by Alex Morgan
We were in disbelief. Again, none of us had seen this. Was the ref just against us?
After the game, this call was changed. The officials ruled that Hope hadn’t moved off the line, but instead Christie Rampone had entered the penalty box before the ball was kicked. While knowing we were right felt good, it was bittersweet. No matter what, we still would have had a penalty shot taken against us.
Brazil lined up at the penalty marker and kicked. And this time Hope just couldn’t stop it. We were tied 1–1.
Not having Rachel on the field meant we were now down to ten players, which was bad news. And we had a huge chip on our shoulders—we’d just had two penalties given to us that we flat-out disagreed with. But we couldn’t let ourselves be beaten.
“Alex, you’re up,” Pia finally said in the seventy-second minute. I was thrilled. No longer would I watch helplessly. I was going in, and I was going to help us win.
I took a deep breath and vowed to play my best. But it wasn’t easy. I played hard, and although I felt I’d contributed to the team, we weren’t able to score again. Regulation time ended, and we were still tied 1–1 with Brazil.
As we prepared for thirty minutes of extra time—two fifteen-minute periods—a swell of cheers for Team USA arose from the crowd. They clearly felt we’d been wronged.
Unfortunately, Brazil scored first, and they scored fast. And yet again, it was based on a bad call—or lack of a call—by the ref. Early on in extra time, a Brazilian player who was clearly offside made a pass to Marta, and Marta kicked it right in the goal.
We had to claw back into the game against all odds—still with only ten players. But sometimes when you’re playing hard and playing well, doubling your effort is easy.
We were far into the second period of extra time, the score still 2–1, when we really kicked it into overdrive. The ref had added three minutes of extra time, and the chants of “USA, USA!” were practically shaking the stands. I don’t think the crowd felt we were underdogs. I think they wanted us to win because of the bad calls that had put us into the position we were in.
I looked over and saw Abby pointing up with one finger, like she was directing us to look at the sky. But it wasn’t that. She was signaling the number one.
“One chance! One moment! That’s all it takes!” She was screaming at the top of her lungs. “All it takes is one chance!”
She was so right. Sometimes things can change in an instant. And with only a few minutes left in the game, what happened next was going to prove that to us and to the world.
Megan was taking the ball down the field, running faster than I’d ever seen. She kicked from far behind the penalty box, and Abby jumped in the air next to two defenders. The ball made contact with her head, and it sailed into the goal. At 122 minutes in the game, when we were a minute away from the earliest elimination from the World Cup we’d ever had, Abby did what Abby does best: She headed a goal.
Extra time came to an end, and once again we were tied, 2–2. It was on to penalty shots.
I knew we had momentum on our side. We’d scored in the 122nd minute, so we were riding high. Brazil wasn’t. They’d just seen victory slip through their fingers.
We shot, then Brazil shot, then back again with no misses until the third Brazilian player—the poor soul who’d made the own goal in the first half—kicked . . . and missed! If we scored two more penalty kicks, we’d win.
And sure enough, we did it! We made all five shots just perfectly, and we were on to the semifinals by the skin of our teeth.
Keep a Level Head
No matter how well you’re succeeding, things may become really messed up. Someone might betray you, or you may be accused of something you didn’t do. But you can’t lose your cool. Pia could have run onto the field screaming and waving her arms when Hope and Rachel were given penalty cards, but then she would have been thrown out of the game. And we needed her. So keep calm and carry on—a level head will allow you to keep going.
CHAPTER 32
* * *
In many ways, the semifinal game against France was going to be a battle of the old guard versus the new. It’s funny. Even though we were the best team in the world and had won the World Cup twice, we were still considered the new guys because soccer is less of a tradition in the United States. I’d never been to France, but I knew how important culture and art are to them—from cuisine to museums to sports. They play soccer like they cook—with finesse, technique, patience, and style. We have that too, but we are better known for our fitness, power, and speed.
