A few minutes after
I glanced over at my companions, a couple of in-the-know soccerheads (OK,
Casey, of course, went on to notch a gorgeous, rapier-like second goal and draw the foul that led to
Put simply, Casey was sharp. He was alert and quick-witted, playing more on instinct than thought, the way a player can only when he's match-fit and in form. His intelligent movement got him the ball. His mix of brute strength and gentle-giant's feet -- he has the soft touch of a reiki master -- spirited him away from the initial challenge before his feet were entangled by a Honduran defender. The whistle blew. Foul. Free kick. Game over.
Now, before we anoint Casey the next "next
What it does, though, is prove for the umpteenth time the value of regular action, even if that action is in MLS. Altidore -- whose name, I hear, was chanted at one bar in California when the U.S. fans first saw the starting lineup -- is riding the pine at English Premier League side Hull City; Casey is playing 90 minutes every week and punching in goals like he's