Four years later, two moments from the World Cup in China are as clear in my mind as if they happened yesterday. One, stepping out of a minivan in the middle of an intersection in Chengdu and realizing as it pulled away in a hurry (the folks inside were late for a United States practice) that I didn’t know where I was, didn’t have a functioning cell phone or a map and didn’t speak a word of any unhelpful Chinese dialects, let alone the one used in that part of the country.
Let’s just say my feelings about the situation now are far more fond than they were in that moment.
The second moment was in first catching wind that U.S. coach Greg Ryan had decided to change keepers on the eve of a semifinal against Brazil. I had only recently arrived in Hangzhou, a stunningly beautiful city a hundred miles south of Shanghai that, at least on this occasion, offered humidity with the same approximate thickness as oatmeal. As a result, after sweating through a shirt in walking over to the stadium to scout out the scene in the morning, I opted to lighten my carrying load and leave my laptop in the hotel when it came time to walk back over for U.S. press conference in the afternoon.
The team had been available the previous afternoon before it (and we) left Shanghai, and I had everything I needed to file a preview. Short of one of the players spraining an ankle getting off the bus, what could possibly have changed in the 18-or-so hours since last we met? We’d sit down with Ryan for a few minutes, listen to him evade any substantive answers (like any coach) and be on our merry way.
Oops.
It didn’t take a genius, fortunately, to know all of that went out the window with that one decision, a move that was sure to become a talking point even back on the other side of the Pacific (although the exact magnitude were certainly aided by a 4-0 score and a few words from Hope Solo). This was the fuel on which modern media runs.
All of which is a roundabout way of getting to the sense of being caught completely off guard by what has become the flashpoint in the wake of Sunday’s World Cup final between the United States and Japan, the debate that filtered through the office today and even led “Pardon the Interruption” tonight (which I point out only to suggest that when something has infected PTI, which I enjoy and respect to no end, it has infected the entire sports world).
Did the United States choke?
Wait, what, really? That’s what we’re talking about?
You watched that game — you watched Alex Morgan emerging as a player the national team can build around for the next decade, you watched Homare Sawa’s flick, Ayumi Kaihori’s kick save and 120-plus minutes of persistence from two teams, and you came away with the profound conclusion that we’re being too soft on the United States today because they’re … women? That we should rip them to shreds because Abby Wambach blistered a long-range shot off the crossbar, Lauren Cheney couldn’t quite get the right touch around a defender on a redirection eight minutes in, Rachel Buehler and Ali Krieger botched a clearance in the heat of the moment and Carli Lloyd channeled Roberto Baggio in the shootout?
Oh for the love of lederhosen.
To start with, and I hesitate to bring reality into such close proximity to a carefully crafted media backlash, there are plenty of people who have followed this U.S. team for a lot longer than three or four weeks who are ready, willing and able to point out the flaws in Pia Sundhage’s team, both on this day and over the longer haul. And talk about them they will, in the days to come, long after the peanut gallery has moved on to more Ochocinco antics. Yet I somehow imagine that if the United States had lost 5-4 in penalty kicks or hit the posts less frequently in defeat, those people currently bloviating about whether we’re being too easy on them would pass on a chance to talk about tactics and strategy.
You (which paradoxically does not apply to anyone who has sifted through enough cyberspace to find these words, so maybe I should stop using it) weren’t invested in women’s soccer in the first place, or soccer at all, for that matter.
It’s easier to say they choked than to admit you don’t understand a sport well enough to offer reasoned criticism.
This was a good American team, but it was far from a perfect team. In truth, it got everything it could reasonably have been expected to out of its talent — and probably a little more — by dint of effort. Anyone who thought it entered the World Cup as any sort of favorite did so purely on the basis of it being No. 1 in FIFA’s ever-meaningless rankings.
Ask Luke Donald and Caroline Wozniacki how much a ranking is worth (and it pains me to say that of a fellow Dane).
Anyone who thought the United States entered Sunday’s final as a prohibitive favorite probably didn’t watch a single game Japan played leading up to the final, a classification that coincidentally likely applies to just about everyone pushing the choke agenda. What the Americans did in largely controlling possession was, in fact, a remarkable bit of soccer. Again, I know it pains these people to watch anything that doesn’t involve our flag, but go back and watch what Japan did to Germany and Sweden.
What, you’re back already? That was quick. Where was Fatmire Bajramaj anyway, am I right?
The United States created chances that they would, could and sometimes should have finished. Lots of them. Oodles of them, in fact. Best I can tell, nobody is suggesting otherwise. But choke? Give me a break.
If the United States choked, it would have lost 3-1 (ask Sweden about it). If the U.S. choked, it would have ceded control of the game to Japan, trying excessively hopeful long ball after excessively hopeful long ball in reply (ask Germany about it). The United States didn’t finish chances. And you know what? That happens in soccer.
You know why we didn’t talk about the United States choking? Because we just watched a fantastic WORLD CUP FINAL between two teams that offered the rarest of things in sports — a meaningful game that exceeds the hype.
It was a game in which even the imperfections added something, the flaws only emphasizing how much effort was expended in its creation. It was a game that seemed safe to leave to history, confident nothing could alter that story.
I should have known better, the lesson of China clinging to me like the Hangzhou air. There is always time for the media, my media, to ruin things.
I’m sorry; I’m getting all choked up.
Graham Hays 