On This Day in 2017, the U.S. Dismantles Panama to Seize Control of World Cup Fate
The mathematics that governed American soccer's immediate future was deceptively simple. Three points against Panama at Orlando City Stadium would restore the United States to third place in the CONCACAF hexagonal. Three more points in Trinidad and Tobago four days later would secure passage to Russia and preserve a World Cup streak that had extended back to 1990. Any other combination of results would require divine intervention or the kind of intercontinental playoff that represented failure for a program of American soccer's stature.
Bruce Arena understood the arithmetic with crystalline clarity. The coach who had returned to rescue the national team from Jurgen Klinsmann's wreckage eight months earlier had watched his carefully constructed revival nearly collapse in September's twin disasters—a humiliating home defeat to Costa Rica followed by Bobby Wood's desperate equalizer in the suffocating heat of Honduras. Those results had transformed what should have been a routine qualification campaign into an existential crisis, leaving the Americans clinging to fourth place and their World Cup dreams suspended by the most fragile of threads.
The intervening month had provided no comfort. Panama arrived in Orlando having not lost to the United States in four years, their last defeat coming in the agonizing 2013 qualifier when they surrendered a stoppage-time lead and, with it, their World Cup dreams. The Central Americans' Golden Generation—13 players aged 29 or older, including veteran goalkeeper Jaime Penedo—sensed this represented their final opportunity to reach football's greatest stage. Their president, Juan Carlos Varela, had traveled to Orlando to witness what he hoped would be a historic event. The 25,303 fans who packed the downtown stadium understood that Panama possessed both the talent and motivation to extend American misery into Tuesday's finale.
Arena had assembled his strongest available lineup with the kind of clarity that desperation provides. Tim Howard returned to goal after Brad Guzan's struggles in Honduras. The central defense pairing of Omar Gonzalez and Matt Besler, which had steadied the Americans in San Pedro Sula, remained intact. In midfield, Michael Bradley would shoulder his familiar burden of organization and leadership. Up front, Arena paired Jozy Altidore with Bobby Wood, benching Clint Dempsey in favor of youth and athleticism. On the flanks, Christian Pulisic and Darlington Nagbe carried instructions to attack a Panamanian defense that had conceded merely five goals through eight qualifiers.
The opening exchanges of the October 6 match suggested Arena's gamble on aggression might deliver immediate dividends. In the sixth minute, Altidore threaded a perfect cross to Wood at the back post. Still, the Hamburg striker's finish from six yards drifted harmlessly wide—the kind of early miss that has haunted American qualifying campaigns throughout history. The capacity crowd, their anxiety barely concealed beneath pregame optimism, stirred uneasily.
Two minutes later, their fears evaporated in a sequence that captured everything Pulisic had become to American soccer. Howard's long goal kick found Wood near midfield, where the striker flicked a header into Altidore's path. The big forward, displaying the kind of technical composure that had made him Arena's target striker, cushioned a one-touch pass to the accelerating Pulisic. The 19-year-old from Hershey controlled the ball with his left foot, evading Román Torres's desperate slide tackle with the ease of someone playing against vastly inferior competition. Penedo charged from his line, but Pulisic had already mapped his route to goal, rounding the goalkeeper and sliding his shot home from an impossibly acute angle as he tumbled to the wet grass.
11 seconds had elapsed from Howard's goal kick to Pulisic's celebration. The roar that greeted the goal carried equal measures of exultation and relief—the Americans had seized early control of a match they could not afford to chase.
Panama, stunned by the early blow, struggled to establish any rhythm against American pressure that seemed fueled by months of accumulated anxiety. Their attempts to slow Pulisic through physical intimidation only freed space for others. In the 19th minute, Nagbe liberated Pulisic down the left channel with a perfectly weighted pass. The teenager attacked Michael Murillo with the directness that had become his signature. As Altidore created separation from Panama's central defenders, Pulisic delivered a low cross that required only the simplest of finishes. Altidore obliged, poking the ball past Penedo to double the American advantage.
