On This Day in 1996, Preki and Hejduk Scored Their Firsts For the US in a Meaningless Draw with Guatemala
The business had already been handled. Five days earlier at Stanford Stadium, Brian McBride and Roy Lassiter had scored the goals that sent the United States into the World Cup's final qualifying round. The pressure had lifted. The path forward was secure. What remained was a formality—a December 21 trip to El Salvador's Cuscatlán Stadium to face an already-eliminated Guatemala side with nothing but pride to play for.
Steve Sampson saw an opportunity where others might have seen an obligation. With seven regulars rested—John Harkes injured, Eric Wynalda recovering from hernia surgery, and others held back for the gauntlet that awaited in 1997—the coach would field what newspapers politely termed "a largely experimental team." The stakes were minimal. The roster was makeshift. Yet what unfolded over 90 minutes in front of 10,000 spectators would reveal something the Americans desperately needed to know: they had depth.
The lineup Sampson sent out bore little resemblance to the team that had secured qualification. Preki Radosavljevic, the 33-year-old Yugoslav-turned-American who had received his citizenship just eight weeks earlier, would make only his fourth national team appearance. Frankie Hejduk, the UCLA product who'd played in the Olympics but had yet to start a senior international match, would anchor the backline. Jason Kreis and Jovan Kirovski, both still finding their footing at this level, would operate in midfield. Only Brad Friedel, Eddie Pope, Jeff Agoos, Claudio Reyna and Brian McBride remained from the Costa Rica victory—and even they were being asked to gel with unfamiliar partners.
Guatemala needed a miracle: a victory over the Americans combined with Costa Rica losing to Trinidad and Tobago in San José. By the time Preki collected a loose ball in the eighth minute after defender Eric Miranda's mistake, dribbled in alone, and slotted his first international goal under goalkeeper Erick Estrada, that miracle already felt implausible. Two minutes later, it felt inevitable. Juan Funes curled a corner kick directly over the line—no touch, no deflection, just bend and precision—and suddenly the score was level at 1-1.
The Americans spent the next half-hour controlling possession, playing what Sampson would later describe as "some of the best soccer we've ever played," but they couldn't find the clinical finish to match their fluidity. Guatemala, desperate and organized, absorbed the pressure and countered with purpose. A minute before halftime, Funes turned creator, delivering a pass that Juan Carlos Plata half-volleyed into the net. The Americans went to the break trailing 2-1, which would have been cause for concern in a match that mattered. Here, it was merely inconvenient.
Hejduk erased the deficit four minutes into the second half. The UCLA defender made a diagonal run into space, received Preki's pass, and finished from 14 yards with the confidence of someone who belonged at this level. The goal was his first for the national team. It would not be his last—over the next six years, Hejduk would become a fixture, representing the United States in two Olympics and two World Cups, his lackadaisical "surfer" demeanor masking a fierce competitive streak.
The match settled into a 2-2 stalemate that satisfied no one and disappointed few. Guatemala's elimination was confirmed when news filtered in from Costa Rica, where the Ticos had defeated Trinidad and Tobago 2-1. The Americans had claimed first place in Group 1 with a 4-1-1 record. More importantly, they had validated Sampson's belief that his program possessed something it had historically lacked: reliable alternatives when the first-choice players were unavailable.
"This is real evidence of the type of depth we're developing," Sampson said afterward, his satisfaction evident. "Frankie Hejduk debuted and was outstanding, scoring the tying goal. Jason Kreis at midfield, Jovan Kirovski moved back to midfield and combined well with Kreis and Reyna. Preki played the entire 90 minutes, scored his first goal and had an assist on the second. Martin Vasquez was strong, settling us in the back."
Jeff Agoos, serving as acting captain in Harkes' absence, had emerged as the team's most consistent performer across the six-game semifinal round. "The new guys showed they could play at this level," he observed. "They did it against a quality team. It's nice to know we have players who can come off the bench like this. Major League Soccer has given some players a lot of exposure."
The statement carried weight beyond its modesty. MLS, barely nine months old, was already serving its intended purpose—not just providing American players with professional opportunities, but accelerating their development to a level where they could compete internationally. Preki's journey embodied the league's promise. A decade earlier, he'd arrived from Yugoslavia to play indoor soccer in Tacoma. He'd bounced through Sweden, England, and the Continental Indoor Soccer League before MLS offered him a chance with the Kansas City Wizards in February 1996. Now, at 33—one of the oldest players ever to debut for the national team—he was scoring World Cup qualifying goals.
The draw gave the Americans a brief respite before the real work began. They would reassemble at Chula Vista on January 8 for the U.S. Cup, a four-nation tournament featuring Mexico, Peru, and Denmark, with three matches in San Diego and Pasadena. After that, a two-game tour of China. Then, in late February and early March, the hexagonal final round would commence—a double-round-robin featuring the United States, Costa Rica, Mexico, Canada, Jamaica and El Salvador, with the top three advancing to France '98.
On paper, the U.S. and Mexico looked strongest. Jamaica remained the only participant never to reach a World Cup. Canada had defeated El Salvador twice and figured to finish ahead of the Salvadorans, but might struggle against Costa Rica. The Americans would open on March 2 at Jamaica, beginning a marathon that would stretch through November with home-and-home series against all five opponents.
But on a December night in El Salvador, with qualification secure and experimentation yielding validation, the future felt manageable rather than daunting. The program that had scraped into the 1990 World Cup through Paul Caligiuri's miracle shot and been granted entry as 1994 hosts was now expected to qualify on merit. The depth that Alexi Lalas had praised after the Costa Rica victory—the ability to replace world-class players with world-class alternatives—had been tested against Guatemala and proven genuine.
Two goals from players making their first starts. A 2-2 draw that meant nothing in the standings but everything for confidence. The Americans had eight weeks to prepare for Jamaica, for Mexico, for the hexagonal grind that would determine whether they belonged in France. The anticlimax in El Salvador had told them what they needed to know: when it mattered, they would be ready.
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