Depth Where There Was None

On This Day in 1996, McBride and Lassiter Wrote Their Names Into History With a 2-1 Victory That Sent the U.S. to the Hexagonal

The memories from San José were still fresh enough to sting. 13 days earlier, in the decrepit Ricardo Saprissa Stadium with its moat and barbed wire, the Americans had absorbed more than just a 2-1 defeat. They'd been pelted with batteries, coins, screws, nails and broken glass. Alexi Lalas had taken a coin to the head. Brad Friedel had been spat on more times than he cared to count. Costa Rica had dismantled them tactically too, overwhelming the defense with coordinated attacks that left the U.S. stretched and scrambling.

Now, on a cool December afternoon at Stanford Stadium, the Americans would get their chance at revenge. The stakes were simple: win and advance to the six-team final round. Lose and face Guatemala in El Salvador with elimination looming. Steve Sampson had spent the week making calculations that extended beyond tactics. His best striker, Eric Wynalda—the team's all-time leading scorer with 27 goals—was suspended after collecting his second yellow card. Four other regulars were unavailable: Kasey Keller stayed in England for club duty, Tab Ramos and Thomas Dooley were injured, and Jeff Agoos was also serving a suspension.

The solution was either inspired or desperate. Sampson would start Brian McBride and Roy Lassiter as his twin forwards, neither of whom had ever started an international match. McBride, the headband-wearing Columbus Crew striker, had scored once for the national team but primarily came off the bench. Lassiter, recalled from Italy's second division, had joined the squad just five days earlier. What Lassiter did possess was familiarity with the opponent. He'd spent three seasons playing in Costa Rica's first division, finishing third in the league in scoring. He knew every player on the Costa Rican roster. His wife was Costa Rican. His son was Costa Rican. The irony wasn't lost on anyone—least of all Lassiter himself, whose career had taken a remarkable arc over the previous 14 months.

In October 1995, Lassiter had served 30 days in jail for burglary charges stemming from incidents in 1992. He'd admitted to limited involvement, helping carry items from friends' homes during a period of disappointment and frustration after a broken ankle derailed his 1994 World Cup dreams. The legal problems had followed him to Costa Rica, where he'd fled to play professionally rather than face prosecution. It was his performance in a friendly against Benfica that had inadvertently revived the dormant case—a detective in Raleigh read about his goal and remembered the outstanding warrants.

Now he stood on the Stanford turf, a born-again Christian who spoke openly about faith as his lifeline, leading Major League Soccer in goals with 27 for Tampa Bay, and ready to help send the country whose league had given him a second chance into the World Cup's final round. Some redemption stories write themselves.

The crowd that assembled on December 14 numbered 40,527—not the 80,000-90,000 Sampson dreamed of, but a welcome relief from Saprissa's hostility. The Americans got their goal 17 minutes in, courtesy of Costa Rican generosity and McBride's efficiency. Earnie Stewart sent a dangerous cross from the right. Oscar Ramirez, attempting to clear, made a mess of it—two defenders converging, neither committing, the ball bouncing to McBride eight yards from goal. His shot gave goalkeeper Hermidio Barrantos no chance.

The Americans carried their 1-0 lead into halftime, but not without surviving chaos. In the 34th minute, Friedel charged from his goal to claim a loose ball, reaching it just inside the penalty area. His momentum carried him over the line, and as he stumbled forward, he tried to shovel the ball to a teammate with his hands clearly outside the box. Mexican referee Francisco Borja didn't hesitate. Red card. Automatic ejection.

Except John Harkes, the team captain, approached the linesman. At first, he spoke in English; the official stared past him. Then Harkes switched to Spanish—the little he remembered from high school: "You're a smart man. Tell him what you saw." Borja conferred with the linesman, then did something almost unprecedented—he changed his call. The red card disappeared, replaced by a yellow. Friedel would stay. The Costa Ricans, understandably furious, wasted their ensuing free kick, shooting wide from just outside the penalty area.

The second half became an exercise in American control punctuated by one moment of clinical finishing. In the 60th minute, McBride threw the ball in from the touchline. Eddie Pope, the young defender who'd become a fixture in the backline, headed it toward goal. Lalas, operating at sweeper in place of the injured Dooley, lunged forward with a sliding attempt that Barrantos blocked but couldn't hold. The ball popped up invitingly, and there was Lassiter, the man who knew these Costa Rican players better than anyone, hooking a volley into the net from eight yards.

Two untested forwards. Two goals. The lead was 2-0, and Lassiter nearly made it three a minute later when his shot clanged off the post. Costa Rica pulled one back in the 75th minute when Ronald Gómez beat Friedel with a downward header off a cross, but by then the Americans had 15 minutes to protect and the defensive organization to do it. The three-forward formation Costa Rica had used so effectively in San José—the system that had overwhelmed the U.S. with numbers and speed—couldn't manufacture the sustained pressure needed to find an equalizer.

When the final whistle sounded, the nightmare scenarios evaporated. No desperate trip to Guatemala. No must-win situation in El Salvador. No elimination two years after hosting the World Cup. The United States, with a 4-0-1 (WDL) record, sat alone atop Group 1 and had punched its ticket to the final round of CONCACAF qualifying. Canada, Mexico, Jamaica, and El Salvador had already secured their spots in the six-team finals. Costa Rica would join them by virtue of finishing second in the group, two points ahead of Guatemala. Beginning in February, those six nations would play a double-round-robin schedule, with the top three advancing to France '98.

For Sampson, the victory validated tactical boldness born from necessity. McBride and Lassiter, thrown together with only three days of practice, had combined with an effectiveness that suggested something more than luck. "Our styles match well," McBride explained, "because we're pretty much exact opposites. I like the ball at my feet, and he likes it in space." Lassiter's assessment was simpler: "It was a short period playing together, but good players can adjust to each other."

Their partnership might need to extend beyond this match. Wynalda, Sampson revealed, had a hernia requiring minor surgery. The depth that had once been the program's greatest vulnerability was becoming its strength. Lalas, who'd absorbed punishment both physical and verbal in San José, captured the shift: "Unlike in the past, we're seeing that this team has depth. When we lose a world-class player now, we can replace him with another world-class player."

The program's trajectory had shifted in ways both subtle and profound. In 1990, qualifying for the World Cup had been a miracle achieved through one impossible shot in Trinidad. In 1994, they'd been granted entry as hosts, spared the qualification grind entirely. Now, in 1996, they were expected to qualify—and they were delivering. Business as usual, Lalas called it, though the path had been anything but routine. Next up would be the hexagonal final round, where Mexico's superiority and Jamaica's emergence as a power would test whether the Americans were genuine contenders or merely regional survivors. The matches would begin in February, giving Sampson time to heal his wounded, integrate his depth, and prepare for the most challenging phase of CONCACAF qualifying.

But for now, on a cool December afternoon at Stanford Stadium, two forwards who'd never started together had scored the goals that secured passage. McBride's opportunism and Lassiter's familiarity with the opponent had combined to produce the result Sampson needed. The program that had once relied on miracles was now building victories through preparation, depth and tactical flexibility. The Americans had gotten their revenge. More importantly, they'd gotten redemption—not just for the loss in San José, but for every moment over the previous decade when they'd been dismissed as lucky, undeserving or unprepared.