Equal and Opposite

There wasn’t much about physics I understood (or paid attention to). I was always a woman of words–I enjoyed English and history, but math and advanced science were literal allergens. If there was one lesson in physics that made sense, it was the outline of Newton’s Third Law of Motion: for every action, a reaction, with opposite character, but equal intensity.

You can apply this thinking to many of realms of life, but (naturally) I feel it quite telling of women’s football’s present woes. There are two forces at work in our world, and they couldn’t be further apart.

 

Will the IWFL remain competitive when the dust settles?

 

The brightest minds of our sport are advancing their foci. Simple goals, like improving participation and cultivating a winning atmosphere have already been achieved, and now it’s onward toward larger ventures: brandishing television exposure and securing corporate sponsors. There’s an overwhelming aroma of progress in the air, which is culling women’s football into the future, kicking and screaming.

Whether you like it or not, change is in the air. The most recognizable and winningest teams in the country (some rooted in the opening pages of women’s football history) have jumped ship. The list of IWFL defectors is staggering, and reads more like the 2010 playoff picture than the MIA report: Boston Militia, Dallas Diamonds, Kansas City Tribe, Chicago Force, New York Sharks, DC Divas, Pittsburgh Passion, San Diego Surge and now the So Cal Scorpions. Once ‘little sister’, the Women’s Football Alliance has jumped to ‘mom’ overnight. Confused? A shake-up like this would be like the entire SEC departing from college football.

Impatience is another poker in the fire. Disputes between individual owners and league representatives have gone from water cooler talk to cannon fodder. New York and Kansas City‘s lawsuits looked like publicity stunts a few weeks ago–now they have served as artillery fire for the biggest battle the sport has ever seen.

The timeline played like “Gossip Girl” to bystanders: first came the Sharks’ lawsuit, then the Tribe’s lawsuit, then sources informed me with certainty that New York was leaving the league. Rumors of a Dallas exodus began, followed by talk that Pittsburgh would follow in suit, and the teams would be forming a rebel league (which worried everyone who wants the sport to succeed). The story broke once DC decided to leave, and posted their intent to “partner” with the WFA in order to “unify” the game on their website.

It was an interesting choice of words. If you take a look at one of my recent blogs, “Arms of the Machine”, I discussed the potential merits of a merger. It was based on conversations I heard while in Sweden with the US National Team. I feel like a prophet now…but what seemed like a cooperative fairy tale to me played out much bumpier.

 

Anxiety over fission and fusion in women's football is worsened when the future of the National Team also hangs in the balance.

 

That clattering sound you’re hearing is the collective knees of every other IWFL player in America–including myself. We’re safe in familiar arms now, but if some kind of union begins, it could be a rough transition.

If both leagues survive, what will they be like? Will a gutted IWFL still be viable? If they merge, what does a small market team have to offer a conglomerate mega-league? Will teams like Palm Beach fall by the wayside if a merged league can’t manage 80-100 teams? We’re hoping not–after all, if WFA execs are in the driver’s seat, they will likely maintain their generous team license allocations.

Another concern burns in the minds of players across the country–what becomes of the National Team? Just 3 months after our victorious flight home, our exploits are all but forgotten in the women’s football headlines. The hangover is gone, but a frightening irony has taken its place–over half of Team USA is in another league. If the remnant teams can somehow help bolster the IWFL, who gets the bid for the US Team in 2013? Will the country end up sending two separate teams, and become the answer of a really long Civil War “What If” game? I’ll admit, it would be an entertaining game, but it would light the spine of meaning behind that USA crest ablaze.

With much uncertainty, little information, and rumors that just can’t stop coming true, the next few weeks will be interesting. In Newton’s First law, he states that everything remains in a state of rest or uniform motion unless it is acted upon by an external unbalanced force. Perhaps that external force was the World Championship. It proved our game was heading into propitious new territory, and for the team owners who came along for the ride, it provided a sounding board and idea mill–hundreds of miles away from the mundane and traditional.

Time was once considered the 4th dimension, and for us, it’s path may well determine the other 3: length (durability of our league), height (marketability of our product), and depth (integrity of our sport).

