Los Angeles Galaxy 1-1 Portland Timbers: So...What's to Be Done with the Wretch?

A wretch, in one extended universe.

In any other context, you’d pocket the Portland Timbers' 1-1 road draw at the Los Angeles Galaxy with a smile. In the context of a 2022 regular season in desperate need of a great, big goose on the bum, a little...more would have been nice.

I sat through the MLS in 15 to refresh my memory (and because I could; go on, girl, relive 1/6 of the pleasure & pain) and, apart from starting after two of the Galaxy’s early chances (22:41), they confirmed my overall impression of the game: about 90% of it happened between the defenses, a paucity of break-through moments, an afternoon of 20 gentlemen running aimlessly around a big field of green with two more standing in front of their goals, largely biding their time.

Still, Portland had their positives. Yimmi Chara made a cameo as the fastest man on the pitch with his blind-side run straight past LA’s Rayan Raveloson (who very visibly said, “fuck it,” after Yimmi bolted past), which gave Sebastian Blanco an easy diagonal for the assist. A bad touch from Yimmi could have pissed it all away, but he took an atypically soft and smart touch away from Derrick Williams (best player on field, fwiw) and slotted home near-post past Jonathan Bond. That one bright shining moment carried the Timbers to within two minutes (plus stoppage time) of bringing all three points back to Portland, and I’ll get to that, but let’s wrap up the positives.

Both Claudio Bravo and, especially, Josecarlos Van Rankin had solid games, and neither got sent off, so that’s a win. Timbers’ ‘keeper Aljaz Ivacic made a mix of good and lucky saves and generally looked comfortable back there (credit where it’s due, but I’d really like to see him yell more; I expect yelling from my ‘keepers)...and, yep, I just wrapped up the positives.

The Galaxy equalized, cruelly, almost immediately after the you-didn’t-know-you’d-miss-him-till-he’s-gone Felipe Mora made his 2022 season debut. When Dejan Joveljic gained a couple yards inside on Larrys Mabiala and finally placed a ball where Ivacic couldn’t reach and/or sit on it, LA clawed back two points they barely deserved, but anyone with eyes to see it and the stomach to stare disappointment in the face could see the Galaxy piling on those kinds of half-chance passes; neither team impressed with their xG numbers, but the little xG chart on The Mothership’s stats page matches what I remember. All it took was one Timbers defender switching off – i.e., Larrys didn’t seen Joveljic’s run till he was two yards past him – a tale as old as time. Especially for Portland.

Portland Timbers 0-2 Philadelphia Union: A Meditation on an Attack

Is he angry because he doesn't know where to go?

Someone else fired the Portland Timbers’ first shot on goal - I don’t remember who it was, but also, does it matter? - but Bill Tuiloma got their best one. The fact he fired it well past the 80th minute, may have even been after the 85th, says plenty, but I’m less concerned about the specific identity of the man who fired it than I am by the fact that Timbers can’t seem to generate offense without the ball coming forward at just the right angle and to an attacking player in just the right space. You?

The last 10 minutes of the Timbers' 0-2 home loss to the Philadelphia Union gave a glimpse into an alternate universe where Portland threw caution to the wind for the full 90 minutes and made Philly sweat through every one of them. Or, more likely, the Union drew the obvious conclusion from the Timbers first 20 attempts to break them down after they'd compacted the defense and figured they could ride it out. Maybe it was something the Timbers started to do, maybe it was something Philly stopped doing, and a maddening snitch’s adherence to the rules by referee Allen Chapman aside, both Union goals felt like alarms that went off ten (or five) minutes too late to get to work. It took Portland too long to get going - which, here, means all the way going - while it seemed like the Union could revive their method at will. There was no point during this game…which I joined late due to a wrinkle in a stupidly specific rule in NASCAR, one that bears a grating fucking resemblance to Allen Champman standing gape-mouthed with an index finger cocked to the earbud in his ear like he was trying to see where he hit the right note in a Double-Mint Gum jingle…ahem, when I thought Portland had a credible shot at actually winning it.

I mean, bravo on the goal that Chapman called back against both the letter and spirit of “clear and obvious error” (failing to be a prick on behalf of pricks; Chapman’s an evil wizard), but sure as I see the Timbers damn-near even on shots and one-fourth of average in shots on goal (two; they got two), the attack just plain sucks right now. Shut your ears to the siren song of the Sporting Kansas City sacrifice, ‘twas the dream of the song, etc., yeah, yeah, yeah; for the love of all the over-rehearsed weirdness I’ve watched over the past…I’m going with ten games, which includes the wins over SKC and Vancouver, Portland has completely lost track of how to get to goal. They do better in transition, obviously - that’s why I lead with Tuiloma and his chance - but I’m getting close to calling the formula for stifling the Timbers something perilously close to fool-proof.

Being a mere 20% less obvious might help. How many Timbers attacks enter the critical phase (aka, anything inside the opposition’s defensive third) with a ball into the corner? Even if I admit that me answering “all the time, like every fucking one of them” is a product of watching for something and seeing it to the exclusion of all else, that’s all I see to the point where I think Gio might have branded that useless stab at everything but the dartboard. As much as it stood out tonight (luridly), a standard Timbers attack against a compacted defense tends to look like so: the ball goes into one corner (usually with nothing happening near the goal), and then comes back out to a supporting fullback; the ball goes centrally from there, a couple flirtatious in-and-outs to the top of the 18 and back follow before the ball goes centrally again, from whence it goes to the outside channel with the most open space; after that the receiving player flails the ball at some point either toward or above the middle, and to three guys making the text book runs, one near-post, one centrally, one far post. And so on forever, until nothing at all happens. On most plays when the cross wasn’t on, I saw Timbers players come out of the middle to support the wide player. It happened without any rhyme or reason that I saw. Just people throwing money at charities and hoping it all goes away (not being righteous; I resemble that metaphor).