paul Hall. The veteran defender made a casual pass inside his own penalty area, apparently unaware that Hall was sprinting to close him down. Hall stuck his shin out and deflected Agoos's pass directly toward the goal. Deon Burton—the striker who had scored winning goals against Canada and Costa Rica—raced onto the loose ball and calmly finished from eight yards.

The Jamaican sections exploded in delirium. Jamaica's first goal against the United States had come at the perfect moment. "It was my mistake," Agoos said afterward. "I take full responsibility."

The Americans pushed desperately in the final minutes, but Jamaica had settled into a defensive shape. The closest they came to a winner arrived in stoppage time when Wynalda's close-range shot was blocked by Goodison. The final whistle brought something closer to disbelief for the United States. The Reggae Boyz, written off as mentally weak and tactically naive, had matched the supposed powerhouse on American soil, vaulting to the top of the standings with 12 points while the Americans sat uncomfortably in third with 10.

The mathematics had shifted dramatically. The Americans would likely need four points from their final three matches—and those included a trip to Mexico City's hostile Estadio Azteca, where Sampson had already conceded he didn't expect a result.

"That game in Mexico City, when you look at all the games, you write that one down as a loss," Ramos acknowledged. "The key for us is going to be that game in Canada and obviously the last game against El Salvador."

Hank Steinbrecher, executive director of U.S. Soccer, summarized the frustration: "It is always good to get your 3 points at home." The subtext was unmistakable. This was a match the Americans were supposed to win. Instead, they had delivered their second 1-1 draw in three matches in a competition that offered no margin for mediocrity. Reyna's yellow card—his second of the competition—meant he would miss the Mexico match, further complicating matters.

The Americans had talked about imposing their game, about proving they were for real. They had done none of those things. They had been outplayed for stretches, outfought throughout, and ultimately matched by a team they had dismissed as mentally fragile. Three matches remained. Mexico in the cauldron of the Azteca on November 2. Canada in Vancouver on November 9. Finally, El Salvador at Foxboro on November 16, where salvation or catastrophe awaited.

The path to France, once seemingly clear after that euphoric night in Portland, had become a tightrope stretched over an abyss. The Americans had promised to swing for the fences. Instead, they had struck out looking, watching as their supposedly inferior opponent seized the moment they had let slip away.