Long live the game.

Dodging Blocks

If you ever want to get anywhere on the football field, you’d better learn to follow your blockers. Defensively, if you want to make the stop, you have to shed that same wall of weight. Evade with speed or bulldoze with power; the goal is to avoid the block.

Female athletes have other blocks to elude. There’s the jealous spouse, who dislikes the time spent with friends (or potential girlfriends in the eyes of female significant others). We have the patriarchal parent, who sees sports reserved for only men (and fears for the safety of his little girl). And who can forget the un-athletic boss, who can’t imagine sinking time into fitness? Perhaps the deadliest of all the blocks is the chopping block; in this case, the axing of Olympic status.

It was only a couple of months ago that the women’s hockey community had their doomsday clocks set: improve the competition, or get gone. It couldn’t have come at a worse time; the morning before the gold medal game at the 2010 Winter Olympics. Imagine taking the ice after hearing that; if you want to make a mockery out of the competitive spirit, tell a historically talented Canadian team to hold back or be held out forever (luckily the USA gave them a challenge).

In 2005, baseball and softball were sent to their own Olympic execution. It was the first time sports had been voted out of the Olympics since polo bit the dust in 1936. The reasons? Softball was too lopsided; the USA had taken all three golds. Baseball? Well, it was competitive, but the European countries (who coincidentally make up nearly all of the International Olympic Committee’s voting body) were not. The heavy hitters of the MLB were also absent (per the league’s orders) irking the committee, which had plead for their presence for years.

Opposing countries were unable to account for our speed and strength, but their skill and strategy were on track.

Who are we helping–and hurting–when we send a sport to the guillotine? Obviously there’s only so much grain in the silo; you can’t sanction every sport, because it would dwindle the resources of the existing sports and strain the host nations. But when you take a sport that just about every country plays (like baseball) out, you’re just destroying dreams globally. Sure, 7 on 7 rugby is happy (is there such a thing?). And yes, golf should have been in the games years ago. But crushing women’s hockey after only 12 years of competition isn’t only hasty, it’s hateful.

As the hangover from the first World Championship fades, many in the women’s football world are beginning to plan for 2013. The grand goal of Olympic status is also a hot topic. It is wise for our sport to pay heed to the doom of women’s hockey, for our own preponderance of the world may sabotage our cause.

It’s true–you can’t fix stupid. Likewise, you can’t unlearn talent. If a team is the greatest on Earth, it’s not their job to get worse–it’s everyone else’s job to get better. International teams need to expand their recruiting and find superior athletes. European weight-lifting women are always on the podium, why not put some pads on them? One obstacle on foreign soil is the second-class standing women must endure. In many countries less egalitarian than our own, women’s sports teams are ill-funded, as men in power refuse to aid them. In other societies, fielding women’s teams is impossible, since misogyny and unrefined religious fanaticism send women who aspire for roles outside the house (such as education or employment) to prison…or worse.

So what can be done? Though players and coaches with dual citizenship can certainly do a great service to their non-American homelands by playing overseas, random siphoning of North American players and coaches abroad makes a parody of parity. Not only can it harm the symbolic value of the team for the fans of the invaded nations, but it doesn’t serve grassroots growth of the game in those countries. Whose job is it to stimulate that growth?

Professional sports leagues could certainly do more to encourage growth in the women’s sector. After all, girls who play hockey turn into women who play (and watch) hockey. If the NFL and NHL sponsored women’s professional leagues in the off-season of the men’s, they would also capture a reasonably large viewership that can’t wait 8 months for their favorite sport (provided it was marketed properly). The sports media could also aid women’s athletics by providing better coverage. ESPN, the go-to source of all things athletics, not only ignored the women’s hockey dilemma, but also our dominant World Championship performance last month (though Fox Sports did grant us some ink). The sports media can create interest with little risk to itself; no one is going to boycott ESPN for covering women’s sports–they prove their invincibility by chewing up air time with the Spelling Bee every year. Lastly, wealthy, influential women and women’s interest groups should devote some time and resources to women’s sports.  Without profitable professional leagues at present, the funding needs to come from somewhere.