Again Pia hadn’t tapped me as a starter, and I trusted her decision. For the past two games I’d come out explosively in the second half and really boosted the energy of the team. They were calling me “Baby Horse,” which was kind of funny. “Baby” because I was so young and “Horse” because I have a long stride and practically gallop across the field.
It was a gray and misty day in Frankfurt, totally unlike the game against Brazil, when we were positively sweating because it was so hot. We went out on the field strong, and Lauren Cheney scored fast—in the ninth minute. But I remembered not to be too confident. We’d gotten on the board within two minutes in the game against Brazil, and look how that turned out!
France came back strong, and they were really putting pressure on our defenders. Rachel Buehler was still suspended from the red card she’d received in the last game, so Becky Sauerbrunn was taking her place on defense. Unlike the last game, this meant we now had eleven players again. The defense had to work hard, and Hope made some saves that took my breath away. If anyone doubted her, between this game and the Brazil game, she’d proven that she was the best goalkeeper in the sport.
France finally scored ten minutes into the second half, tying the game at 1–1. I don’t think they’d worn our defense down. They just had a lucky shot that Hope couldn’t catch.
That’s when I went in.
“Alex, it’s your turn. You’re subbing for Amy Rodriguez,” said Pia. That had become a kind of theme for me—go in during the second half for Amy, push and run like crazy, control the ball, and allow the other players to score. As fun as that was, I was dying to get a goal myself. I wanted to show the world that I was more than just Baby Horse.
But it was Abby who was going to strike first, and she made another one of her famous headers to score in the seventy-ninth minute. Lauren Cheney made a high, soaring cross from the right side to the left post, and Abby just bumped it right in.
GOAL! We were up 2–1.
Three minutes later, it was my turn. After a series of quick plays, Megan took control of the ball, and when she saw me ahead of her, to the right, she jabbed the ball toward me with her right foot. I was waiting, and I put my legs in motion and burst away from defender who had been on my back. I was fast, and I was on my own, approaching the goalkeeper inside the penalty box.
In that moment, I remembered all the shots on goal I’d taken with my dad. We’d practiced finishing so much—take the ball to the goal, aim, and fire. Dad always taught me to focus with laserlike intensity on getting the ball into the net, and that’s what I did right then. I watched the goalie sliding down toward the ground, as if she was anticipating that I was about to kick, and then I took the ball right over her.
It hit the back of the net and made a giant swoooosh.
I can’t remember exactly what was going through my head at that moment. Excitement, I’m sure. Disbelief? Probably not. Because I’d known I could do it. As Abby had said in the game against Brazil, I just needed one opportunity. I’d gotten it, and were going to the World Cup finals.
Seize Every Opportunity
We closed out our game against France 3–1. I had dreamed of making a goal in the World Cup since I was a little girl, and finally, I’d done it. But when you’re going after your goals, it’s important to remember what Abby said: Big things can happen in just one mo
ment. One decision (like me deciding exactly where to aim my shot) can make all the difference between you making a goal and missing it, so seize every opportunity and never slack off.
CHAPTER 33
* * *
I’ve talked a lot about patience in this book, but I can’t stress it enough. Sometimes the culmination of your dreams takes time. A lot of time. It had been twelve years since the United States had been to a World Cup final, let alone won one, as the twenty-one of us were all too aware. We had the biggest game of our careers ahead of us, and we had no choice but to win. We’d worked too hard and overcome too much to do anything less.
We had traveled from Dresden to Frankfurt after our win against France, and we were set to play Japan in the final. While we were determined to win, our hearts were bleeding for Japan. That March, a devastating earthquake and tsunami struck the country and killed more than fifteen thousand people, so the Japanese people were still reeling. The press was hailing the Japanese women’s team’s success to this point as a Cinderella story. After all the loss and devastation to their country and people, they seemed to have a certain strength willing them into the World Cup final.
