The United States Women's Soccer Team, at this years World Cup finals in Germany, got bitterly upset by a resilient Japanese opponent. The entire game, it felt as if the US was within inches of scoring and, at times, winning. Alas, many a missed opportunity early and the inabilities to close out the game cost them a win that would have capped off a brilliant World Cup run.
Since the beginning of the tournament, world-wide focus was concentrated on two teams: Germany (the host) and the United States. Ranked #1 in the world, in the shadows of fantastic teams of the past, and not having won since 1999 (which to be honest isn't that bad, save for few standards), the American women faced extreme pressure from the get-go. One of my favorite illustrations of this theme of pressure comes from the recent Nike ad:
After the Brazil-USA match, this commercial played in what may be one the most effective commercial placements of all time. It perfectly exemplified the tale of the team. As I'm sure many have heard in what is sure to be a fútbol folk-tale for decades to come, the United States was on the bad side of some poor officiating and circumstances during their quarterfinal match.
After going up 1-0 on a Brazil own goal, which can be attributed in part to great defensive pressure by the US, the American team, more specifically defender Rachel Buehler (who will come up again later), was slapped with a red card in the box. To be fair, the call seemed just. The US lady was up against potentially the world's greatest women's soccer player in Marta and was put in a position where the penalty was necessary to prevent a near-automatic goal. This obliged a penalty kick and put the US down 10-11 player-wise for at least the next 40 minutes of regulation time. To the thrill of patriotic spectators, the attempt was blocked by US goalkeeper Hope Solo, whose great eyes and overall gorgeous look were to be envied. But, to the dislike of most onlookers, the Australian FIFA referee called the shot back on what was a never sufficiently explained promulgation. At at the end of this apparent injustice, Marta put the ball in for the Brazilians.
The team was down on luck, down on personnel, and down on momentum. Nevertheless, there was a certain feeling of tenacity; that the women of the United States were not going to fold the hand mischievously dealt to them. In the world of sports, nothing is predetermined. This is the defining characteristic of athletic competition and the reason it stirs hope in so many people. And so, with hearts as tough as diamonds (Hope Diamond anybody?), and minds as determined as can be, the US women's team fought on. They lasted to force overtime and instantly realized another obstacle in their journey; an early and precise goal by the infamously framed foe of Marta put the US down 2-1 in score. Only 35 minutes separated the team of destiny from a disappointing end to their quest. The minutes wore on. Few more chances had potential, but the promise of survival was denied again and again. With only a few minutes remaining, one of the Brazilian women pulled a move that may have irked the soccer Gods and no doubt caused a stir among the world's soccer community. One of the Brazilian players, Erika, to gain an unfair advantage, went down in a fake injury. She rolled and yelped and held her knee in prevaricating pain. She was delaying the game, attempting to put the US out of their misery through use of shabby tactics. Having desiccated minutes off the clock, she was carted off of the field and promptly sprang to her feet in a showy feat that shamed the team. This prompted a yellow card and chunk of extra time to be added. That turned out to be the difference.
In the 122nd minute, with about 1 minute left in regulation Megan Rampinoe, made visible by her blonde-stained hair, crossed a b-e-a-utiful ball with her left foot to the back of the goalie's box. Abby Waumbach, who was the figurehead of the team, thanks to great renowned, skill and leadership, leapt for the ball in well-trained fashion. The soaring ball forced the goalie out of her fortress for an attempt to punch it out of the air. But the ball held up and passed the reaches of the goalies extended fingertips. On the opposite end, with eyes glued to the ball, and possessing an appearance of epicness, as if this was her time of greatness, the apogee of her career...Abby Waumbach hovered above the pitch. She was in her own world--there was nothing at that point in time but her and the ball. With a sweat-soaked head of hair, and an oft-lauded whip of the neck, she willed the ball into the back of the goalie's net.
For a brief instant, nobody on the planet but Abby knew what had just taken place, and, for this ephemeral period, only Abby celebrated. While the world stared and was only beginning to process the picture, Abby Waumbach smiled, having realized a task the vast majority of people only dream of. That undertaking is the vision a child formulates, with extended timer in mind, and ball in hand. A shot, in the final seconds, against all odds, to tie or win the game; it's a more fundamental fantasy than even the American dream (or some might say the culmination of it).
With this moment having passed, the people errupted--people watching from their favorite bars, comfort of homes, places of work, stadiums, gatherings; wherever there was a television or inconspicuous computer screen or a view of the game itself. The domain of soccer enthusiasts and US loyalists all screamed out of sheer thrill. In the seconds that followed, the mere mortals of the world understood the feeling that Abby had in her glimpse of glory. US citizens all at once shared a most pure sense of pride in their country. Even those who did not called themselves Americans seemed overwhelmed with the justice that had been served by the hearts of the ladies of the 2011 US squad. It was, undoubtedly, the most glorious moment of my life ever inspired by sports.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. With this goal, the game was set at 2-2 with penalty kicks looming. These next few shots would decide the fate of the US team. Considering the spoilers at the beginning of this post, it is easy to conclude that the United States was victorious in the penalty kick shootout. But one cannot envision the suspense that pervaded with these minutes unfolding. The human race sat at the edge of the world, which was as flat as the pitch at that time. One by one, the shots were taken, and felt by soccer fans around the world. Every shot made by the US was a joy in its own, and an acrobatic save by Hope Solo sealed the previously unthinkable. The US won, and celebrated. That Sunday, citizens of the States rested easy, knowing not only did their country exhibit great ability and determination in overcoming odds, but they kept alive the dream of a World Cup title.
