LORD, WHAT A GAME!

And Lord look, the camera is panning to the few thousand of Trinidad and Tobago fans wrapped in our national colours singing along with them, a tri-coloured speck amidst a sea of yellow jerseyed Swedish supporters. I feel like I should stand and sing along.

God, truly bless us, today. And if you are a Trinbagonian, as we claim you are, give us a victory. These Swedes don’t need to win. They’ve got everything. Proper roads, low crime, high standard of living. We need the victory; we are small and life hard here at times.

The whistle has blown. Match start. Our boys are looking shaky and scrappy and defending as best as they can and the English announcer, who is calling them minnows, isn’t making things easier on TT fans because he is dubbing our boys’ style unorthodox every chance he gets. Look clown, hush. You sounding biased. That is TT Soca football. We will do what we have to, to stay in the game. The man is so quick to dismiss us, so eager to say how little he expects of us, that the only times I want to hear from him is when he says that Sweden has never won an opening game in the World Cup and when he calls our boys names, “Here comes Lawrence or Birchall, Theobald.”

Thirty minutes later and we almost getting on bad. We looking like true warriors, and we looking international. Carlos Edwards start the bacchanal with a shot on goal, then a beauty of a save from Shaka Hislop, the day’s substitute keeper. I am so proud of us. More shots on goal and more spectacular saves from Hislop. Good thing he playing! Forty-one minutes and the first half is nearly done and the smallest nation ever to qualify is still holding off the big men like Larsen and we are starting to look like giants. Our boys are growing strong and the TT fans are getting loud. Oh gosh I wish I could be in that stadium.

It’s half time and the Swedes who were to walk over the underdogs; to slaughter the 1000 to one side are scoreless and stunned. The announcer doesn’t know what to say. Nil, nil at half time? God I am proud. Oh Lord let us last forty minutes more, score a goal or two, or if not just keep the Swedes at bay, walk off the field with our heads high. We need it. The Swedes don’t.

Half time break is over and the red, white and black Warriors are running back onto the Dortmund pitch. Don’t let those Nordic or Scandinavian people score. Oh God no, Avery John is getting a second yellow card for a silly tackle; the boy was over-zealous and that is equivalent to one red card and he is gone. He’s getting booed from the Swedish fans. They could boo; we crying. We were doing so well and it is so damn hard to fight these Vikings. God, how you could do us this? We now have only ten men on the field.

Yorke’s men, once boys, will really have to show their fighting spirit for the next thirty-five minutes.

And the Swedes are putting real pressure on the TT defence. Poor Hislop. He saving left, right and centre. Not a car to be heard on the road outside. Not now, sixty minutes into this incredible game. Both teams have made a substitution each. Leo Beenhakker is massaging his temples - it’s not a Swedish massage. We were doing so well, half an hour ago, finding our tempo.

Now these brutes from up north trying to put out our Caribbean fire.

Sixty-seven minutes into the game, a corner for the Swedes and the TT posse in the stadium making real noise. Substitution. Newcomer Aurtis Whitley is on. But the Swedes are merciless. One shot after another. Another brilliant save from Shaka and more. This is Hislop’s day. Eighty minutes gone in the game. This is pressure. This is game. This is football. Six Swedes forward, all the action in the TT penalty area. Lord have mercy. Eighty-five minutes and we fighting like true warriors.

Final minute. Oh Lord, can our ten fighters last? Can we hold these Vikings to a goalless draw? The English commentator keeps asking, “Is this the goal for Sweden?” The man trying to blight us. What he doesn’t know is that they are Trinbagonians all over the world praying like crazy right now for this team. And God must be a Trinbagonian because look, Larsen just get a yellow card.

Three minutes of stoppage time. Three is a good number for us, even if we scrap the Trinity Cross. No goals for them. God will bless this tiny twin-island nation today. The Swedes looking vex. The biggest upset of the two-day-old tournament is about to take place.

Wait, is that the whistle? Beenhakker is clapping. The Soca Warriors are jumping. I am jumping and screaming. The Swedish fans crying. The match done and we draw. We have a point. Beenhakker warned them we would shock the world. Well, today we have. Now they have to respect us. We are Soca Warriors. Is fete tonight in Trinidad and Tobago and in Germany.

suz@itrini.com