When we’d played Japan in May before the World Cup, we’d held an auction. We autographed all our jerseys and sold them online, raising more than twenty thousand dollars, which went to the Red Cross for tsunami relief. It was the least we could do—you have to help out when something so terrible happens. People need you if you’re in a position to help.
Historically, Japan hadn’t been a formidable opponent. They’d never beaten us. In fact, they’d lost twenty-two times against us and tied three times, and we’d outscored them 77–13. But after seeing them knock out Germany in the quarterfinals and beat Sweden in the semifinals, we’d developed a lot of respect for them. And Pia warned us about how technical their game could be. They were incredibly precise, which we’d seen in our May games against them. Plus, we’d learned we couldn’t take anything for granted after the qualifying tournament game against Mexico. Teams you don’t think can win can rally and wear you down. As you go after your goals, you have to be aware of that—just because an opponent isn’t as good as you doesn’t mean they can’t beat you.
The world’s sympathies may have been with Japan, but we had a game to play, and we could be supportive and still play a good game of soccer. So when we took the field in front of more than forty-eight thousand people, the chants of “USA! USA!” may have seemed a little quieter than in other games, but we weren’t going to let that get us down. Even with only one player on our team having a World Cup title under her belt (Christie Rampone), we believed this was our year. For the amount of talent we had, we knew we had to go out and get the title and bring it home. We knew we were the better team; we just had to execute.
Pia had made two changes to the starting lineup, an unusual move for her. Megan Rapinoe had played so well in the previous games—that incredible cross to Abby in the 122nd minute of the game against Brazil was still fresh in everyone’s mind—so Pia put her in to start. And Rachel Buehler was back after her one-game red-card suspension, so she was itching to play. Of course, I was too, but I’d have to wait until the second half.
We filed out onto the field, and my heart swelled as I saw the crowd. There were American flags everywhere, and I realized right then I’d never played in front of so many people. My family was up there, and all my friends at home were watching. I’d gotten e-mails and texts from people I hadn’t seen in years! This was the culmination of everything I’d ever worked for, but I had to remember it wasn’t about me. This was a team effort, and not just the national team. It was the result of every team we’d ever played on.
The whistle blew and the ball began to move. This was it.
We started off like we’d been shot out of a gun, but so did the Japanese. Lauren Cheney, who was playing forward since Megan had taken over the midfield, shot in the first thirty seconds, but the Japanese goalie kicked it out of the way. Still, I was really impressed by Lauren’s intensity and how quickly she’d taken a shot on goal.
Within fifteen minutes of playing, I could tell Megan was on fire. She’d made a beautiful cross to Lauren that she failed to get in (it was so close), and three minutes later, she took a strong shot that was deflected just wide. Her long passes were amazing, and in the eighteenth minute she made an incredibly powerful kick that would have gone in if it hadn’t hit the left goalpost.
But let’s not forget Abby, who’d saved us time and again throughout the tournament. I watched with amazement in the thirtieth minute as she drove the ball from midfield, moving it within striking distance of the goal, and made a mind-blowing shot to the goal that bounced off the crossbar. Darn! It was so close to going in.
At that point, my relationship with Abby was rock solid. We anticipated each other’s runs, passes, and moves on the field. We thought on the same wavelength, as if we’d been playing together for much longer than just two years. We were happy when we were up front together, and our positive energy made us play with power and incredible style. Right then I missed being on the field with her.
As I stood on the sidelines watching the game, Japan didn’t seem to be as threatening as I’d expected. Yes, they were technical, and yes, they were fast, but we’d had more shots on goal and been far more dominant. They didn’t even really take a shot till the thirty-first minute, but that failed to go in.
So when we went into the locker room at halftime, part of me was surprised the game was scoreless. We’d played so powerfully, so why weren’t we winning?
Fortunately, I’d have a chance to see firsthand. Lauren had sprained her ankle early on in the game, but she’d gritted her teeth through forty-five minutes of play. By halftime, she had to rest.
