Even in the biggest matches there are uncertainties, and with two hours remaining before kickoff of what was billed as "the biggest soccer game in the history of the Redwood Empire," they still weren't sure which jerseys they'd be wearing. Upon arrival at the sparkling Ernie Nevers soccer field, it was determined. Black.

Black for a team that embraces unique characters who respect the game. Black for players who attack with the passion of army ants protecting their queen. Black for the visiting Samba, whose last Open Cup qualifier battle with the Sol ended in a dramatic penalty kick loss. A loss that forged a very talented group of players and coaches into a unified and formidable force. As proper as the fit between their colors and their style, was the way they won it. In a ping pong battle of attacks between two potent powers of the NPSL, it was the Sol who drew first blood with a deftly angled shot from the foot of Trevor Hurst in the 59th minute.

As has been repeated often in this amazing season, the Samba bravely fought back from near demise in the closing minutes. In a coaching system that emphasizes a "Band of Brothers" approach to teaching talented young players essential "non ball" skills, a new hero can emerge from the hard work of his mates. This nights early hero was midfielder David Frank, who ripped the net with an equalizer from the right side in the 92nd minute. Proving unequivocally again, that you can measure the man (or in this case, measure an entire team) but you can't measure the size of his heart.

With the first overtime nearing completion, and having proved nothing except that two talented teams desperately wanted to continue their pursuit of the Dewar Cup, the Sol were awarded a dubious penalty kick. The ensuing shot was sent home by a Sol defender, who performed a running "fly by" with his arms across the front of the Salinas bench. Awakening a vocal group led by Mike Bielski extolling "believe"  to his brothers on the field, a newly determined Samba pressured furiously. Scoring a goal that will go down in Samba lore, defender Chris Bessemer's majestically arching shot cleared the gloved mitts of the Sol's 6'5" keeper, inciting near riotous revelry amongst the Samba faithful. A jubilant Bessemer, a poster child for coach Artie Cairel's brilliantly fair system that allows players to "steal minutes" with stellar play, tore off his black jersey in celebration and was rewarded with the dreaded red plastic.  The significance of his achievements on this grand stage far outweighing the consequences, Bessemer retreated to the locker room as yet another hero. The tight knit Samba now 10 strong on the pitch, but always 18 deep in spirit, calmly dug in for the final minutes before destiny would await them from a distance of 12 yards.

Sonoma electing to kick first, did what good teams do, and buried their first five kicks. A procession of Samba players, Stephen Wondolowski, Ram Ananda, Mark Hogenhout, David Frank, and Tommy Hernandez, coolly answered with unstoppable shots. 94 minutes of regulation, 32 minutes of overtime, a gasping crowd, a television audience holding their collective breaths with each kick, and all square at 5-5, the stage was set.

In a picture typifying everything that is right about this beautiful game, the loose but confident Samba remained assembled as they had been from the start of the kicks, arm in arm in unbreakable unity. As tension built, goalkeeper Christian Matterazzi again delivered on a promise he had first made in Oregon against the Surge, "score your goals boys, and I WILL knock one down." Sonoma's sixth kick was driven and on frame, but with a one-handed punching dive, Matterazzi rejected the ball harmlessly to the ground.

Nate Northup took a long look at the ball in front of him, 12 yards away stood destiny and redemption. Also 12 yards out stood six feet and five inches of swaying keeper, who in this moment, must have looked a shade under 15 feet tall. In the now deafening silence from the stunned home crowd, Northup struck a low liner that hung magically against the back of the netting, before being stormed by delirious teammates and the traveling Samba faithful.

When words are incapable of properly describing a momentous game, it's best to keep it simple. On this night, the Samba were clad in simple black, and they were simply amazing.