The game, barely 20 minutes old, had effectively reached its conclusion. Panama's press, designed to overwhelm Bradley in midfield and expose American defensive vulnerabilities, dissolved into disorganization. When Gabriel Torres forced Howard into a sharp save in the 28th minute, it represented Panama's lone moment of genuine threat in a half dominated by American purpose.
The insurance goal arrived in the 43rd minute through a sequence that embodied both American resilience and Panamanian desperation. Wood surged past three defenders on a diagonal run into the penalty area, drawing Armando Cooper's clumsy foul. Altidore stepped to the spot and delivered a cheeky chip down the middle—the kind of audacious finish that only confidence permits—for his 41st international goal. The halftime whistle arrived moments later with the Americans holding a three-goal cushion that felt simultaneously comfortable and insufficient given the stakes.
Arena, cognizant of Pulisic's accumulating bruises from Panama's frustrated tackles, withdrew his star early in the second half for Dax McCarty. The substitution reflected both pragmatism and forward planning—Tuesday's encounter in Trinidad and Tobago would require Pulisic at full fitness. The teenager departed to a standing ovation, having contributed a goal and an assist while absorbing the kind of physical punishment that had become routine in CONCACAF competition.
The fourth goal, when it arrived in the 63rd minute, belonged appropriately to Wood. Paul Arriola, cutting in from the right flank, threaded a pass through Panama's demoralized defense. Wood's first touch set his body for the finish, his right-footed strike finding the bottom corner with authority. It represented vindication for the striker whose late equalizer in Honduras had preserved American World Cup hopes a month earlier.
The final thirty minutes dissolved into an exhibition as Arena emptied his bench and Panama's resistance crumbled entirely. Arriola nearly added a fifth in stoppage time, but Penedo managed a save that spared his team further humiliation. Panama's coach, Hernán Darío Gómez, would later concede his team had been "immensely superior in every way," estimating the Americans could have scored 10 goals. The assessment, while generous, captured the evening's fundamental truth—the United States had delivered the kind of comprehensive performance that their talent suggested. Still, their recent form had not been demonstrated.
The victory restored American control over their World Cup destiny with elegant simplicity. The three points lifted them to third place on twelve points, two clear of Panama and three ahead of Honduras. More significantly, the goal differential swing—from plus-one to plus-five—effectively eliminated both Central American rivals from realistic contention. Panama would need an inconceivable victory margin in their final match while hoping for an American collapse. Honduras, sitting at minus seven, faced a mathematical impossibility.
The path forward required only avoiding defeat against Trinidad and Tobago, a team anchored to the bottom of the table with a solitary victory through nine matches. The Soca Warriors had nothing to play for beyond pride and the particular satisfaction that small CONCACAF nations derive from complicating American ambitions. Arena, who had guided the program through eight months of crisis management, refused to indulge in premature celebration.
"We've come a long way," he acknowledged, his tone suggesting wariness rather than relief. "We are well-positioned to hopefully qualify for Russia. The game in Trinidad is not going to be an easy one. They appear to be fully focused on playing. It's not going to be easy."
Yet beneath the measured optimism lingered the unavoidable truth that had defined American qualifying since those twin defeats to Mexico and Costa Rica 11 months earlier: nothing could be assumed, nothing taken for granted. The program that had reached seven consecutive World Cups remained one result from extending that streak to eight, but also one disastrous performance from the kind of failure that would reverberate through American soccer for years.
Pulisic, limping noticeably as he slipped away from the post-match media scrum, had done his part. His eight goals and eleven total goal contributions across the hexagonal had carried the Americans when veterans faltered and systems broke down. The job, as Besler noted in the jubilant locker room, was half-done. Four days remained until Tuesday's finale in Port of Spain, where Trinidad and Tobago awaited with nothing to lose and everything to prove.
The Americans would board their charter flight south with third place secured and qualification within reach, carrying the hope that Orlando's redemption would not prove merely a temporary reprieve from their long season of crisis. Three points had restored control. Three more would bring deliverance. The mathematics remained beautifully, terrifyingly simple.