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

I had been in the hotel all day. It felt like prison, just like that hotel in Shanghai. Cheryl said she was worried about my health—she thought I looked as though I’d lost weight since China. She was right—I had lost ten pounds and looked diminished. She insisted that we walk down to T.G.I. Friday’s for dinner. I ordered French onion soup and raspberry lemonade; Cheryl urged me to also have ice cream for dessert. It felt good to be out of the hotel, walking on the street, getting smiles and eye-contact from friendly Midwesterners.

Back at the hotel, it was time for another meeting, this time with Lil and Cheryl. Lil insisted that I have a flight booked to go home if it came to that. “Is having Hope leave what’s best for the image of the team?” Cheryl asked. “What can Hope do to help the team?”

Lil thought. Her solution? She suggested I carry the team equipment at practice.

I wanted to laugh but it wasn’t funny. Did they want me to polish their boots too?

They decided I would sit on the bench in street clothes and that I wouldn’t be on the field for the national anthem. By now it was late. I had a flight booked at 6:20 in the morning, but Cheryl told me not to take it. She said I needed to meet with Greg again in the morning before anything was decided.

I was on autopilot, dead inside, pushed from one meeting to the next.

On Saturday morning, I met with Greg. I had a sense he had been told by U.S. Soccer that he couldn’t send me home. But he seemed determined to make me miserable, telling me that the team didn’t want me on their bench.

“Well, I want to be here,” I said. “I’m going to sit on the bench.”

We had another team meeting, and the parameters of my punishment were laid out. I wasn’t allowed to suit up. I wasn’t allowed to be on the field for the national anthem. I wasn’t allowed to eat with the team. I certainly wasn’t allowed to interact with fans or sign autographs. One more condition: I had to offer a formal apology. This time, in writing.

Aaron Heifetz, our press officer, met with me—he had written a draft and wanted me to rubber-stamp his words. I was appalled by some of the language in the draft. Heifetz said that I wasn’t suiting up, “because I need to earn the right to wear the national team uniform.” He wrote, “What I did violates what this team is about and that is a reflection on me and me alone,” and “My teammates have acted professionally and appropriately through this and they do not deserve what I have brought on this team.”

“I’m not approving this,” I said and pulled out my phone to call Rich. But it was Saturday morning in California and he was at his kids’ soccer games. I called Lesle—who wrote her own version of an apology and e-mailed it to me. But there wasn’t time, Heifetz insisted, for long edits. This had to be released before game time. He was furious when I took out my pen and started crossing out phrases. He seemed as angry as one of the players. I thought he might burst into tears.

I headed into another meeting with Greg and Cheryl to go over the logistics of my involvement. I didn’t realize banishment required so much strategic planning. I was to sit in the front of the bus next to Cheryl. I was not allowed in the team locker room or the team huddle. During team warm-ups, I was to remain on the sideline, away from the team. I was not allowed into team meals. I was going to be moved out of Tina’s room right away, back to isolation.

A few hours before the game in St. Louis, the official apology was released:

I would like to apologize to my teammates, coaches and everyone else adversely affected by my comments at the Women’s World Cup. This public apology comes later than it should have, but I hope that does not diminish the fact that I am truly sorry. I made a mistake and I take full responsibility for my actions. I let my teammates down and have lost their trust.

I would like to especially apologize to Greg Ryan and Briana Scurry. There is no excuse for insulting a coach or a teammate. My focus now is solely on reconciliation with the team. I am here to support the team for these games, but after apologizing in person to all my teammates and the coaches, I have made the choice not to suit up for these games since I believe this is the first step in the healing process.

As I work to regain the team’s trust, I will not be making any more public comments at this time. The healing process has started, but I understand that I have a lot of work to do with my teammates and that is my focus moving forward.

It wasn’t long before I got an e-mail from my Aunt Susie. “Did you really make that statement,” she wrote, “or is someone putting words in your mouth?”

V.

While the team warmed up for its first game, I stood on the field awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Our general manager Cheryl talked to me. So did our assistant coach Brett. I was wearing jeans and tennis shoes, which seemed weird. I waited inside the tunnel while the anthems were played and the teams shook hands. After the pregame ceremony was finished, I walked back into the stadium, and cheers went up around me. Some fans shouted jeers at Greg Ryan. Signs were held aloft in the stands: FREE HOPE SOLO and HOPE APOLOGIZED, THE TEAM OSTRACIZED. I heard some people chanting my name. The plan to make me invisible had backfired.

As I sat on the bench,