Seven Years Later, Redemption Denied

On This Day in 1996, the U.S. Stayed Perfect in World Cup Qualifying After a Win in Trinidad

The heat arrived before the Americans did. By the time Steve Sampson's squad touched down in Port-of-Spain on Friday afternoon, three days before kickoff, the temperature had already climbed past 90 degrees with humidity thick enough to taste. This was the Caribbean in late November—tropical, unforgiving, and exactly what Trinidad and Tobago had been counting on since the schedule was published months earlier.

Seven years. That's how long the memory had festered on this island. November 19, 1989, when Paul Caligiuri's improbable 35-yard shot had dipped under the crossbar and sent the United States to Italia '90 while Trinidad and Tobago watched from home. The champagne they'd prepared for their own celebration had been graciously—painfully—delivered to the American locker room instead. National Stadium had been a sea of 30,000 in red that day, a nation of 1.26 million people ready to become the smallest country ever to qualify for a World Cup.

Now the Americans were back, and Trinidad needed a miracle. Winless through three matches and sitting at the bottom of Group 1 with a single point, they faced mathematical elimination with a loss. Dwight Yorke, who had been an 18-year-old kid who played an hour that fateful day in 1989, where his World Cup dream dissolved, was now 25 and starring in the English Premier League with seven goals in his last seven matches for Aston Villa. He'd publicly appealed for support, begging the nation not to sign off on his team before the final whistle.

The crowd suggested otherwise. When Sunday arrived—kickoff scheduled for noon, the sun was already brutal—only 8,000 fans filtered into Hasely Crawford Stadium, leaving two-thirds of the seats empty. The resignation was palpable. Russell Latapy, Trinidad's captain and creative engine, hadn't even bothered to fly back from Portugal, choosing to remain with Boavista rather than witness another collapse. The team that took the field and challenged the Americans in Richmond had evaporated into the Caribbean humidity.

Sampson had made his calculations during the week. The Americans would play defensively, absorb pressure, and strike when Trinidad's desperation created openings. In 92-degree heat with 85 percent humidity, fitness would decide the match as much as talent. Eddie Pope, whose debut against Trinidad two weeks earlier had been seamless, would anchor the back line. Kasey Keller, riding three consecutive shutouts, would guard the net. Tab Ramos would patrol midfield until the conditions drained him. And somewhere in that framework, the Americans would find one moment—one lapse in Trinidad's organization—to exploit.

That moment nearly went the other way first. In the 26th minute, Hutson Charles broke free down the left channel with only Keller to beat. The goalkeeper charged off his line in a desperate slide, arriving just in time to smother the ball outside the penalty area. The Barbadian referee, Mark Ford, blew his whistle and pointed to the spot where Keller's hands had touched the ball—outside the box. Yellow card. The replays would later show Keller had been inside, but in real time, the Americans held their breath. A red card would have meant ejection, leaving them to play 64 minutes with ten men in hellish conditions. Instead, they survived with a warning and a dangerous free kick that came to nothing.

Eight minutes later, the match turned on alertness and exhaustion. Ancil Elcock clattered into Earnie Stewart from behind 25 yards from goal, and Ford whistled for the foul. Trinidad's players stopped—some to protest, some to catch their breath, goalkeeper Michael Maurice standing casually off his line. The Americans didn't stop. John Harkes, reading the moment with the instinct of a veteran, quickly rolled the ball forward to Joe-Max Moore. The forward kept running while Trinidad stood still, and from 16 yards he chipped a delicate shot over Maurice's shoulder into the empty net.

"Absolutely brilliant," Sampson would say afterward. "When you have this heat and humidity, people tend to take mental breathers or turn their backs to the ball. That's the time to put it down and play."

The goal changed everything. Trinidad, needing three points to stay alive, pushed forward with the desperation of the condemned. The second half became an exercise in American resilience. Yorke dropped deeper, trying to create from midfield. Shots rained toward Keller's goal—five saves in total, including a diving stop after substitute Stern John beat him to a cross, only to see Jeff Agoos block the attempt with expert positioning. When Keller was called for a delay of game in the 73rd minute, and Trinidad was awarded an indirect free kick from six yards out, Cobi Jones threw himself in front of Yorke's blast, taking the shot directly to the face.

Ramos, who had been fighting cramps for 20 minutes, finally succumbed in the 79th minute. He signaled to the bench, and Mike Burns entered to shadow Yorke. The injury would later be diagnosed as a torn ACL, requiring reconstructive surgery and four to six months of recovery. The most skillful American midfielder would miss the rest of qualifying and the early stages of MLS. But in the moment, his exit simply marked Trinidad's last gasp. The home side had run out of ideas and, in the withering heat, out of legs.

The final whistle confirmed what the empty seats had predicted: Trinidad and Tobago's World Cup dream was over. Again. Seven years after Caligiuri, the Americans had returned to Port-of-Spain and delivered another dose of heartbreak. This time, there was no drama, no miracle shot—just clinical professionalism and a single moment of quick thinking that Trinidad's exhausted defenders couldn't recover from.

In three matches, the Americans secured nine points from a possible nine while conceding no goals. The Americans sat alone atop Group 1, needing just a draw from their final two matches to guarantee advancement to the hexagonal final round. The mathematics had become simple: one more result and it's off to the next round.

But the victory had come at a cost. Agoos, who had blocked John's shot so heroically, picked up his second yellow card of the round and would miss the Costa Rica match. Ramos was gone for months. The team that had looked so dominant through three matches would have to navigate the final stretch with a thinner roster and mounting fatigue.

Sampson refused to celebrate prematurely. "It's a pretty darn good scenario to be in," he acknowledged, "but we can't afford to look past Costa Rica." Next Sunday in San José, in front of a hostile crowd at 3,000 feet above sea level, the Americans would face their sternest test yet. Costa Rica had lost to Guatemala earlier that day, falling to 1-2 in the group, and they would be desperate for points on home soil.

For now, though, redemption belonged to the Americans. Seven years after announcing their arrival on the world stage in this same stadium, they had returned and proven it wasn't a fluke. Caligiuri's shot changed U.S. soccer forever, opening the door to World Cup '94, MLS and legitimacy on the international stage. This victory, quieter and more businesslike, confirmed what that moment had promised: the United States was no longer a miracle story. They were a regional power, capable of winning anywhere against anyone in CONCACAF.