As I walked onto the field at the beginning of the second half, I knew the pressure was on. My family was up there in the stands, but that was down near the bottom of my concerns—they’d love me no matter what. This was the World Cup, and the hopes and dreams of our country were resting on our shoulders.
Then again, the same held true for Japan, and possibly even more so. Japan had suffered unimaginable horrors since March, and a win would help them heal. But we had to put that all out of our minds for now. This was a competition, after all.
When the starting whistle blew, Japan sprang into action right away. They were fast and playing hard, and we could all tell they were hungry. But I got my big moment early on. In the forty-ninth minute I had charged into the penalty area and was standing inches from the goal. Heather O’Reilly brought the ball down the field and crossed it over to me. I caught the ball, gained control, and shot.
BOOM! It hit the post. What a letdown.
Then Abby almost headed a ball into the goal twenty minutes later, but it wasn’t to be—the ball tipped off the goalkeeper’s fingers and went soaring over the top of the bar.
It felt like the game was going to go on like this forever. When would we score? It was almost seventy minutes into regulation, we’d taken twice as many shots as Japan, and we still hadn’t gotten on the board. Was destiny not on our side?
Thankfully, all those negative thoughts went away in the sixty-ninth minute. I was in the midfield, waiting for my chance while watching a huge scramble for the ball down in our penalty area. It was four-on-one—four of our players versus one of theirs—and Carli Lloyd untangled the ball, kicking it right to Megan.
Megan had been a superstar this entire game, making long, precise passes. Her legs move in the weirdest ways (that’s why we call her “Gumby!”), allowing her to send balls through the air better than anyone. She gained control of the ball, saw me way down the field, and kicked it fifty yards. The ball landed a little to my left and just slightly behind me, but it bounced and rolled fast, and I sprinted to it. I reached the ball, dribbled it into the penalty box with a Japanese defender hot on my tail, and then I shot with my left foot.
It sailed into the goal. It was a perfect finish, and with that, I’d scored the first goal of the World Cup final.
When I pulled myself off the ground, the first person to hug me was Abby. Is this a dream? I thought. Or did I really just score in the World Cup final? When I heard the crowd explode, I knew it was real. I thought of all the coaches and teammates I’d had along the way and all the hard practices and late nights studying so I could clear my schedule for a game. As I’ve said before, one moment of happiness like this makes every drop of sweat and every tear you’ve shed in your life worth it. Success is the best feeling in the world.
We would have celebrated more, but we had a game to play! So we scrambled back to the center of the field.
After ten minutes of play, the eightieth minute came way too fast, and unfortunately, a mistake on our part led to Japan scoring the tying goal. We tried to clear the ball away from the box, but we couldn’t do it, and the ball bounced closer to the goal, toward our defender Ali Krieger. Ali tried desperately to get it away, but it hit a Japanese player named Aya Miyami, and she tapped it right in from four yards away. It wasn’t Ali’s fault—these things happen—but I’m sure she felt terrible.
If we could score in the next ten minutes, we’d likely win, but our continued hard work didn’t pay off. Regulation ended with us still tied 1–1, and there were mixed emotions all around. This was our second overtime in three games, and that’s a lot. We were tired, but we were determined to win. As I’ve said before, we never give up, because things can change in an instant.
Abby had a few chances to score early in overtime, but it wasn’t till the 102nd minute that she actually did it. And it was from an assist by me! I passed her the ball from inside the penalty box, and she headed it right in. GOAL! We were up 2–1—so close to winning.
I wish that had ended the game, but it hadn’t. We still had a second overtime that was fifteen minutes long, and while the minutes ticked away I nervously anticipated the end of the game. But in the 117th minute, Japan struck. They took a corner kick that landed perfectly inside the goal box, and when one of their players attacked the ball, it bounced right off Abby and sailed past Hope. There was nothing Hope or Abby could have done—it wasn’t an own goal and it wasn’t a mistake. It was just a lucky kick.