Solo by Hope Solo (best free ereader .TXT) 📕

Aaron will always be a hero. He’ll never be caught. Barry, sports are changing and my dad never liked the showboats. I love you, Dad! Who will I go to, to pick out my college basketball brackets? Tomorrow I’ll tell your story, Dad. I will tell it loud and proud and people all around the world will know my dad. Thanks for leaving me a story to tell.

V.

I had worked all my life for this moment, to make my father and the rest of my family proud, to fulfill my destiny. I was ready. I was in the best shape of my life, and I was proving it every day in practice. I felt confident in directing the defense, barking out orders.

Our last game in the States was a 4–0 victory over Finland at the Home Depot Center. We still hadn’t lost a game in regulation since Greg had taken over as coach. We’d played forty-six games under Greg, and I had started thirty-six of them. We were issued gold World Cup uniforms. The message was clear: nothing less than a gold medal was acceptable.

Despite our record and gold shorts, we were leaving for China with little fanfare. Nike’s ad campaign for the World Cup was “The Greatest Team You’ve Never Heard Of,” which was an accurate description. While the American public could still name Mia Hamm and Brandi Chastain, we were strangers. We were still in the shadow of the ’99ers. We were determined to change that—we were going to make our own history. On August 27, we boarded a plane in Los Angeles headed for Shanghai. My heart was heavy but my resolve had never been stronger.

This was my moment. Nothing was going to get in the way.

PHOTOGRAPHS

One of the last times I saw my dad—when we painted my little cabin in the woods.

Marcus, Mom, and me outside Yankee Stadium on our pilgrimage to honor my dad. My dad’s ashes are contained in Marcus’s bracelet, and I am holding his cross.

The first thing I did after we won the gold medal was call Marcus back home in Washington.

During the World Cup, my name launched almost as many marriage

proposals as bad puns. (Sideline Sports Photography, LLC - 2012)

Grandma Alice and Grandpa Pete were my rocks: they traveled the world to cheer me on.

Making a save against Brazil in the 2011 World Cup—the game

felt epic from the start. (Sideline Sports Photography, LLC - 2012)

The first person I found to celebrate the Brazil victory with was Abby—our problems from four years earlier were a distant memory. (Marcio Jose Sanchez/Associated Press)

I wouldn’t have been able to make it through the World Cup without my medical staff; here I’m celebrating with Bruce Snell. (Scott Heavey/Getty Images)

During the penalty shootout against Brazil, I could see my UW coaches Amy Griffin (right) and Lesle Gallimore (left) mouthing words of encouragement. They had supported me since high school, and now I was having a private moment with them in front of millions of people worldwide.

Adrian and I could never stay apart for long.

We share the same sense of adventure and fun—here we are on vacation in Thailand.

Back home in Washington with my dog, Leo, and my nephew, Johnny, who was named for my dad.

I was out of my comfort zone on Dancing with the Stars—my contentious relationship with my partner, Maksim Chmerkovskiy, didn’t help. (Disney/ABC Television Group/Getty)

I’m not afraid of taking risks. (Luis Sanchis)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“You Can’t Go by a Gut Feeling”

You’re fucking fine! You’re fine!”

I could hear Kate Markgraf screaming at me. The wet ball had just slipped off my fingertips and over my head, into the net.

A goal. In the very first game of the World Cup. I threw up my hands and shouted in frustration. We were tied 1–1 with North Korea in the second period on a wet slippery field in Chengdu.

“OK, OK,” I told myself. “Come on, Hope.” I was more pissed than rattled. Our opening game wasn’t going well. This was why Greg Ryan had been tense ever since scouting North Korea. Their team was aggressive and skilled and was outplaying us. I was challenged immediately, with a hard shot just twelve seconds into the game. North Korea dominated possession. We were left chasing the ball.

That morning I had written in my journal.

Dad,

Game day, not sure how I feel. A little queasy but been that way for days. Trying to take a nap, but my eyes are twitching and I feel my heart beating against the mattress. I miss you Dad. I need you Dad. Help me live the moment. Dad, I love you so much. Wearing your armband. Got you with me. Picture in locker, bracelet and necklace on, ashes in goal, me and my dad in goal together. Time to show the world what these Solos are made of.

I felt strong and alive and focused in my first major tournament. We played a scoreless first half; I had a breakaway save and came out to stop through balls, cutting off their relentless attack. Soon after halftime, Abby put us on the board, hammering a pass from Kristine Lilly that skipped off the North Korean goalkeeper’s gloves and into the net. It was glaring evidence of what I already knew: the conditions were rough for goalkeepers. The field was soaked, the ball was heavy and the slippery new commemorative design on the ball’s surface only made it harder to handle.

Minutes after giving us the lead, Abby collided with a North Korean player and fell to the ground, blood gushing from a gash in her head. She went off for stitches as play continued but Greg didn’t replace her. We kept glancing to the sideline to see