Solo by Hope Solo (best books to read for women .txt) 📗

fans held aloft giant letters spelling out my name. Some people wore replicas of my big white goalie gloves. Even President Barack Obama sent out a tweet to our team that morning: “Sorry I can’t be there to see you play, but I’ll be cheering you on from here. Let’s go.”

It felt like our day from the start. I had little to do early on and watched my teammates get chance after chance: Lauren Cheney, Rapinoe, Carli, Abby. But the shots went wide. They went high. Rapinoe hit the post. Abby hit the crossbar. We were dominating possession, but nothing was going in, and we were tied at halftime. Finally, in the sixty-ninth minute, Alex Morgan broke the drought. We were twenty minutes away from winning the World Cup. We needed to stay strong. But falling behind seemed to energize Japan. When one of our defenders slipped attempting to clear the ball, my old pal Aya made us pay, banging a shot past me to tie the game in the eightieth minute.

Nothing came easy in this World Cup. So of course regulation ended in a tie, and we headed to overtime. In the 104th minute, Alex sent a cross directly to Abby’s forehead, and she slammed the ball in. We had a 2–1 lead in overtime with the World Cup on the line. But who knew better than us that teams can come back in overtime? Early in the second extra-time period, I collided with Yukari Kinga and cut my knee badly. I knew my knee was messed up and I lay on the ground, while our trainer ran out on the field to make sure that I was okay. As I lay there, it occurred to me that I could stay down awhile and waste some time, but as soon as the thought entered my mind, I pushed it away. I wanted to keep fighting, to close out the victory, right away. I didn’t want to resort to a Brazilian-type tactic to kill the clock. I had too much respect for Japan to do that. I could tough it out.

We cleared the ball behind our goal setting up a corner. I was down for a few minutes and felt the air going out of the team. I didn’t have time to organize the defense for the corner kick. Thirty-two-year-old Sawa redirected the kick, which glanced off of Abby and into the net. Tied again. Twice Japan had fallen behind and faced defeat and twice the team had rallied back. The momentum had shifted. Destiny seemed to have switched sides.

The game went to penalty kicks. Our long World Cup road was almost at an end. I knew how psychologically hard it was for a team to win two games in one tournament on PKs. Japan had already seen us take kicks against Brazil just a week earlier; they had film to study. We didn’t have such an advantage.

It didn’t go well from the start. Boxxy shot first but Japan’s goalkeeper, Ayumi Kaihori, made a kick save.

Aya made her penalty kick to put Japan up 1–0.

Carli sent her shot high over the crossbar.

I made a save on Yuki Nagasato, diving to my right.

Tobin Heath’s shot was saved by Kaihori. We still hadn’t converted a penalty kick.

Mizuho Sakaguchi made her shot, and Japan had a 2–0 lead. One more converted penalty kick by Japan, and the game would be over.

Abby made her penalty kick to cut it to 2–1.

When Saki Kumagai sent the ball high over my right shoulder, above my outstretched hand, Japan had won the World Cup. They ran to each other as we watched in shock. They jumped and cried, and confetti poured from the rafters. They unfurled a sign, TO OUR FRIENDS AROUND THE WORLD—THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT. I walked over to the stands, as I always do, to where my friends and family sat. I wanted to thank them for supporting me and to see the love in their faces. We had done everything we could and played in an unforgettable World Cup. The feeling after the loss was so different than it had been in 2007; it was painful but we weren’t crushed. It was pain that came with an honest, honorable defeat. Aya came up to me on the field. She wasn’t celebrating. “I don’t want to celebrate while you are hurting,” she told me.

“Aya,” I said, hugging her, “please celebrate. You just won the World Cup.”

I was stopped for an interview by ESPN. “As much as I’ve always wanted this,” I said, my voice cracking, “if there was any other team I could give this to it would have to be Japan.”

It hurt not to win the World Cup. That might have been—for all I know—as close as I would ever get to winning a World Cup. But for the first time in my soccer career, I could see the bigger picture. I had always been so focused on winning, but finally—just shy of my thirtieth birthday—I appreciated the moment, and I could make peace with the loss. Japan was playing for something bigger than just soccer. The outcome felt like fate.

In a ceremony following the game, I stepped up to receive the Golden Glove, the honor of being named goalkeeper of the tournament. It was the award I had always sought—validation that I was the best goalkeeper in the world—but as I stood there, I realized that I had never expected to win it like this, alone, without a winning team celebrating around me. It was a bittersweet moment.

Despite our loss, I knew that what had happened was good for women’s soccer. We had built up the game. We had rebuilt our team. I was so proud of everything that we had accomplished together, how far we had come together. We played with fight and we won and lost with class. We could be proud of each other, and our country could be proud of us.

During the medal ceremony, I stood with