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15′ until kickoff. The stadium is still filling up. The atmosphere is dense with humidity, electric with the anticipation of 60,000 other fans who, like you, are counting down the seconds until their team takes the field.

When I heard about the game at Giants Stadium, I knew I had to get back to Jersey (my ancestral homeland). With me that night: my dad and my uncle, and one of my buddies from high school. My dad and uncle had seen some USMNT games in person, but years ago. This was my first national-team game; my friend had never seen a pro soccer match in person at all.

The crowd was a 60/40 split between fans of Argentina and the US (which is a usually a good ratio for a US national game; that peculiar fact is a complicated one). A band of Argentina fans - by which I mean an actual band: brass, drums, chanting - stood just outside our section, making their show of bravado and generally trying to get in our heads. Their supporters unfurled the blue-and-white flag on their side of the field, and in turn Sam’s Army unfurled a huge “US Soccer” crest, emblazoned with our ancient motto. “Don’t Tread on Me”.

0′. Kickoff. All that waiting and clock-watching, and kickoff takes me by surprise. The game just starts off like a whisper: a look, a short pass and a roar from the crowd.

25′. The US is in it and fighting. From my view their play is rugged and scrappy, with burst of finesse being echoed with cheers from the US crowd. The players know how dangerous Argentina can be, and must leave them no room: two or more defenders quickly moved in to cut down any run by their side, and that wasn’t always enough.

You had to respect Argentina, the current #1 team in the world. They would frequently play “quiet” passing the ball back through their midfield and backline, but at any given second they would wake up and starting a piercing attack, slashing open layers of defense and leaving it up to our phenomenal goalie (Tim Howard) to save the day. There was no room for error.

67′. Outrage, incompetence.

There were questionable calls throughout the game, but then it seemed that one of the players was mistakenly sent off. How can you possibly eject someone from the game by mistake? (How can you eject a player from a friendly game for minor shoving?)

And yet: while Argentina has dominated for moments in the second half, the US has had its attacking share as well, and came as close as hitting the crossbar, but no closer.

I was in full fan mode, passionate and cheering for the USA, and blissfully biased in my take on the game. Intellectually I knew that not every run was a real chance at goal, and not every call against us was a grievous crime. I knew this, but I did not feel it. I could only feel myself chanting with the crowd. “U-S-A”: a simple chant, even painfully simple if you want to analyze it. But I certainly didn’t care. There was just my father, my friend and myself, caught up in cheers of the crowd.

85′. Thunderbolts and lightening.

I kid you not: in this, the 85th minute, one of the Argentine players was sent off, bringing the teams level once more. And at that moment, it started pouring down rain, and not just rain but a full lightening storm. The rain revived the happy crowd, and thunder punctuated the aggressive play of both teams.

As storm broke I saw a new ferocity in my players, now unlocked. In the last remaining minutes of the game, the US was on a relentless attack. They had so much more to prove in this game, and with the clouds on their side, they went for it.

95′ or so. After long stoppage time, and a final attack by the US: the final whistle. A 0-0 game, but the most exciting scoreless tie I could have seen.