It’s because we see something in the game that we see in ourselves.

His name was announced with slight fanfare, mostly drowned out by the thousands of blue and white-clad cheering Hondurans in attendance. An enormous amount of sound is still capable of radiating through our stadium’s old bones and cavernous corridors.

The perception is that this tournament doesn’t really mean much in the grand scheme of things. It’s a “B” team cup. A nicety. Something to watch while we wait for more important soccer matters.

Despite that, something good was going to happen at RFK last night. And if those in the stands didn’t explicitly acknowledge that fact, they were hoping for it, thinking of it, willing for it to happen. Because in the often-mythic world of soccer, those kinds of occurrences are what makes the patient build justifiable. And even though such things are so often attributed as the work of fate or magic, they are more times than not the work of one individual and their desire.

It’s because we see something in one player that we see in ourselves.

Santino Quaranta will be the first to admit that he’s made some mistakes, ones that brought him to the brink of losing it all. But if our heroes have taught us anything, it is that one man’s mistakes hardly define him. So what a moment it must have been for the Marylander: To see his name on that pinstriped jersey. To proudly walk out in front of a massive crowd in a stadium where he’s labored to assert his tenacity. To be in front of his people, his wife, his children. To listen to the anthem of his country. To rest his hand over his chest and soak in one unforgettable moment. To quietly let the tears well up in his eyes.