What Happened in Vegas…
There was something in the air in North Vegas. In that old ballpark near the Strip. Eric Wynalda, coach of the all-pro Las Vegas Lights, on one side. Paul Caligiuri, his old roommate with the U.S. National Team, was on the other, in charge of the amateur men from Orange County. The first goal, from Cody Shelton, started the whispers. Upset. Cupset. Whatever you’ll call the miracle. Then another fell. It was a tragi-comic own-goal. The Lights, a man down, clawed back. They tied it near the end. But it was already over and they didn’t know it. The sling was spinning, making a whistle in the air, and the stone had been flung. Blake Frischknecht looks awkward, but he’s a killer. He’s a King, like old David was. He turned up at the back post unnoticed – no small feat for a young man well over six feet and built like an ox. He volleyed home. 3-2 with only moments remaining! Cue the celebrations, the thick romantic scribbles. And another! This one from Oscar Flores who tiptoed into the Lights goal, and the giant was down. Goliath wasn’t getting up. The OCFC players hardly knew where to turn in celebration. Their fists in the air and their wide smiles seemed to ask a question in a long-gone language. Goliath who?