The next chapter in the saga was an ever-anticipated matchup with France. It was a game without magnificent tale, though it's importance as a stepping stone on the path to the championship cannot be understated. The game sat 1-1 for a lengthy, tense time. France appeared to have the upper hand during this period. But that resolute soul deeply inbedded in the US once again shone through with the substitution into the game of previously-famed Rapinoe (the one who assisted the Abby Waumbach goal against Brazil). Her poise and control played a pivotal role in swinging the United States back into the game. Two goals came late, and just like that, the US were knocking on the door of that ever-elusive mistress: destiny.
Another Sunday game was to ensue, and the many attentive inhabitants of the USA suffered in anticipation of what was supposed to be the match of an era.
Once the afternoon start time arrived, drinks were in hand, commentary was turned up, and all eyes were glued to the match. The faceoff for the World Cup Championship was afoot with the USA and Japan squared off to engage in a battle for their nation's pride and the world's admiration. The United States had the afore-told story yoked to them, while Japan had a Cinderella-like backlog of their own. They skimmed into the playoffs with a first-round match against the dominant host in Germany. When the defeated the favorites, many were shocked. They then went on to give a decisive beating to the Swedes (the only team to beat the US up to that point in the tournament), and people were even more agape, though still more affixed still with the wonders of the United States. To top it off, a previously-suffered tragedy of their country served as motivational fuel for the underwhelming Japanese. Tsunami and earthquake had ravaged the proud nation, bringing about devastation aptly compared to the atomic occurrences of Hiroshima and Nagasaki from long before.
From the beginning of the match, strength and poise was exhibited by the United States in what was a dominating first half of regulation. But with some 15 shots having been taken at goal, the US still stood scoreless and tied at 0-0. With hardly more than 20 minutes remaining in the match, the United States finally scored their first goal; one that brought a sigh of relief to many who had waited impatiently for an inevitable point. But soon after, the spark of light from the US was smothered by a catastrophic goal by Japan. It occurred at the hands (or more appropriately feet) of aforementioned Buelher, who in defense patted a ball right in front of the goalie under pressure and allowed a Japanese determinant to pick up an easy goal. 1-1. A few more chances by the States proved futile and the whistle signaled overtime.
After a scoreless initial half of OT, the tension was felt among all who watched on. Both the United States and Japan had exhibited grit, yet the US continued to control the pace of the game, essentially winning every battle up to that point except the one which counts in the end: score. With 10 minutes remaining, the US once again converted one of many goal-scoring opportunities and went up confidently at 2-1. But the end-game nipped the US achilles once again. A corner kick by the Japanese had fate on its side and with barely 5 minutes to go, the United States was once again shocked. This time, however, all of the energy of the US players had escaped them. The goal was a kick to the gut, a painful realization that may plague teammates and fans alike for times to come.
No further heroics were to be seen by the United States in the overtime period. Another few fateful attempts at scoring came close, but only dampened a most somber mood of the nation. Penalty kicks would once again decide the fortunes of the United States, but this time the stakes were higher and the zeal of the players was virtually absent. Nobody on this side of the pond was enthusiastic about penalty kicks. It was bitter, understanding that even with a great effort put out by the fairy-tale team, clutch and chance would this finish. The United States played arguably their best 120 minutes of soccer in the entire tournament that game, yet came up with only 2 goals and let up 2 of their own in disappointing fashion. People didn't creep forward awaiting the kicks. Instead, they curled up in fear of the foreseeable: that the United States would not win the World Cup, even after all it had been through. US-Japan-US-Japan...they kicked one after another. The United States had 4 tries and failed to convert the first 3. Japan had 4 of their own, but only 1 of their shots failed to reach the providence of soccer. The Japanese had won the World Cup.
If a sports moment had never impacted me so positively up to that point as that of the USA-Brazil match a week earlier, none had ever betrayed me so much as the USA-Japan final. Again, the US played a far superior game in all facets, but that failed to show up in the score. And the momentum-killing second goal by the Japanese was their own redemption for the calamities of the previous year . The anguish of losing was only further exacerbated in knowing there was still hope in the penalty kicks, but that the clutch shooting of a week prior was non-existent in this instance.
Much credit is owed to Japan for the match. It is a fabulous story for their country, which arguably was in greater need as a nation of such a prideful victory. Their unexpected journey and setbacks of their recent past formed the foundations for a great epic of its own. And the Japanese never gave up in the match, fashioning themselves in the image of the United States in their quarterfinal match against Brazil. Patient play, timely goals, and a furious fearlessness won the day for the nation of Japan.
I have never been one to enjoy tragedy, but this story is almost too beautiful in its downfall to not be told. A glorious realization and fairy-tale ending were close at hand, but fate twisted it into a sour story that an author could not even bring himself to create on his own. Sometimes, sports turns all that seems right on its head and produces a result that none could imagine. But that's why sports is also so wonderful: it tells stories nobody else can tell--dramas backed by historical actuality. Nothing in sports is predetermined, and sometimes that brings with it sweet, sweet justice. And sometimes, it engenders bitter misfortune that endures in the minds of people for unknown ages.
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