Next to Angie, Maddie was gazing out the window, headphones over her ears. Like Emma, Maddie had long spoken of this final as a chance at redemption. She’d made her penalty kick against Japan four years earlier, too, but it hadn’t made a difference. Jamie wondered if she was going through MK’s visualization exercises now or if she was simply trying to lose herself in her psych-up mix. Some players preferred to use the ride to the stadium to think about anything other than soccer.
Ellie definitely was not one of those people. Neither was Jenny. Right now they were seated beside each other with their eyes closed, and Jamie didn’t doubt that their visualizations involved scoring massive amounts of goals. Although perhaps Jenny was picturing other things. She had been struggling to finish, yes, but she had managed to contribute in other ways—earning corner kicks, penalties, free kicks. She’d also played more intense pressure defense than Jamie could ever remember seeing her do. Coming into the World Cup fresh off an injury meant she had started the tournament off-kilter, and she still hadn’t seemed to find her usual brilliant form. Maybe today that would change.
In the seat behind Ellie, Britt winked at Jamie before returning to her conversation with Rebecca, her seatmate, and Lisa and Ryan. None of them seemed nervous as they chattered away on the way to the stadium. Lucky bastards.
Jamie’s gaze drifted across the aisle to Phoebe, the best goalkeeper in the world for the last decade, sitting silently beside her longtime backup, Avery. Like Ellie, she had yet to win a World Cup. Also like her co-captain, she wasn’t getting any younger. Her shoulders were “like a 90-year-old’s,” she liked to joke. Was this her and Ellie’s last chance to make good on the legacy of the ’99ers? Would the team be letting them down if they failed to fulfill the promise of redeeming their 2011 loss?
Jamie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was perfectly normal to be nervous. Who wouldn’t be on the day of the biggest game of their life? The trick was to prevent her nerves from controlling her thoughts. And the best way to do that was to interrupt her negative thinking and replace it with positive. She ran through a couple of her mantras, and then she focused her mind and thought, I believe that we will win. I believe that I will score.
As the bus finally approached the stadium, she visualized both positive outcomes in careful detail. On any given day, she knew, any team could defeat another. The difference was in preparation, fitness, and most of all, belief. Confidence was the most important mental factor in sport, MK had told them time and again. In Jamie’s experience, the national team’s sports psychologist was absolutely right.
When the coach pulled up under the stadium overhang, Ellie rose at the front of the bus and called out, “Come on, you guys. Let’s fucking do this!”
“Let’s fucking go!” the team responded almost as one.
And yeah, Jamie thought, feeling a terrified joy bubble up inside her chest. They were ready.
#
For the pre-game walk-through, a slight haze hung high up inside the stadium, the result of wildfires blazing in the mountains outside Vancouver. Fortunately, the brownish haze hanging over the city that morning had mostly burned off by now. Their FIFA rep assured them that the local particulate measurements weren’t dangerous (yet), and that the stadium’s climate control features would keep the interior more comfortable than a typical outdoor stadium. If anything, the slight haze lingering high over the city meant that the turf temperature wasn’t as high as it might have been under more direct sunlight. The humidity had been dropping all day, so a temperature in the upper 70s didn’t feel all that hot, either.
With game time still a couple of hours away, the stands were nearly empty. But as the US went through their warm-ups, the fans slowly trickled in. A huge Jumbotron hung above the field showing clips and images of each side’s progression through the tournament, but Jamie noticed that most of the early arrivals were more interested in clustering around the edges of the field taking photos and videos of the two teams as they prepared for the match.
Every once in a while a sign caught her eye: “U-S-Eh”—a shout-out to Canadian pronunciation—was one of her favorites. A young girl clutched a handmade poster that read, “Hey FIFA: It’s not about being beautiful. It’s about how you play the beautiful game.” Nearby, a bearded dude held up a sign that read, “I wish I could play like a girl!” But the best sign of all (in Jamie’s opinion) was the one held by a cute gay girl that read, “Marry me, LATHAM, in ANY of the 50 states!”
