Solo, Hope Solo [best non fiction books of all time .txt] 📗

names, and I received death threats. I had a stalker who wrote to me about my father, and called me a slut. I gave the worst letters and e-mails to the police. I didn’t know how some of the mail had made it to my home address—if envelopes got to my house, that meant these crazy people could get there too. I was scared.

My step-dad Glenn took me to a friend of his in the Tri-Cities who was a self-defense expert. He gave me a self-defense course and helped me install a security system in my house. That year, my Christmas present from Glenn was a Sig Sauer 9 mm pistol—he took me out to the target range and taught me how to shoot it. Glenn wanted to give me the tools to protect myself. He was worried—a dad concerned about his daughter. We had come a long way together.

Marcus was also worried. He and my dad had never liked my living alone. Late one night, he startled me by knocking on my front door. I looked through my peephole and all I saw was Marcus, but when I opened the door, there on the doorstep was a wriggling, wagging, bundle of affection—a golden retriever puppy. Leo was the son of Marcus’s dog Blue. I had desperately missed having a dog, but I didn’t know how I would take care of one with all my travel. “We’ll all help take care of him,” Marcus said. “I don’t want you to be here alone.”

From that moment on, the first thing I did whenever I got back to Seattle was pick up my Leo from whoever was watching him for me.

II.

On November 13, our general manager, Cheryl Bailey, called me with the big news. The new coach of the national team was Pia Sundhage. Pia was a pioneer of the women’s game. For two decades, she had played in Sweden, leading her country to World Cups in 1991 and 1995. After coaching in Sweden, she came to the WUSA as an assistant in Philadelphia—I had heard a lot of good things about her, but by the time I was drafted by Philadelphia, she had become Boston’s head coach. Both Lil and Kate Markgraf played for her with the Breakers, and Pia had been the veterans’ first choice to take over after April was fired. Those were red flags for me, but I had gotten to know Pia in Athens, where we shared housing and trained and even went out and drank beer together. I liked her—I thought she was funny and interesting, and I was told she was a great coach.

Cheryl Bailey sent me the schedule of the upcoming training camp. She told me that Pia had been told in detail about the past two months of turmoil. Two weeks before Christmas, we gathered in Southern California for a four-day camp to meet Pia. Bri was there, so was Barnie. I didn’t know where I fit in—or if I fit in anywhere. I had no desire to be there or see my teammates. I was still exhausted from everything that had happened in the past eight months.

I walked into the hotel and saw my teammates embracing each other, excited to be reunited, squealing and laughing. But they got quiet as I walked down the hall to my room. No one greeted or hugged me. I kept my head down and went to the equipment room to get my gear.

“Hey, Hope, how are you?” asked a friendly voice. I looked up. It was Jesse Bignami, our equipment manager. He gave me a big hug, my first real welcome. A second later, Abby walked into the room. “What’s up, Biggs?” Abby said to Jesse.

I was still invisible.

We had our first team meeting. Pia talked a little bit about the schedule going forward, her plan and philosophy. Then she pulled out her guitar, explaining that English wasn’t her native language and that she would sing us a song.

She started to strum her guitar and sing, “Come gather ’round, people / Wherever you roam . . .”

Our new coach was singing Bob Dylan’s anthem of transition. We listened in amazement as she finished up with the main chorus:

“For the times they are a-changin’.”

I smiled. I love it.

When Pia finished, she asked us: “Do you want to win?”

“Yes!” came the loud response.

“Well, to win you need a goalkeeper,” Pia said. “I don’t expect you to forget. But I do expect you to forgive. The Olympics are right around the corner, so let’s get to work.”

Meeting adjourned.

III.

I felt like shit on the field. I knew I wasn’t playing well, that my lack of comfort and confidence was showing every day in practice. Pia came up to me during every practice to check on me. “How you doing today?” she’d say.

“I’m OK, Pia,” I’d tell her.

During the four-day camp, Pia met with many players and heard many sides to the story. She listened. She observed. She saw how isolated I was. Toward the end of camp, she sat down with me and asked questions. “I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know if I want to know what happened,” she told me. “But in the end, we move on. I’m not making the choice for you. You have to make the choice whether you’re on board.”

I didn’t have much to say. She could see for herself how I was struggling.

“I want you to trust me, Hope,” she said. “Let’s look forward instead of back. As long as you keep playing well, it makes my job easier.” Pia said I needed to “keep” playing well, though we both knew I wasn’t performing like a starting goalkeeper. But she was giving me an opening.

The team came back together in early January to prepare for the Four Nations Tournament in China. Word was out that Lil was pregnant with her first child and would miss the entire year, including the Beijing Olympics. That meant that one more of the