U.S. Soccer Tells World To Take Note, and Do Not Tread

There would not be a 36th for Spain. 

There wouldn't be any sort of monumental comeback, thwarting any life left in the respirators of a dog-tired American squad. 

As most are beginning to dub it, "the miracle on grass," those who saw the U.S. advance with a 2-0 triumph over the No. 1 team in the world saw no miracle. Only victory, and in the most improbable, awe-struck fashion.

The Stars and Stripes are the quintessential Disney feel-good story. A crew of rag-taggers, summoned to head up against the world's best on the world's stage saw and heard nothing but failure. It was on them.

They played appalling in the first two games. It was at times literally unwatchable, and the echoes heard overseas were shrieking "embarrassment."

Then, something happened.

As Zinedine Zidane has so promptly reminded us day-in and day-out thanks to Adidas, legend has it that one night something magical happened, some sort of "strange alchemy."

The Yanks became the story overnight in South Africa, and something magical did indeed happen. Alchemy, why not? It was something.

Sure, the Egyptian team was exhausted fresh off its 1-0 result over the Italians (and according to many reports, a long night of stress, thanks to some supposed thievery from some prostitutes), and the U.S. were a long shot.

They were further than a long shot, they were taken off the books of two major European casinos before the Americans whipped the Pharaohs, 3-0. 

Strange alchemy, indeed.

But the fact of the matter is the U.S.—for all the lumps they've taken, for all the flack they've been choking on from poor starts, no-style play, and basic no-result soccer—a trigger went off.

Did the team watch Kevin Garnett post the whooping of the Lakers, sealing the Celtics' first championship in, phew, who knows? Garnett, strung out on euphoria leaned down into the microphone and belted, "anything's possible."

Much thanks to Adidas, once again. Or impossible is nothing, either/or. It didn't matter.

Bob Bradley summoned his troops, prepared the best game plan of his coaching career, and executed against the best team in the world.

This, albeit not an Olympic match, rivals the miracle on ice in 1980. What many don't realize is how talented, deep, and unforgiving this Spain team is. Or was. 

Thirty-five straight matches without a game in the loss column. That dated back to November of 2006.

Jozy Altidore was 16 then, and Freddy Adu was 17.

The last loss? To Romania. 

No offense to the Romanians, but something inside La Roja said, no more losses to Romania, please.

They kept their end of the bargain. For 2 1/2 years, they did.

They swept through international play, toppling the world's best. Spain dominated the 2008 Euro Cup, rattling off 15 straight victories. Not draws, but victories, meaning three points and a "W" for 15 straight. 

In the soccer world, that's unreal. Literally. The Spaniards set a FIFA record. 

That left David on a collision course with Goliath. After the Americans were shellacked by the Brazilians, 3-0, keeper Tim Howard told the press that sometimes David isn't able to keep up with Goliath and that Goliath would emerge victorious. 

Timmy wouldn't have to say that again, not after a scintillating match in goal in which he punched out, kicked out, cleared, and organized the best U.S. defensive performance ever.

Ever.

Howard was backed up by stellar performances by the centerback duo of Oguchi Onyewu and Jay DeMerit, and Howard stood tall against the most lethal scorers on the planet. 

He said thanks, but no thanks. Nice try, Fernando. Maybe next time, Mr. Villa.

And credit to the boss-man. The guy who seemingly has received more gripes than Perez Hilton, Bob Bradley.

Yes, his style of play is often too defensive and sometimes boring to watch. But hey, you make due with what you have. You play the cards you're dealt, and that's what Bradley did. 

The U.S., staunch in its defending, sliding, tackling, pushing their way to every clearance and block, waited in the tall grass. There they waited to strike, picking and choosing when, where, and how they would attack the formerly unblemished Spain. 

And what would a U.S. victory against the best team on Earth be without a little luck?

Altidore's muscly turn-and-shoot unto Iker Casillas caught the Real Madrid keeper flat-footed, and he couldn't muster the mustard to keep Altidore's strike out. 

The best keeper on the best team in the world couldn't keep the U.S. out of his goal on the frosty South Africa evening. 

It would be easy to pick out individual performances and provide immense kudos to Landon Donovan, who has had an amazing tournament so far, hustling the air out of his lungs.

Clint Dempsey, the enigmatic, exhausted-looking star that, as Bradley so simply states, "provides flashes of brilliance that no one else can."

The two most important goals in the two most important matches of the tournament gleams some sort of brilliance from the Fulham midfielder. 

But it's as Bradley said after the win: Each and every one of the players on his team had a role in this result. They had 11 men (until son Michael was sent off on another criminally-pathetic straight red in the 86th minute), and those 11 played their guts out, cheesy sports cliches aside. 

The U.S. gutted out this win. They've gutted out this tournament, falling in the low of lows and basking in the rays on high. 

Many will say Spain is the better team, and of course it is. There's no arguing that. The first-class form and talent La Roja exhibits is second-to-none. 

But as Herm Edwards said, "that's why you play the game." Thanks to ol' Herm, because he's spot on. That's why the game is played, for special evenings like this. 

The superior team, untouched and unraveled for 35 straight game and almost three years came crashing down at the hands of a scrappy, under-starred team. 

Before the disappointment of the 2006 World Cup, the U.S. Soccer Federation, along with Nike, teamed up to come with the team's slogan, a saying that wouldn't be matched and would fittingly describe a team that would never quit, never surrender and push, claw and fight until the last second vanished. 

The symbol and the phrase was chosen and actually coined by Benjamin Franklin and used during the Revolutionary War. The symbol was that of an obviously flustered rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike, the saying was simple and yet veracious. 

Don't tread on me. 

The Stars and Stripes lived up to the billing Wednesday in Bloemfontein. They sat back, they defended, waited for their opportunity and they struck with all their might and resolve. 

After bulldozing over the world's best for 2 1/2 years, the Spaniards now know the message the Americans sent. It's the U.S. crest, with a rattlesnake coiled around a soccer ball with the words repeated. 

Don't tread on me. 

As of right now, no one on earth could or would even venture a try.