Mostly, though, Jamie tried to ignore the crowd and focus on her warm-up. It was just another match, she told herself again, but this time her mind rebelled. No, it absolutely wasn’t just another match. It was the World Cup final, and she had better bring it. The hope—the expectations—of an entire nation were upon them, as represented by the growing crowd of American-flag bedecked supporters. And yes, the USA would still love them if they lost; 2011 had proven that much. But if they could win, after failing to bring the trophy home for more than a decade and a half? Americans loved winners. It was in their cultural DNA.
But it wasn’t just winning that the team’s fans loved, Jamie knew. They appreciated effort and fearlessness, boldness and creativity. They admired the passion and dedication that the US women brought to the game. Jamie remembered how she’d felt as a kid, watching the ’99ers lift the World Cup trophy at the Rose Bowl, how the joy at watching that group of women play soccer had buoyed her through the next few years. Had even, possibly, helped her heal from the assault in Lyon. She’d fallen in love with soccer before the 1999 World Cup. But watching the American team win? That had given her a high standard of play—the highest—to aspire to, a goal to set her sights on. How amazing if she could help provide that inspiration for even one of the many girls and women who would be watching this game today.
The thought of all the kids out there watching and waiting for something special from this match lifted Jamie’s spirits even as the team’s warm-up routine calmed her. As she focused on stretching her already loose limbs, she reminded herself of the quarterfinals, when she and Gabe had had to watch from the stands. Playing in this match was an absolute privilege. Like Britt, she could have been reduced to watching from the bench, if Jo and the coaches so chose. Or she might have gotten injured—AGAIN—and had to sit out the entire tournament. Instead, here she was getting ready to play in the single most important game of her life. And what was more? Emma would be with her on the field, fighting behind and beside her to win every 50-50 ball, to maintain possession, to press Japan when the ball turned over. To win a World Cup title, just like they’d dreamed about all those years ago in Pasadena when they didn’t even know each other existed.
Definitely a privilege, she told herself as Mel blew the whistle and the team reconfigured in the usual pre-game keepaway groups. As they passed one another on the way to their separate groups, Emma caught her eye and smiled. Jamie smiled back. Her girlfriend, she was pretty sure, really was psychic.
#
Almost too soon they were filing off the field for a last bathroom break and a final check-in with the coaches. As they stood in their pre-game circle, arms around each other’s waists and shoulders, Jo gazed at each of them and said, “All right, athletes. The moment we’ve all been working toward has arrived. You know what you need to do. The one thing I will tell you is to enjoy yourselves. Enjoy the match. Enjoy each other. Because moments like this come along once or twice in a lifetime. Grab it while you can. And play some fucking beautiful football, yeah?” The team laughed in response, giddy and keyed up, energy bouncing off the tiled walls around them. Jo glanced at Ellie and Phoebe. “Captains?”
Ellie said, her voice and eyes clear, “If we want to reach the top of the podium, guys, we have to believe. In ourselves, in each other, in our ability to bring this home. We just have to believe.”
Phoebe added, “And fight. Fight for the ball, fight for each other, and then fight some more. I’ll be behind you every step of the way.”
J
amie gazed at the circle of women and a few men, at the players and coaches she’d basically lived with for the past five weeks, and drew in a deep breath, feeling tears prick her eyes. The emotion of the moment was almost too much, until Jenny said, “God damn it, you guys, I fucking love you all. Let’s go win this motherfucker!”
So that, of course, became the team chant: “Let’s go win this motherfucker!”
Jamie was pretty sure that wouldn’t make US Soccer’s web series.
And then the FIFA rep was knocking on the locker room door to tell them it was time, and the non-starters were leaving the room along with the coaching and training staff. Time seemed to spiral away out of control, and Jamie had barely caught her breath when the signal was given for the starters to leave the locker room. As they filed out into the hall, passing the line of coaches and support staff, Jamie’s eyes caught Jo’s. The head coach nodded at her as she clasped Jamie’s hand, squeezing it warmly. Jamie nodded back, her spine straightening, her head clearing. Jo had called her not just a survivor but a warrior, one among many. And that, too, was why they were going to win: because they were a team of badass warriors, and they wouldn’t accept anything less.
