‘Yankee Go Home’ jeers aside, Ticos relish United States visits to Saprissa Stadium, especially after late penalty kick

Some aspects of a U.S. visit to Saprissa Stadium we could do without. The rock-throwing, for instance.

As the buses carrying the team and the U.S. delegation arrived, 90 minutes before game time, boys threw stones and the buses reversed slowly until four cops on horseback galloped by to confront the hurlers.

The cavalry moved between the buses and the attackers, fending them off so the Americans could enter the stadium.

The louts even threw rocks at the horses.

Inside the stadium, it was far less intimidating than during the infamous 1996 match, when Ticos threw screws, coins and putrid liquids at the Americans.

But the Tico fans – those who don’t throw stones – do create an electric atmosphere. Even more so, for example, than a massive Azteca Stadium crowd in Mexico City. Because whereas the Mexicans depend on one old cheer that lasts just seconds – al-a-bio, a-la-ba, a-la-bin-bon-ba etc. – the Ticos have an array of songs and chants.

The raucous hordes of red-clad men and a few women behind the goals began their song-fest at least an hour before the game. They have adopted and accordingly adjusted the rousing Argentine fight song – “Vamos vamos, Ticos Ticos … etc.”

When their players warmed up, they provided a chant of inspiration for almost every starter. “Chopey, Chopey! Chopey, Chopey!” they belted out, in support of Paulo Wanchope, whose mother had hired bodyguards for him after he was scapegoated for the July 16 loss to Barbados.


UNNECCESARY BODYGUARDS? The mother was scared after fans yelled insults at Wanchope after a practice in the week prior to the U.S. game, and men in suits with dark shades began shadowing the striker.

The Ticos considered that silly. While the hurling of insults and debris may be common at soccer games, direct violent confrontations are rare. The sprinkling of American fans – mostly students on exchange trips and tourists – cheered amid the most fervid Tico fan sections without being challenged other than verbally.

One Costa Rican columnist had criticized Wanchope and suggested he ought to cancel the guards and donate the money to victims of a retirement-home fire that killed 17 and injured several others three days before the game.

At the postgame press conference, Wanchope called the journalist a drunk. The journalist, a self-proclaimed recovering alcoholic of 15 years, threatened to sue.


SPONSORED SECURITY. When the public address announcer read out the Americans’ numbers and names, the Ticos responded, after each, with a shout of perra! That means female dog.

For their own players, they provided the last name in a synchronized scream so the PA man wouldn’t have to. The PA man, most unprofessionally, also served as cheerleader. During the game he encouraged the spectators: “We need all your help! … There’s only 15 minutes left. Stand Up! Stand Up!”

Saprissa Stadium would be a fine venue were it not so decrepit. That the fans are barely four yards away from the sideline, and that the upper levels are tiered, creates intimacy and amplifies the fan noise. If only the security – many of whom wear shirts provided by security-guard sponsor Cristal, a mineral water company – would do more to prevent the throwing of objects.

There wasn’t so much of that this time and the players didn’t seem to be in serious danger. But while hordes of armed police lounged around the concession area, just one of the mineral-water seguridad guys stood by the tunnel through which the U.S. players would enter and exit.

The only apparent victim on the day was a security guard who was stretchered away after the game, having been struck in the forehead.

He was back on his feet 20 minutes later, able to describe the strike.

The 30-year-old stadium was recently renovated, but you wouldn’t know unless you were told. Unattached concrete blocks serve as steps. Some signboards around the field are made of jagged metal. Other wooden ones have small protruding nails, often pointing toward the field.

The visiting team’s bench is an uncomfortable, cramped dugout that at least once prompted an official protest in Costa Rican League play.

Outside of the Saprissa Stadium environs, Costa Ricans are notoriously friendly toward Americans. The nation once offered tax breaks to lure U.S. retirees and tourism is its lead industry thanks largely to North Americans.

So the cliched imperative “Yankee Go Home” is generally confined to the soccer games. But even there the United States has become a welcome visitor; a sign of celebrations on the horizon.

The 2-1 Costa Rican win over the United States on July 23 made it four straight for the Ticos against the Americans at home in qualifying.

Yankee go home, but come back anytime, is what they really mean.


FLEETING SILENCE. A goal by the visitors in a place like Saprissa creates a most peculiar sensation. When Earnie Stewart equalized the game – just like when in qualifying for France ’98 Eric Wynalda, Cobi Jones and Roy Lassiter scored goals that would prove academic – a stunning silence followed.

It’s the most abrupt halt to noise you could imagine. You second-guess what you have seen. A goal? How can a goal be so quiet?

The home fans are shut up, and the few Americans in the crowd hesitate because the sudden silence has them confused.

Stewart had scored in the second half, answering Rolando Fonseca’s goal on a counterattack, after a U.S. corner kick.

And when time was running out, and it seemed the Americans had escaped with a 1-1 tie, referee Peter Prendergast, supported by his linesman, called a penalty kick.

It was a bad call, because Gregg Berhalter wasn’t trying to use his hand, and intent is what determines whether it’s an infraction – unlike other fouls, for which intent no longer matters. It looked like Berhalter was trying not to handle it.

So the American players charged the referee, as did Arena.

“I told him he cheated us,” Arena said.

Frankie Hejduk had taken down Austin Berry in the 89th minute on a sloppy slide tackle in which he didn’t come near the ball.

“I touched the ball past him,” Berry said, “and he hit my foot.”

Hejduk claimed he didn’t touch Berry. Even if that’s the way it happened, it doesn’t make it OK – tripping or attempting to trip is a direct-kick foul, and Hejduk certainly impeded Berry. It’s unlikely the call would have created a scandal had referee Prendergast made it.

“Even if it was [a foul],” Arena said, “it doesn’t make it right for him to call the penalty later. I’d like to see him come into this locker room and explain to these guys who fought for 90 minutes why he called it.”

It doesn’t make it right. Of course not. But if you righteously proclaim injustices against you, you should at least appreciate the breaks you’ve gotten.

But there are more significant lessons for this U.S. team. The main one: A team that wants to be considered among the elite in its region cannot score just one goal in a qualifying game and expect that to be enough.

by Soccer America executive editor Mike Woitalla