Women's World Cup postmortem

Given that this blog has been exclusively dedicated to the Women's World Cup so far, it may seem out of place that I haven't yet gotten around to opining on the way this year's tourney ended. Rather than do that, however, I'm going to paste in excerpts from two blog posts I wrote four years ago -- the first after the U.S. women's team was stomped on by Brazil in the World Cup semifinals and the second after we pulled out the bronze-medal win.

September 27, 2007

I still remember my brother's away message after his Knights got killed by my Gators last year. "Mourning the massacre." Well, I can relate. Earlier today, the greatest team you've never heard of was upset in a big way.

I'm mourning for Brianna Scurry, and for Shannon Boxx, and yes, I'm even mourning for Greg Ryan (the stupid bastard). But really what I'm mourning here is soccer in America. ...

Nothing has ever succeeded in energizing Americans like wild, unadulterated successes. There was an explosion of interest after the '99 World Cup; Chastain's was the modern shot heard 'round the world. It sparked a following like no women's sport had ever before (or ever since) received, and Sports Illustrated bestowed its grandest honor on not any individual but the entire team that year.

Yet, as the latest iteration of the tournament was approaching, endemic skepticism seemed to sweep across the land. Sure, the country seemed to say, the hype was awesome while it lasted, but no American team can possibly hope to capture the cup, and the imagination of the world, without Foudy and Fawcett and Akers and Hamm...

Can they?

The bottom line was, these girls had one chance to reignite this country's nascent passion for the greatest sport the world has ever known, and just one way to do it. They had to at least earn a championship berth, and in the process take the world by storm. They had to win, and do it big, making household names of Solo, Tarpley, Osborne, Lloyd... they had to, they had to, they had to, and they didn't.

This morning, bad coaching and worse officiating extinguished our hopes of bringing home title number three. One hell of an impressive 21-year-old named Marta led Brazil to a 4-0 rout of the United States and left me mourning the massacre of my all-time favorite game.

September 30, 2007

Eureka, we're alive! A couple closing thoughts:

• Despite Germany's unprecedented eleven-nothing win in the tournament opener, and their clinching of the Cup this morning, Marta of Brazil still managed to walk away with the Golden Boot. They're already calling her the best female player in the world -- right up there with countryman Ronaldinho for the men.
  

• Power striker Abby Wambach scored six goals in six consecutive world cup games. What a feat. That's the kind of thing they used to look to Mia for. She is widely considered to be the heart of the U.S. team, and at 27, she'll be around to lead us on to victory for many years to come. Keep an eye out.

• Hats off to captain Kristine Lilly. I knew this was to be her last World Cup; something I didn't realize is that she's the only person to have appeared in all five, having made her international debut some -- count 'em -- twenty years ago. She stepped off the field in the 88th minute of the third-place game to deafening applause by an audience that seemed to understand instinctively the weight of the event. I was reminded in a powerful way of Michelle Akers's historic exit from the title game in '99, when the world stood and cheered for someone they recognized as the greatest women's player of her time.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, eh?

A modest reflection on USA-Brazil

There was a match during the European soccer championships in 2008 in which Turkey defied the odds by making a spectacular last-minute comeback from two goals down to advance. At the time, I called it the "Boise State-Oklahoma of professional soccer," a reference to the Broncos' breathtaking Fiesta Bowl upset of the Sooners in 2007. It was, in other words, the greatest game that I had ever seen.

That's no longer the case. The Turkey game has been supplanted.

Yesterday's performance by the U.S. women's national team to defeat Brazil in the Women's World Cup quarterfinals was unlike anything I've ever witnessed. It was stunning. Just stunning.

The sheer act of athleticism that is surviving a soccer game at that level under normal circumstances is something I think goes underappreciated by most. In no other team sport I can think of are so few subs allowed. In no sport, therefore, does such a large proportion of the players remain on the field (or court or diamond) the entire time. In no other sport is play virtually continuous -- no commercial breaks, no time-outs by the captains or the coach. In no other sport is a game ninety minutes long, not sixty as in hockey or football or forty as in college basketball. Ninety minutes of all-out physical exertion. Ninety minutes. That in itself it amazing, when you really think about it.

During the knockout phases of World Cup soccer, games that end in ties go another thirty minutes. That brings the total to two full hours of play. No additional substitutions. Not even a break between overtime halves. At the end of such matches, players tend to be, understandably, exhausted beyond words. It's what they can only hope two-a-day wind sprints and suicides and stadiums in the heat prepared them for.

To play 120 minutes and come out with a win is a big accomplishment. The U.S. did it down a man for nearly half the game. They did it against the No. 1 footballer in the world and a team of cry-baby dive-artist cheaters. They did it despite refs who were, charitably, out of their minds. They did it on an impossible goal by their star striker (a Gator, might I add) and a keeper with her honor on the line. And they did it twelve years to the day after the '99 Women's World Cup final where a different team of Americans made history on penalty kicks.

Truth is so much stranger than fiction.