Live Prejudice: 1997 CONCACAF Match in Costa Rica

On March 23, 1997, Costa Rica faced Team USA in a World Cup qualifying match at Ricardo Saprissa Stadium, San Jose. My still young son and I were seated in the middle section, near the 30th row. Saprissa is the theater where the United States has never managed to win against this CONCACAF rival. Former U.S. national team coach Bruce Arena described the stadium in an article in Sports Illustrated (Andrea Corrales, 2009) as being “such that the fans are literally on top of you. » Arena added: “It’s intimidating for the players, and even more so for the referees. » At that time, the United States posted a dismal record of 0-9-1 in qualifying matches in Costa Rica.

The stadium was packed, as usual, with its imposing vertical architecture amplifying the excitement and tension. The atmosphere that evening was electric as we waited for the 8pm kick-off. The temperature was around 27 degrees, and the sky was clear. There didn’t seem to be any designated sections for American fans—or at least I wasn’t in one. Knowing the risks associated with openly showing my support for a foreign team during this type of meeting, I avoided drawing attention to myself. Football matches at opposing stadiums around the world can be unpredictable, and remaining discreet was essential, especially sitting among passionate fans of the home team.

Although the intensity of the crowd was palpable, I managed to keep my composure for most of the match. However, in a moment of exuberance when I was clapping and shouting, I felt the flat of a shoe hit right in the middle of my back. It wasn’t violent, but it was a clear warning. I took a quick glance behind me, unable to identify the attacker, then returned my attention to the match. The atmosphere was electric, and although I silently supported the United States, I held back. My eight-year-old son was by my side, taking it all in. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking deep down.

About 15 minutes into the match, a questionable offside call drew attention to the linesman. He had an imposing build—a tall, sturdy man with a Caribbean physique, standing tall in his referee’s uniform. Being positioned in the middle of the field, I had a clear view of his back for a large part of the match.

Suddenly, a male voice, hoarse and loud, rose above the crowd. This man, middle-aged and unmistakably Tico, began to utter racist insults. It was a relentless wave of vulgarities and crude insults, filled with racial stereotypes and put-downs directed at the linesman. The section around us fell into shocked silence—it seemed as if the entire stadium held its breath. This surge, alternating between English and Spanish, was revolting. However, the linesman remained impassive, standing straight and serene, without making the slightest movement. I could only applaud his stoic attitude in the face of such a personal and disgusting attack.

Inside, I was torn. What was my son, this young boy of eight, thinking as he listened to such a public display of racial hatred? This could have happened anywhere in the world—even in Pure Lifein Costa Rica. For a moment, I wanted to scream, “Stop!” Stop this vulgarity! » But I imagined the consequences: being beaten up by cheerful Ticos, nationalism obliges. Instead, I whispered to my son, “Listen, boy. Listen to this surge. How is this possible? » I thought of Costa Rica’s best players—Medford, Wanchope, Wallace—many of them sharing the very origins that were being reviled. The irony was obvious, and the moment left me in deep thought.

Costa Rica ultimately won the match 3-2. USA goals were scored by Eric Wynalda and Roy Lassiter, with an assist from Claudio Reyna. Costa Rica opened the scoring with Hernán Medford in the 10th minute, followed by Mauricio Solís in the 33rd, and Ronald Gómez secured the victory in the 76th minute. It was a match that I will never forget, both for the performance on the pitch and for the intense human moments in the stands.

Original article written by: John Washington