Boo-fucking-yah.
Jamie kept her shoulders back and her head lifted proudly as they filed out of the stadium, as they lined up for the anthems, as she took her final sideline sprints while the team captains met for the coin toss. No wonder Emma had such a good feeling about this game. The energy in the stadium was practically crackling. The turf was hotter than she would have liked and the air was a bit hazy from wildfires, but mostly all Jamie felt was STRONG. She was ready, damn it.
Which was a good thing, because it was time to get the show on the road.
“We won the coin toss,” Ellie said as she jogged back into the huddle.
Another good sign, Jamie thought. Just like Germany.
“Did you get my end?” Phoebe demanded.
“Of course,” Ellie said, grinning.
Phoebe fist-pumped, and the entire team whooped. The sun and shadows at one end of the stadium were ridiculously difficult. But the light would be in the Japanese keeper’s eyes for the first 45, not Phoebe’s.
“Nicely done, Elle,” Jo said, holding Ellie’s gaze for a second.
Ellie nodded at her, and then as the coaches retreated to the glass-covered bench, the players moved closer for the final pre-game huddle. Jamie found herself sandwiched between Emma and Britt, and leaned her head against Emma’s strong back, waiting for Ellie to bestow her final words of wisdom.
“This is it, guys,” Ellie said, raising her voice to be heard above the sound of the singing and chanting crowd. “This is our chance to take the trophy back. So let’s get out there and fucking do this! Oosa on three. One, two, three, oosa-oosa-oosa-ah!”
Britt clobbered Jamie on the back as she headed toward the field. “Do it, James!”
Jamie nodded back at her, trying to keep her game face but unable to stop the grin that spread across her face as she caught her oldest soccer buddy’s eye. And then she was sprinting out onto the field, past Emma and the rest of the defenders, past Angie who was smiling her own effervescent grin, past a grim-faced Maddie and an even more serious Jenny. She stopped in the center of the field and closed her eyes, turning in a half-circle. With her eyes closed, she could feel the waves of sound cascading from the stadium down to the field and back up again. It actually felt like a storm of sorts, buffeting her as she stood motionless, waiting for the most important game of her life to begin. Somewhere up there were her parents, her sister, and Todd; aunts and uncles and cousins from California and Colorado; old friends from Berkeley and newer ones from Stanford; and Shoshanna, the woman who had made it possible even more than her parents for her to be standing here on this pitch, getting ready to do battle with her sisters in arms.
Let’s fucking do this, she thought as the referee’s whistle sounded, and opened her eyes.
Since the US had chosen the end of the field they wanted, Japan kicked off. They ran the play the US scouts had identified as most likely, a long ball toward their right striker. But Ryan stepped up to intercept and sent a looping header into the air. Jamie beat her mark to the ball, turned, and sent an angled pass to Maddie, who carried the ball into Japan’s defensive half before hitting Angie on the right flank. Angie dribbled forward and picked out Jenny with a superb through ball, and Jamie held her breath for a moment as Jenny stretched out—and deflected the ball to a Japanese defender, who cleared the ball nearly to the center circle.
Still, it was a good start. Angie had always been one of the most technically gifted players on their youth teams, and Jamie was psyched she was finally getting a chance to shine.
The ball fell to Taylor, who dribbled outside and hit Angie again up the line. Angie juked one defender, but a double team sent the ball trickling back to the Japanese centerback who cleared the ball once again directly into Taylor’s path. Taylor panicked and chucked the ball up the field, and Jamie paused as Kimura, the Japanese keeper, took possession. This was feeling a little bit like pinball, to be honest. But that too was a good sign—Jo had challenged them to start fast, and less than a minute into the game, they had already achieved that goal.
