Christian Pulisic was there. He was there for a week of hard training. He was there in the dressing room as the players gathered round. He was there as the game began to tip in the second half. He was there in front of goal. He was there in the middle of that magical, glorious celebration that set TQL Stadium aglow.
Pulisic was there with the message on his shirt, the perfect person — the only person — who could deliver that necessary missive to Mexico, the one that makes clear this United States men’s national team is not interested in being anything other than its precocious, penetrating self . . .