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

What was he doing in Massachusetts? Why was he so determined to keep his history a mystery? I was never going to know the answer.

We stopped at the wooden rail and poured the ashes—mixed with flower petals—down into the clear water of the Cascades runoff. We watched the petals float away to some unknown destination. “Thanks, Dad,” I whispered. “You made me who I am.”

IV.

My fears about the solvency of the new league were well-founded. Our season ended in the semifinals, with a loss to eventual champion Sky Blue, who beat the L.A. Sol—Marta’s team. The Sol had the best regular-season record, but a few months later had shut down operations. AEG hadn’t been able to find a buyer, and folded it up. All the Sol players entered a dispersal draft. Shannon Boxx ended up on our team, as did Japan’s Aya Miyama, who became a close friend of mine. Aya said she had heard a lot about me when she was with the Sol.

“Hope, you’re not what I expected,” Aya told me. “The players on the Sol described you in a way that doesn’t match how you really are.”

Just a few weeks into our second season, Jeff called a meeting. His business partners had defaulted on their contract to fund the team through the season, so Jeff told us he had no choice but to pull the plug. As of June 1, we were all free agents; my awesome three-year contract wasn’t going to be honored. I immediately signed with the Atlanta Beat, as did Tina, Chups, Aya, and a few of our other players. But I only played one game with Atlanta before leaving the country to go to the men’s World Cup in South Africa.

Kia and I traveled with Team Up, a program affiliated with the Right to Play organization, reaching out to young people in the slums of Soweto, using soccer as a bridge for HIV-prevention education. We went to villages, met kids, and played soccer with them. I loved laughing and joking with them as they tried to get a shot past me. I was overwhelmed by their excitement at receiving a simple T-shirt or one of the bracelets I’d brought to give away. I was inspired by these children who were so knowledgeable about the HIV virus and prevention and so determined to make a difference in their communities.

I had never been to a men’s World Cup. Over the years, I had become friendly with Landon Donovan—we had the same agent—and I knew several of the other players, including goalkeeper Tim Howard. I attended all three of the U.S. games in group play, and also saw Spain, South Africa, Argentina, and the Netherlands play—seven games in seven days. The atmosphere was unbelievable—I enjoyed meeting the locals, blowing the vuvuzelas (plastic horns), experiencing the international excitement. I saw why the World Cup was often called the world’s best sporting event, and I swore I’d never miss another.

But the games were only the second-best part of my trip. I’ve traveled the world playing soccer, but those moments with kids on the dirt fields in Soweto were among the most profound experiences I’ve ever had. I saw the full power of what a sport could do, how it could unite people and change the world. I asked the kids what they wanted to do when they grew up. Their dreams were very real and very specific. But one little girl said, “I don’t have any dreams.”

I hugged her. She broke my heart. By the end of our interaction, she told me that she did have a dream. “To teach everybody about safe sex,” she said.

I was proud of her for dreaming to make a difference in the world. On that trip, I realized that I—too—could make a difference.

V.

When I got back to Atlanta, our team still hadn’t won a game. I arrived in time to play in the All-Star game in Atlanta: I was on a team captained by Abby Wambach—she picked her roster, and Marta picked the other team. It was a fun day, but not much else about the league was fun as that second season wound down.

Our team was playing in Boston one night in August, and the people behind the net were being obnoxious. I was accustomed to being booed and heckled in visiting stadiums—there were always references to 2007 and Bri. I figured it was better for the women’s game if it wasn’t all ponytails and smiley faces. If people wanted to view me as a villain, I didn’t care. I actually liked the edginess it brought to my game, the knowledge that they viewed me as a threat.

But that night, the members of a Breakers fan club called the Riptide went way too far. The heckling became incredibly racist: they shouted taunts about “eating sushi” to my Japanese teammate, Aya, and yelled slurs in fake Japanese accents. They said horrible things to Kia and to Eniola Aluko, who was born in Nigeria. With only a couple of thousand people in attendance, the jeers echoed around the stadium and were impossible to ignore. It was ugly, and it made me sick. I was so pissed off that I left after the game without signing autographs. Later I went on Twitter and explained why I hadn’t stuck around, that a few fans had ruined it for everyone:

To all the Boston fans and especially the young children that I didn’t sign autographs for I’m sorry. I will not stand for . . .

an organization who can so blatantly disrespect the athletes that come to play. Perhaps the WPS or Boston themselves . . .

can finally take a stance to the profanity, racism and crude remarks that are made by their so called ‘fan club.’

To the true fans, I hope to catch you at the next game. Thanks for your support and love for the game.

MY COMMENTS CREATED an uproar. The Boston fans posted hateful things on soccer blogs and to my Twitter account. The