Burnaby Dreams

On This Day in 1997, The Americans Finally Break Through and Clinch Their Spot in the World Cup

Seven days had passed since the golden point in Mexico City, seven days of ice baths and tape jobs, seven days of watching the World Cup shimmer just beyond reach like a mirage that refused to materialize. Now came the reckoning in a place nobody expected to matter: a cramped 8,000-seat stadium outside Vancouver, where Canada waited with nothing to lose and everything to ruin.

The mathematics were absurdly favorable. A victory would almost certainly secure France '98—especially if El Salvador lost or drew with Jamaica, if Costa Rica failed to upset Mexico. The United States regained control of its destiny for the first time in months. But destiny, the Americans had learned, was a fickle companion. "To me, the World Cup is today, not next June," Steve Sampson told his players, trying to conjure urgency from comfort. "That should be enough to motivate the team."

It should have been. But this was the paradox that had stalked the Americans all year: desperation made them dangerous; expectation made them listless. Shove them into a corner at Estadio Azteca and they would bleed for the final 58 minutes with 10 men. Hand them a winnable match against Jamaica in Washington, and they would sleepwalk into a draw that nearly cost Sampson his job. Alan Rothenberg, president of U.S. Soccer, had made his warning clear after that debacle: "I don't want to back into this. I want to win it." The subtext was sharper: Win decisively, or start packing.

The roster remained depleted. Jeff Agoos sat suspended after his red card in Mexico. John Harkes—the team's captain and emotional anchor—also watched from the stands, another victim of accumulated yellow cards. Tab Ramos's knee remained in surgical recovery. Kasey Keller's dislocated thumb kept him stateside. The Americans would field a lineup tilted aggressively forward—Preki Radosavljevic on the right wing, Eric Wynalda shifted to left midfield despite being the national team's all-time leading scorer, Joe-Max Moore and Roy Wegerle paired up front. It was a formation that signaled intent but also risk.

Canada, sitting last in the six-team group with a 1-3-4 (WDL) record, had nothing but pride and the chance to play spoiler. Several of their top players remained in Europe with club teams, unwilling to return for a qualifying match that was already decided. But Canada remembered the 3-0 humiliation the Americans had inflicted on them in March. "They're always anxious to prove that Canadian players are superior to the U.S.," Sampson said. "We're cognizant of that."

On Friday, instead of flying ninety minutes from their training camp in Portland, Sampson ordered the team onto a bus for a seven-hour slog to Vancouver. The tactic seemed hokey—building camaraderie through shared misery—but it worked. Players held hands in circles before practice. They adopted word-of-the-day motivational techniques. They discussed the differences between blue-collar teamwork and white-collar individualism. When they arrived at tiny Swangard Stadium on Sunday, November 9, under a perfect autumn sky in British Columbia, 8,420 fans packed into bleachers that felt more like a high school field than a World Cup crucible. Roughly 2,000 Americans had made the trip, their flags and chants a reminder that history was waiting.

The match began at 2:05 p.m. Pacific time. In Mexico City, Costa Rica and Mexico kicked off minutes earlier. In San Salvador, the Jamaica-El Salvador match was already underway. Assistant coach Clive Charles stood on the sideline with a phone pressed to his ear, relaying updates from the American embassy. "We figured if we can talk to the space shuttle," Sampson said later, grinning, "we ought to be able to talk to Vancouver."

It took the Americans five minutes to seize control. Claudio Reyna, returned from suspension, surged into Canada's half alongside Moore and Wegerle. Moore nodded the ball into open space on the left wing. Wegerle sprinted onto it, his surgically repaired knees somehow still capable of explosive bursts. Canadian goalkeeper Paul Dolan had no choice but to charge forward. Wegerle stayed calm. Instead of shooting, he slid a precise centering pass toward the penalty spot, where Reyna had continued his run. The midfielder settled the ball, spun away from his marker, and smacked a seven-yard shot into the open net.

