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Looking at Giants Stadium at less than even half capacity, well, just the idea that it can sell-out is a grand testament to American sports and marketing. Of course the 80,000 seats are but a drop in the tri-state population bucket and it routinely fills up. Just not for soccer.

“I thought there would be more people here,” the usher said in my favorite mezzanine section, the one that is typically mine alone for Red Bull home games. “Last year it was almost full.” Ninety minutes, an hour, a half hour before the game and the stands were spotty at best, but my preferred section was actually nearly full. This was after all Barcelona. Right?

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Filling Giants Stadium seems as impossible a charge as the Red Bulls capturing the attention of New York. The general consensus was it was Wednesday, Ronaldinho was no more, Messi was in Beijing, and the game was on ESPN 2. The general order was to close the upper deck, bestowing that empty halo, reminding all below of their inferiority.

The Barcelona fans showed up. The crowd (officially 38,152) was a sea lake donut covered in plastic icing and red, blue, and neon yellow sprinkles, the Barcelona jerseys easily outnumbering Red Bull replicas. I stopped figuring the ratio when it got out of hand. I took my front row seat in a row to myself and threw my feet up on the railing. Putting on my glasses is like switching to an HD Channel. The Red Bulls supporter groups, a few dozen strong, banged their drums and sang their songs, until their beat became the soundtrack to a much louder Barca belting.

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The game matched the crowd. Too much Barcelona. Too much space. Bigger names on the backs of jerseys. The patchwork sod laid for the game looked as disjointed as the Red Bulls, whose respect or fear left players like Puyols to set up the attack and even accept a few through balls. Puyols people. Nobody had a chance against the likes of Henry, Eto’o, or even Pedro, all of whom looked anything but in preseason form.

Some people got their money’s worth. It was an absolute schooling. Not twenty minutes in and Jon Conway was sending clearances rolling to opposing keeper Victor Valdes, not a Red Bull (or a Barcelona player!) in sight. And so it went with the occasional counter attack or long ball bringing the Red Bulls some life and a couple goals. Play dwindled into a demoralizing game of keep-away which incited the crowd which pushed Barcelona forward which created two more goals.

It was no surprise. Any of it. Two years ago a few hundred people welcomed Barcelona to New York. 80,000 packed the stadium. This year it was another befuddled attempt to workout in Central Park. There was very little press leading up to the game compared to last year. The biggest story this go-round was the absence of Messi, to say nothing of Ronaldinho now in Milan. The fact is, even for Barcelona star power out draws beautiful soccer. I wasn’t even surprised when Barcelona secured its first tally and the scoreboard lit up with “GOAL!”

Who is the home team here? If you didn’t know before, you did at half time because Red Bull Sporting Director Jeff Agoss honored the newly retired Claudio Reyna with a highlight video of his career. Upon introduction Reyna barely got a golf clap. It’s like they just called up your brother on Open Mike Night. You and a few buddies off in the corner go crazy and the rest of the crowd just can’t be bothered. After the video, a passing round of applause, respectful at best. Univision’s Fernando Fiore got a bigger rise out of the crowd when he was introduced to talk up the charity work done by the Red Bulls and NYPD soccer teams. Maybe they expected a bigger crowd to give Reyna the biggest send off they could muster. It was shaping up to be one of those nights.

And then you meet a guy like Mauricio Reyes. He happened to be in town on business and figured it a perfect coincidence. He’s from El Salvador, he told me, plunging his fist into his chest. “But the U.S. is my country. Los Angeles is my home.” He suddenly became shy about his bright blue Barcelona jersey because while he is a fan of the Catalan side, he’s a Galaxy man, “since way before Beckham showed up.” And moreover he is a U.S. Men’s National Team supporter. “I’m wearing this shirt,” he told me, pulling at the jersey’s crest as if trying to rip it off. “But underneith I’m all USA. I saw my El Salvador play the U.S. two years ago in El Salvador. I love El Salvador and root for them. I rooted for the U.S. that day.”

Mauricio Reyes assumes his position

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At 35, Reyes has been living in the United States almost as long as he did in El Salvador. He’s “a citizen now and everything” and he doesn’t understand why more people don’t adopt the sport here like they do the country. “We beat the Mexican teams in Superliga, didn’t we” he reasoned. “We beat Mexico’s national team all the time now. We’re not going to be beat Barca, but we’re doing alright.”

I don’t need to check to see if the US MNT played El Salvador in El Salvador two hears ago. It wasn’t his argument. His list of grievances against Mexican fans and their disrespect was only outpaced by the empty beer bottles under his chair. A chair he never sat in, mind you, instead choosing to stand at the mezzanine’s railing overlooking the Red Bull supporters section and delighting in every moment of Barcelona’s brilliance. It wasn’t his argument. It was his passion. On an evening when American soccer was getting a beat down on the field, in this stadium, it was nice to know we had not lost everything.

Our game won over Mauricio, and it can win more. Whether or not Barcelona’s tours help or hurt that venture will continue to be tested as long as there is profit, but for all interested parties that profit is probably larger in another city at this point, against another team.

cursed buses. this is the only bus I ever take a front seat on.

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