1-1 game in extra-time. A foul is called 35 yd out from Red Bull goal. It's on Grabavoy. It looks bad. He's obviously done for the season.
The PA announcer mic clicks on: "Ladies and Gentleman, a substitution ..."
The bullpen gate opens. You hear those familiar strains as Enter Sandman comes over the speakers. The crowd is silent in anticipation.
After a pregnant pause, Pirlo walks through. The crowd goes absolutely bonkers - hanging from the rails, pounding the bleachers.
He waves the entire NYC squad to the sideline. He steps to the ball, strikes it purely (because he's Pirlo). By the time it's in the back of the net, the skies have opened up, showering us all with Sangiovese.
We rush to the streets, NYPD is lighting flares and waving flags. What's that? Some guys from the local precinct have peeled off to carry
CP_Scouse on their shoulders. The merriment continues all through the night, as the Holy Spirit descends and we all speak Italian.
Later this same week, we inevitably are forced to forfeit this victory due to the use of an ineligible player. Nevertheless, spurred on by the dramatic win and loss of the team's greatest sandbag, NYCFC goes on to take three points from every remaining game. In the stands, we bring in 50k supporters for every remaining match. The confluence of support and confidence and passion drives our team to buzz saw through the playoffs to claim an MLS Cup, which Garber hands to Sheikh Mansour on the mound at Yankee Stadium.
Upon accepting, Mansour has the video board switch to a live feed of the Hudson banks of Manhattan, whereupon the entire crowd watches as a brilliant new soccer stadium rises up to affix itself to farthest edges of the West Village.
Midas gets hammered. Edited: and grows a not-splotchy beard.
