After World Cup mis-steps, Canada show an ability to adapt at Copa America

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When it was announced a year and a half ago that North American teams would participate in the Copa America for the first time, the reason provided was to “ensure football in both regions continues to thrive.”

Somehow, I think soccer in Brazil was going to be okay without Jamaica’s help.

Nobody needed to say the real reason – the imminent arrival of Lionel Messi.

Messi was about to turn the United States into soccer boom town. Everybody knew it, and they still underestimated the effect.

Everyone also understood that the boost would be temporary. Messi is 37 years old and they aren’t making any more of him. The U.S. GDP is five times that of all of South America combined. It was a unique opportunity plus that math vs. more than a century of tradition. Tradition didn’t make it out of its own corner.

It helped that putting the tournament on in the United States would act as a soft opening for World Cup 2026. Make sure none of the stadiums would fall apart under persistent foot stomping.

The agreement would look like this:

South America would provide Messi plus a bit of class; America would produce several hundred thousand hicks to buy shirts they didn’t quite grasp the significance of.

South America would beat the hell out of opponents; North America would say, ‘Thank you, señor, may I have another?’

From the South American perspective, there were a lot of reasons to fret about watering down the Copa, but none of them was fear of embarrassment.

South American soccer is the most two-fisted on the planet. Forget about balletic Brazilians coming at you with midfield pirouettes. Think more Huns coming at you on a screaming pack of Steppe ponies. Chile recently won two Copas in a row with a style that might be described as 1970s Philadelphia Flyers Extra.

North American footballers pride themselves on toughness. The world allows them to persist in this delusion because it’s kind of cute.

Now, for the first time really, America & Friends would find out what full-contact football feels like when you’re playing for real.

And it has played out just like that, but for one exception – Canada.

For a few minutes against Argentina in the opener, Canada looked like it might fluke its way into a famous win. That had its moments, until it didn’t.

The next two games against Chile and Peru were more typical of the occasion. It couldn’t have been more dour if the players had stripped off their shirts at the whistle, then stood at the centre of the park trying to wrestle each other into submission. But it’s worked. On Friday, Canada play Venezuela in the quarters.

You wouldn’t call what’s happened so far good, or watching it fun. But this is what a Copa looks like, especially in the early stages. Nobody’s trying to win. Everyone’s trying not to lose.

You’d expect Mexico, with its combo of human resources and connections south, would be best at this. Nope. They got sumo wrestled off the group-stage platform by Venezuela and Ecuador. This is a special humiliation for them, and a terrible psychic setup for 2026.

The U.S. expected to look good, if not exactly perform well. Same story. As of this writing, it was a defeat to Uruguay – the most explosive team in the tournament so far – away from elimination.

When America was putting together its application to play host to the World Cup a decade ago, it must have fantasized about the shock to come. The world was changing, but America would reassert its dominance by winning at a sport it didn’t even care about. That would grind gears in Moscow in a way trade blockades never could.

That dream is rubbing up against reality this summer. If America can be beaten by Panama, then who can’t it lose to? If it is out by Saturday, it will find itself in a Joe Biden/Democratic Party situation – no choice but to try something radically different, having left it too late to expect any major change to turn out well.

By Tuesday night, Canada could be the only North American side left standing. From World Cup burnout to continental standard bearer in the space of 20 months – not too shabby.

The reason this country bombed out so badly at Qatar 2022 wasn’t the results. It lost all three games, but it lost them to two eventual semi-finalists (Croatia and Morocco) plus the then-No. 2-ranked team in the world (Belgium).

It was the way Canada lost that was the problem. It couldn’t adapt. It never settled. Good teams ease into major tournaments. Canada arrived on the threshold of nervous hysteria and got more wound up as the days passed.

The less it adapted, the louder it talked and the more ridiculous it seemed. Then manager John Herdman’s decision to crudely insult Croatia – then gleefully repeat the insult when asked about it – ought to be studied in war college. It is a textbook example of reverse gamesmanship.

Canada’s problem wasn’t talent, or the federation that runs it, or how much the players are paid, or even coaching as such. It was approach.

When you don’t have a Messi on your side, you don’t get to dictate how the game is played. You also don’t get to come into the room shouting and expect people to make way. There is confident and there is cocky. Two years ago, Canada was the wrong one.

You wouldn’t call the Canada team we’ve seen over the past two weeks confident, exactly. It hasn’t been particularly well organized, and it certainly hasn’t been fluid. At best, it has trod water.

The word to describe Canada after three games is adaptive. In international soccer, and South American-style international soccer in particular, there is no higher praise.