No, beating Vancouver at home is still the mean.
It's undeniable that it was lovely to stand in 232 for a win, for a change, and...well, the last time United put up four goals at home was April 28, 2010, though that was a USOC game against the Burn. Searching...searching...wow, this isn't easy...September 30, 2009, five at home against San Juan Wouldjablowme in an ultimately futile CONCACAF Champions League game (aren't you glad we're not playing in those any more?)...Jeebus...June 29, 2008, against the Gals was the last time United put up four in a home league game. I didn't blog the game, but you know the most significant thing about it? I'll bet you don't. It was the last time El Muneco played for United (he scored to bring his price down to a mere $467,500 per goal). It was the last season in which United won hardware (USOC), leading to the hilarious Wikipedia claim, apparently written by El Muneco's wife, that Gallardo is "one of the few players that won a championship or a league in every team that he play[ed]." That's technically true, though Gallardo went down in the Galaxy game, never to play for the team again--two days before the team's first USOC game of the year.
Turn back now. That was the high point of this post.
So yeah. It was fun. It's hard not to have fun beating the shit out of a team coached by a gormless, futile piece of shit like Tommy Soehn. Random keeper Joe Willis was a close choice for MotM (I'd have given it to Pontius, who scored twice, but Willis played very well, earned the permanent backup job in a righteous universe, and relegated Steve Cronin to his place as a third choice who makes Troy Perkins look good--and this on a night when Jay Fucking Nolly was on the field). Najar was fine, Quaranta was okay as long as he wasn't touching the ball, DeRosario was magnificent (but gacked twice), and Stephen King was, for Stephen King, fucking magnificent.
Charlie Davies was fuckawful. The situation at forward is now at about DefCon Three, the nuclear annihilation clock of United's attack sitting at about 11:50 PM. Let's count it out: Tracey Chapman is a loser who should be picked off with a high-powered sniper rifle for putting on any black shirt, let alone setting foot on the field or coming within 10 yards of the ball; Blake Brettschneider is sorta promising and very likeable, but concussed and a kid; Josh Wolff has become utterly fucking useless since his last groin, and wasn't all that useful before that; and the only saving grace of the attack for the last month has been Mr. DeRosario (the chemistry between him and Najar, and to a lesser extent him and Pontius, is very nice). For the money, Davies needs to be fucking useful.
He's not. He's a diving pussy, and everyone knows it. He will never, ever, ever again get a call from a MLS referee; after two or three weak and halfhearted dives tonight, he got fouled, for real, an arguably yellow-card, possibly last-man professional foul on a breakaway when he was held and dragged down...and Hilario Grajeda booked him for diving. To his limited credit, Davies got the message and didn't dive for the rest of the game, which exposed him as utterly lame and unimaginative off the ball, and inept with it. He didn't even show any turn of the speed which is supposed to make him a player. He's done as a national team threat, and he's not worth the money as a player in MLS. United has an option on him for next year; if they have to pay any more than they'd pay for, say, Blake Brettschneider, they shouldn't exercise it--and the question came up in 232 as Davies stumbled his way through failures to make space, failures to beat defenders when in possession, failures to run faster than, say, famous traffic cone Carey Talley: of our DPs, do we keep Boskovic or Davies? The answer's an easy one, even though Boskovic has been plagued by injury and apathy since his arrival (BFF's rendition of this story will likely include a tubercular loogie gobbed in the deserved direction of Steve Nicol).
But fun fun fun to see a home win, and a mild runup of the score. Shoulda been more--Vancouver's the worst team in the league1, by far, and I'm deadly serious about beating them only 4-0 being, in essence, the same reversion to the mean that Fullback coined and continues to parlay (correctly and successfully, I should add, and I've taken long enough writing this that he may well be up with his game post already, and I may or may not come back and add the specific link)--but still fun.
The most fun--the very most fun ever ever ever--was when Pontius was subbed off. I was mildly bummed, because the boy was set up for a hat trick, and boy was the team trying to get him there. But when Pontius trotted off, in came the man I pay to see, the man whose jersey I now wear, a man who needs no right foot...Marc Burch. Burch was entering only his eighth match of the season--he's been injury-plagued, and for some reason, since his injury he's been behind this jackass on the depth chart at left back. Tonight he was playing in front of the jackass, playiing at left mid as Austin Da Luz--the previous standard for "only plays on the left," as Seatsix cunningly noted--moved to the right.
Lemme tell you about Burch and Woolard. Woolard is a fucking Chicago Fire reject. He spent last year playing for the fucking Carolina Railhawks. He's a piece of crap. He does nothing in offense, his left foot isn't nearly as powerful or decisive as Burch's, and his right foot isn't all that much better than the noodle at the end of Burchie's right leg (which Burch has worked to improve--tonight I actually saw him perform an unheard-of touch pass with the right). Marc Burch has more character in his dick than Daniel Woolard has in his entire career. The night that Burch earned his place in United lore, one of the most righteous nights in this storied team's storied history, Daniel Fucking Woolard was...playing for the other fucking team, the motherfucking Chicago Fucking Fire.
I took a lot of shit when Burch came in and I turned to show my mates in 232 the back of my shirt. A lot of shit. Faces fell moments later when Burch streaked into the left side of the box and beautifully set DeRosario up for one of his two gacks. Confess my vindication, bitchez.
Seatsix agrees--for that night alone, Marc Burch deserves to be up on the wall at RFK. Also...well, shit, I can't find a post to it, but once upon a time, last year, in a mostly empty and quiet stadium in a futile second half of I know not what game, Burchie was in possession, in space, coming over the midfield line, and still had space and possession when he got about 12 yards past the line. 35-40 yards out, there's no noise coming from Loud Side, and I screamed, "Shoot!" Burchie did. Missed wildly, but he obeyed, as Loud Side turned around to stare at me in disbelief. How can I not be gay for the guy?
Oh. Did I digress? Sorry. Fun fun fun. Burchie and Blanco at the Plex 4ever. I'm ranted out now, see you next time.
1 Ilse gets credit for the line of the night, though: "I was really hoping they'd be wearing little white caps."