Kimura dribbled into her box and waved her team upfield, taking the opportunity to slow the pace that had so far favored the Americans. Only after Ellie pressured her did she pick up the ball and punt it into the US half. The ball once again careened around before Angie finally corralled an errant header and switched fields, sending it out to Gabe on the left flank. They worked the ball through the midfield, and eventually Jamie hit Taylor on the right sideline before sprinting into the box for a give and go. Taylor gave her the ball and she drove toward the endline, intending to pass it into the center. But before she could, two Japanese defenders collapsed to her, and her cross was deflected out—for a corner kick.
The crowd cheered, drums beating and voices chanting, and Jamie couldn’t help grinning as she sent Taylor a thumbs-up. She could feel herself being swept into the energy pouring from the stands, but this time she didn’t try to fight it. This time, she thought she just might use it to fuel her play.
Gabe took the corners on the right side of the field, so Jamie dropped into her spot on the six with several of her teammates, leaving the twelve open. She saw Gabe make eye contact with Ellie, who was standing ten yards outside the box, and knew that the corner they’d been practicing the past few days was on. Gabe lifted her hand, and out of the corner of her eye, Jamie saw Ellie streaking into the box just as Gabe sent the ball to the twelve on the ground. Before Japan could react, Ellie streaked from a patch of shade into the sunny penalty box and lunged, striking the ball perfectly in stride halfway between the penalty spot and the six-yard-box. Disbelieving, Jamie watched the ball shoot a thousand miles an hour into the net past Kimura’s outstretched hand.
She had scored! Ellie had freaking scored—and, while she was at it, broken Marisol’s World Cup scoring record. Not bad for the first two minutes of the match.
The cheers were practically deafening as Ellie, yelling all the way, sprinted toward the corner where the American Outlaws supporter group was sitting and leapt into the air, pumping her fist. When she landed, Gabe wrapped her up in a hug. Jamie and her teammates got there a moment later, and soon they were embracing in a dynamic, moving group hug.
“Fuck yeah!” Jenny shouted.
“I love you, man!” Angie yelled.
“Holy shit!” Jamie said, laughing.
“Ellie!” Emma called, and leapt into the fray.
The defenders had made it. The team hug was complete.
As Ellie extricated herself, she pulled Jamie toward her, hands on her shoulders, foreheads almost touching. “That happened because of you,” she said, grinning. “You earned the corner. Way to go, Max.”
Jamie stared up at the national team captain, barely breathing. Was this real life? Or just fantasy? Seriously, had Rachel Ellison, the
all-time leading scorer in the world—men or women—just given her, Jamie Maxwell, partial credit for a goal in the World Cup final while 50,000 fans screamed and cheered around them?
Ellie just laughed at the look on her face and clapped her on the shoulder. “Let’s go. There’s still a lot of time left.”
Jamie could only shake her head. Ellie had scored less than three minutes into the World Cup final, and yet she was already thinking about the next play and the one after that. Probably that was how she’d become the leading scorer in history—by never resting on past accomplishments, even if those accomplishments were literally seconds old.
Emma slipped an arm around her neck as they followed their teammates back to their half. “Way to earn the corner, James.”
“Thanks, Em.”
They shared a smile, and it was the best moment between them Jamie could ever remember, even though they were surrounded by 50,000 strangers. She was happier in that moment, walking beside Emma back to the US side, than she’d ever been in her entire life, maybe even happier than she ever would be again. Ellie was right. There was a ton of time left. Most of the game, in fact. But this moment, this perfect, shining 60 seconds of life, was seriously the best ever.
Japan was already waiting at the center circle when the American players settled back into position. The crowd was still screaming, but Ellie was all business again, her game face even more intense after scoring. Jamie could imagine the FOX broadcasters covering the play: “And that’s why she’s the best finisher in the world. Her ability to focus is unparalleled.”
And then the referee was blowing her whistle, and the game was back on.
The Japanese players hadn’t given themselves time to settle back in, and Jamie thought it showed. They tried an odd little lofted ball down the center that Lisa easily headed down to Maddie. Maddie turned to her right, dribbled up field, and sent it outside to Angie, who surged forward, headed toward the endline. She quickly drew two defenders, but with a stutter step, managed to split them. Except that the next minute she was going down and the referee had whistled the foul. Another set piece only a few feet outside the box.
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