And lo, the defense was massed in ranks upon the field of battle, drawing up their compact lines and denying space for creative, inventive play. But the Blessed One raised a be-sigiled arm and a hush fell over the gathered multitude. Then He dropped His anointed limb and the defense was rent asunder. Into the gap He delivered a divine through ball, bent to perfection behind the sprawling form of the final defender. And yea, He fashioned the chances, and verily, they were finished.
Then the teeming masses that packed the stadium raised a mighty shout and the Blessed One turned to face them, holding up His palm for silence. Into the hush He spoke these words, "For I am the light in the darkness of this continent. I bring you not only craft and vision, but work rate and determination. I will lead you benighted souls up from the caverns of your ignorance and allow you to bask in the glory that is the world's game."
And so saying, He turned his attentions back to the field of battle and summoned for the ball to be played to his golden boot. Then the Blessed One set about his works and begat corners and free-kicks which begat crosses and shots which begat headers and volleys and goals. And all the people gathered therein knew that His works were good.
Outside of the stadium, the dull thunder of a chant, once voiced by a chosen few but now taken up by thousands, and then millions, echoed across the hills and the forests and the lakes. In gymnasia and speedways, from couch and from sports bar, on gridiron and diamond, from Atlantic to Pacific, their shouts reverberated, shaking the ground and trembling the foundations of American Sport, blasting the hot dogs, and nachos, and pretzels from its fat, cheese-stained, bejeweled hands. Their song spoke of joy and of promise and the dawning of a new age in American Soccer.
"The Savior is Come! The Savior is Come!"