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Of a Tricky Smithett


One can read too much into some things, like a beautiful evening of soccer at Bonney Field playing a bunch of jet-lagged British teenagers. But, still, though...

After the first few (30) minutes, that was entertaining football. There are a bunch of boys in the Liverpool pipeline with similar-sounding one-syllabled last names that can play a little footy, no? And, on a night in which a certain Montenegran was unavailable for some friendly action, a certain British youth with a hyphenated last name, Lickety Split or Lemony Snicket or something like that, may have rebuilt the entire front end of our Glory ride.

First, let me say that the first goal, sans Tricky the Smithett, was a beauty in its own right. A team goal is a beauty goal, and that's just how it is. Bravo Augie and Co!

Second, I must also concede that the 'Pool goal was also lovely, and I hate to refer to anything that gets past The Dom as lovely. But, I mean, anyone can watch the highlights and argue the point, I guess.

Third, however, is the sheer reality that lightning struck the front third of the pitch when Trickett-Smith entered the attack. It changed the whole complexion, and I don't think I over-state. Whether that continues going forward is a question. But we saw coherent movement, one-touch passing, clever distribution, and not only on his part. It seemed to be immediately catchy, and as if Tommy Stewart had someone speaking his language for the first time. They were dangerous! And the more dangerous they were up in the UK line (T-S, Stew, Prince Harry), the more dangerous became Iwasa and Kiffe, who beautifully complement at wide midfield and wide back, by the way. This was the first 45 minutes together. I am officially excited.

Fourth, I would be negligent to fail to say that the Kiffe goal was sweet, for sheer quality and as a game-winner.

But, to the point, if the young lad's energy and attitude in the attack is that contagious as a fact going forward, along with the continuing stout defense, the rest of the season could be a load of fun. A toast to the Tricky Smithett and our merry band of men!

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