Costa Rica squeeze past Dominican Republic into next round

Costa Rica 2 Dominican Republic 1

June 28 – Picture this: AT&T Stadium, Arlington, Texas, a gleaming, cavernous, colossus of modern architecture, standing like a metallic monument to American excess. With its 80,000-seat capacity echoing like a vast, empty cathedral, barely 3,000 souls scattered across its bowels at kickoff. It didn’t matter.

Neither Costa Rica nor the Dominican Republic seemed remotely bothered by the sound of their own voices – they simply picked up where they had left off in their previous matches.

Fresh off their seven-goal bonanza against Suriname in San Diego, Los Ticos arrived with their tails up. Meanwhile, Los Quiqueyanos had given Mexico a proper scare in Los Angeles and strutted into this Group A encounter with the kind of swagger that suggests they knew exactly what they were about. Both sides demonstrated tactical fluidity, constantly recalibrating their formations like well-oiled machinery.

With Costa Rica pushing a high defensive line, the Dominicans were first to test the reflexes of the ageless Keylor Navas – a goalkeeper who seems to have discovered the fountain of youth somewhere between Real Madrid and his current perch. Dorny Romero found himself clean through on goal, the kind of chance that haunts strikers in their sleep, but his execution lacked belief.

The breakthrough arrived in the 16th minute, and Navas was to blame. Right-back Joao Urbáez, who wouldn’t look out of place in an elite league claimed the opener. Romero again ghosted past that adventurous Costa Rican high line and unleashed a scuffed left-footer that Navas should have held but instead, he spilled it creating a 50-50 ball that Urbáez wanted more than life itself. The goalkeeper’s theatrical attempts to convince referee Lukasz Szpala that he had everything under control fell on deaf ears – Szpala wasn’t buying what Navas was desperately trying to sell.

On the touchline, Costa Rica’s Mexican maestro Miguel Herrera was conducting his own personal symphony of animated gestures. Picture a traffic warden in Times Square during rush hour with all the lights out—arms windmilling, helicopter motions, both hands thrust skyward in theatrical exasperation. His entire repertoire of sideline theatrics was on full display, and to his credit, he got exactly the reaction he was fishing for.

The equaliser arrived in the 43rd minute. A clever pirouette by Alonso Martínez induced Jimmy Kaparos to dip his toe into the proverbial cookie jar, leaving Szpala with little choice but to point his arm toward the penalty spot. Manfred Ugalde stepped up and absolutely thundered home the spot-kick with the kind of authority that suggested he’d been practicing this moment in his dreams. 1-1 at the interval—a scoreline that painted an honest portrait of the opening 45 minutes.

The second half was barely two minutes young when both benches erupted after Urbáez and Ugalde tangled in front of the Costa Rican technical area. Cue the handbags – that peculiar football ballet where grown men square up like prize fighters but rarely throw anything more dangerous than harsh words. When the dust settled over what amounted to a throw-in decision, both protagonists found their names inscribed in Szpala’s little black book. The stakes, already simmering, were now at full boil.

Costa Rica knew that victory would punch their ticket to the quarter-finals, while the Dominican Republic were fighting for their tournament lives. Both Navas and his Dominican counterpart Xavier Valdez were called into action, producing saves that belong in their personal highlight reels.

With possession statistics reading like a perfectly balanced scale, this contest was crying out for a moment of individual brilliance. That moment arrived in the 85th minute when Ugalde threaded a pass that unlocked Los Quiqueyanos’ defense like a master key. Josimar Alcócer collected the ball, pulled out his magician’s wand, and steered his shot past the advancing Valdez to settle what had been an utterly absorbing contest.

It feels almost cruel that the Dominican Republic will now face Suriname in what amounts to a meaningless dead rubber, especially after serving up such an enticing vision of how football should be played – with passion, intelligence, and no small measure of flair. But such is the harsh arithmetic of tournament football, where fine margins separate triumph from heartbreak.

Costa Rica, meanwhile, will pack their bags for Las Vegas with the tantalizing prospect of a group-deciding showdown against the tournament’s heavyweight favorites, Mexico.

Miguel Herrera will be positively licking his chops at the prospect – after all, there’s nothing quite like the opportunity to bite the hand that once fed you. His two explosive years as El Tri’s head coach ended in acrimony, and you can bet your bottom dollar he’ll relish the chance to remind his former employers exactly what they let slip through their fingers.

Contact the writer of this story at moc.l1750314609labto1750314609ofdlr1750314609owedi1750314609sni@r1750314609etsbe1750314609w.kci1750314609n1750314609