Then the match calcified. After the early goal, the United States retreated into caution. Canada pressed forward, emboldened by having nothing to lose. Alex Bunbury, a slick forward from Portugal's Liga, became a constant threat. In the 31st minute, Mark Watson rose for a header that sailed inches wide. Eight minutes later, Carlo Corazzin met a cross with his head and just missed. Just before halftime, Brad Friedel—starting again in goal—made a reflex save on Martin Nash's rocket from 20 yards, swatting it away with his left hand.

The second half became an exercise in anxiety management. The Americans controlled possession but created little of note. Wegerle worked as a target forward, holding the ball under pressure and distributing cleverly, but the Americans seemed paralyzed by their one-goal lead. Sampson paced the technical area, barking instructions. Rothenberg watched from the stands. Friedel commanded his penalty area without serious danger, but the margin remained desperately thin. One mistake. One Canadian set piece. One moment of complacency could bring everything crashing down.

Then, in the 80th minute, word arrived from San Salvador. Assistant coach Thomas Rongen, on site in El Salvador, relayed the score to press officer Jim Froslid in the bleachers. Froslid radioed down to Charles on the bench, who then informed the substitutes. The news spread across the field in seconds: Jamaica and El Salvador had drawn 2-2. If the score here held, the United States would qualify for the World Cup in France.

One minute later, Reyna collected the ball near midfield after a U.S. restart. He surveyed the field and lofted a long diagonal pass toward Canada's penalty area. Wegerle had already begun his run—a looping sprint toward the goal that left him completely unmarked. Dolan hesitated, caught between coming out and staying home. Wegerle didn't hesitate. He met the ball at full stride and buried it in the right corner of the net.

The sideline erupted. Players on the bench leaped into each other's arms. In the stands, American supporters howled. Wegerle turned toward his teammates, arms raised, a grin splitting his face. Eight knee surgeries. Two years in the international wilderness. And now this—a goal that sealed the World Cup. There were still nine minutes remaining, but the outcome was settled. In the 90th minute, Wegerle added another, a clinical finish in the dying seconds that made the scoreline emphatic. The final whistle brought chaos. Players collapsed onto the grass. Sampson and Rothenberg embraced on the sideline. Roughly 2,000 American fans chanted and waved flags. The United States had qualified for France—the 23rd nation to punch its ticket, the first American team to reach three consecutive World Cups since the tournament began in 1930.

"I'm getting my bags packed," Reyna told reporters afterward, still catching his breath. "It was tough for us. We were a favorite to get to France, but we had to fight through two hard years of qualifying. It's not as easy as people think." Wegerle, who had set up the opener and scored twice, seemed almost stunned by his own resurrection. "Once we heard the El Salvador score, we wanted to get our game over with," he said. "It was a long few minutes."

For Sampson, the victory carried professional and personal weight. Rothenberg would not guarantee his job even after the result, offering only that Sampson "ought to feel a lot more secure than when we left RFK a few weeks ago." The coach had been hired reluctantly in 1995 as an interim replacement for Bora Milutinovic, his international inexperience making him a placeholder until a more suitable candidate came along. But he had defeated Nigeria, Chile, Argentina, and Mexico. He had survived player strikes and the birth of Major League Soccer. He had navigated the Americans through a maddening qualifier where they played their worst as favorites and their best with backs against the wall.

The Americans finished their qualifying campaign the following week at Foxboro Stadium, where 53,193 fans braved a wind chill of 15 degrees to watch the United States dismantle El Salvador 4-2. Brian McBride—a young forward who had missed most of the MLS season with ankle problems—scored twice, staking his claim for a roster spot in France. Sampson rested 10 players carrying yellow cards, ensuring none would be suspended for the World Cup opener. The victory was the Americans' most prolific offensive performance in a World Cup qualifier since a 5-1 demolition of Jamaica in 1988.

The final standings told the story of a team that had learned to survive: 4-5-1 (WDL) in the HEX, second place behind Mexico, 11 points and a berth in France. The path to France had been a tightrope stretched over an abyss. The Americans had refused to fall. Now the tightrope was gone, replaced by something solid beneath their feet. In seven months, they would arrive in France—blue-collar, battle-tested, and ready to prove that the impossible had only been the beginning.