...A Rainbow Athletic "World Cup 2026"

In honor of what might be my favorite men's World Cup soccer tournament ever (and I've seen many of them starting from 1986!), below are a few "soccer-related" excerpts from my 2016 memoir entitled "this is not a memoir." Congrats to all of this year's supremely talented teams. What fun it has been these past few weeks, watching this magnificent and "biggest single-sport global event" unfold, as it takes place across the three North American host nations of Canada, USA, and Mexico. Every day feels like the Super Bowl. Is it any wonder then that my daily movie-watching has been temporarily suspended? (Wink.)

chapter 6 - pixie dust

At forty, I’ve amassed a few claims to fame.  I’m debating about sharing them.  And some of them are not technically mine.  They’re “reflected” claims to fame.  Does that make any sense?  Anyway, when I was thirteen, I made the Connecticut State Team for girls’ soccer.  This made me an automatic member of the U.S. Olympic Development Program.  Essentially, it meant that I was one of the top twenty-four soccer players for my age (the “under 14” bracket) out of thousands of girls in the whole state of Connecticut.  It was like hitting the “big time” where I could one day try out for the Olympics.  I was selected to be “groomed.”  It was a big accomplishment that I was proud of, seeing as I had been playing soccer happily since the age of six. 

        As a girl, I loved Saturday afternoons.  They usually meant a soccer game.  I loved everything about soccer – the soccer field with its perfectly green manicured grass, then the scent of its freshly-painted white lines, then the warming up and passing the ball around with my girlfriends, and finally the sounds of the parents cheering from the sidelines once the game began.  I still remember the sound of a soccer ball being kicked – that crisp “ding” of a shiny Tango.  How lovely.  Yup, I said it – “lovely.”  I remember the breezes, and the sun, which changed with the seasons.  I remember the downpours, and skidding with my cleats in the rain – my blonde pony-tail suddenly corrupted with brown mud.  I loved it all.

               And my soccer girlfriends?  I still speak with a few of them today.  They were such a big, pure part of my childhood.  The simple fun I had with them, both on and off the field, traveling to “away” games in different parts of Connecticut, and then up and down the Northeast coast – I have never forgotten these girls.  We created soccer-poetry.  Though I only played on the State Team for one season, and ended up injuring my knee that same year, I continued playing soccer for high school and a few other teams right up until high school graduation.  Between ages six and eighteen, soccer was definitely one of my greatest loves. 

               Now why I am mentioning this?  I guess since I’ve been speaking so much about the “artsy” sides of my personality (writing and all that), it makes sense to show the other sides, too.  I was a “mover and shaker” kind of girl.  I had a lot of interests, and I would be very remiss in leaving out a big chunk of my childhood which was soccer.  Actually, one of my ex-teammates from the State Team went on to be one of the first players in U.S. Women’s major league soccer (NWSL) – my “reflected” claim to fame?  I’ve loved watching her play on TV.

chapter 19 - a shiny plastic raincoat

I also remember the first international soccer game I saw.  I was in eighth grade.  It was spring 1990.  My soccer team and I were invited to see the U.S. men’s team play the Yugoslavia men’s team at the Yale Bowl in New Haven, Connecticut.  What’s more, we were chosen to carry U.S. flags out onto the field before the game (for the opening ceremony).  We each had a small flag – about eight inches tall.  I remember the little wooden stick of my sweet U.S. flag, and the colorful, patriotic fabric glued on.

               Anyway, I was thrilled waiting in the stadium tunnel before the game.  We could hear the M.C. on the microphone from his box – he was blasting out pomp and circumstance to all the guests in the stadium bleachers.  He was getting them pumped.  Then, when the male soccer players sauntered by us girls in the tunnel, I was quietly cool and observant – but internally I was BEYOND.  I was beyond excited, or thrilled, or something.  I’m at a loss for words on how to describe how absolutely cool I felt being next to these world-class soccer players.  To this day, my fave soccer players are Diego Maradona (Argentina), Tab Ramos (USA), Lionel Messi (Argentina), Andrea Pirlo (Italy) – and the dynamic, charismatic dreamboat “Golden Ball 2010 winner” Diego Forlán (Uruguay).  Love me some Diego!  Can you tell?!

               Anyway, on this spring day, these guys had gorgeous physiques, which I got to see “up close and personal.”  Yowza.  Did I blush?  I bet I did.  My adolescent hormones were booming.  Many of these guys also had gorgeous faces – which were tinged with nervous energy and seriousness.  I then remember the cheers when we girls, and other local teams, entered the stadium waving our flags.  The sun of the day, the warmth of the breeze – it was perfection.  It was all simple bliss.

               I still have the playbook.  I’m still struck by the fact that, in just a few short years, the entire nation of Yugoslavia would no longer exist – it would be besieged by war, and eventually end up a handful of smaller hard-to-pronounce nations like Herzegovina and Montenegro.  I sometimes wonder how many of those gorgeous players looking out at the reader of the playbook were directly impacted by the war.  Are any of them still living in the same town they were living in before the war – or when this soccer photo was taken?  Did they lose any family members to the war?  Are they themselves still living?  I caught these guys in a moment.  They were in a beautiful pocket of time – a “friendly” international match in the U.S. in the spring of 1990.  Indeed, we are each in our own pocket of time.  It belongs to us and us alone.

               I feel similarly about the first World Cup soccer game I saw four years later.  It was 1994.  My father had gotten four tickets to see the Norway vs. Ireland game down at the Meadowlands in New Jersey.  It was the day after my high school graduation, and so I was a sleeping, exhausted mess on the car ride down.  It was my mom and dad in the front seats, then my sister and I in the back.  Once we hit the stadium, however, I perked right up.  There’s this great photo of my mom, sister, and me in the parking lot before the game.  We’re holding our big colorful World Cup tickets, with the mammoth stadium behind us.  Again, the day couldn’t have been sunnier or more beautiful.  I remember feeling so lucky and almost in awe that the U.S. would just so happen to be the host of the most spectacular sports tournament ever created (at least in my soccer-fanatic mind) the year of my high school graduation.  Talk about the best graduation gift EVER.