Unless you’re inside Jacques Rogge’s mind, it’s hard to say if there were other reasons softball and baseball met their end; or if women’s hockey will meet that same fate. But no good can come from crushing the dreams of young athletes across the globe. Perhaps it’s time we put down the ax and picked up the spade; and planted some seeds of potential in unlikely places.

Revive and Remember

I can’t believe it’s over. We conquered Canada and captured gold: it was a rush of extremes one after another. There were moments where I prayed it would never end, and times when I questioned whether I could stand another instant.

We began as lone bees, swift, strong and sharp with sting. We came together and formed a colossal and fearsome swarm, flying closely, at times needing another’s strength to keep us airborne. We traveled a distance and suffered at each other’s sides, and now we’re here.

My will was tested daily. Palm Beach’s relative seclusion from the powerhouse programs of the Midwest and Northeast made me a dark horse at receiver in the coaches’ eyes from Day 1. I also found myself to be the second youngest player on the roster, making it harder to relate and gain respect from my older, more experienced counterparts. Other challenges were formidable, like sleeplessness and adjusting 7 years of technique to kick a bigger ball with no tee.

We are all forever imprinted in each other's lives and hearts.

But there was this love everywhere; an unbridled desire to stay right there forever. Our individual styles, personalities and interests were often diverse and sometimes conflicting, yet we were all so strongly attached, like sisters. Siblings don’t always get along, but they will do anything for one another. That is what Team USA has become. Beyond the scores, the awards, the discrepancies in playing time, and the controversial coaches there is a team that will never cease to love and miss each other.

The day of the championship game I woke with mixed feelings. I was both excited for the approaching culmination of my voyage, and saddened by the mortality of our adventure. My hours among those women were short. Everyone seemed focused, but that same dread of separation was painted upon each face. We dodged those thoughts with conversation of post-game merriment, for supremacy was fast approaching.

Celebrating our 66-0 victory over Canada was long-awaited; no one (managers and coaches included) had imbibed alcohol in 20 days per IFAF’s rules. This left us all thirsting for a brew (and it also left us liquor light-weights). Our party moved from one place to another, and the inhibitions tumbled: there were tears and hugs and words we had all been too shy or proud to utter to the women who had changed our lives. We carried our gold medals through the streets of Stockholm, though few venues were willing to let us in. Flip flops are not club/bar attire in Sweden, so we took our festivities back to the park near our hotel. No one’s complaints or disappointments existed anymore–only pride, patriotism, and gratefulness stood in their wake.

So much of this is for the future, and all the girls who deserve the chance to play this game, like this young Swede.

We spent the next day hoofing around Stockholm, groggy and foggy from the prior night’s revelry. We enjoyed souvenir shopping, sightseeing, and the flavors of Swedish tradition. Hearts were heavy with impending diaspora.

I will definitely miss the food...but not the prices!

As we trudged onto the bus at 4:30 am Sweden time on the day of departure, people were not grumpy and snoozing as one might expect. Instead we were laughing and carrying on, enjoying our last overstuffed bus ride together, mocking our hardships and lauding our accomplishments. We signed each other’s helmets, flags, programs, and I sent around my practice pants for autographs–a tribute to the unflattering shade of white, and the hell we endured in camp.

The flight back from Sweden was much harder. Perhaps it was the trade winds, maybe the food selections, but I attribute it to the harsh reality that it was all coming to an end. Everyone was eager to see their home and family, but not wanting to put the dream to bed just yet. When we arrived in Austin, we endured one more struggle together (customs) and then many parted ways to drive from New Jersey back home. The tears began again, and there were more hugs than a Care Bears episode. 45 vicious, grizzled champions were humbled by the loss of each other.

Exhaustion really set in on our return voyage.

After a final night in Austin with a handful of West Coasters, I said my goodbyes to them and endured two more bumpy flights to West Palm. Upon my arrival, I found my friends and family delighted by my return, and my coworkers showering me with praise and pride for my efforts overseas. I feel overcome with accomplishment despite the hardships I faced. The only dismay I feel now is the lack of coverage from the media outlets. So many minor sports get covered by the global press, yet one of the most popular sports in the world, football, is ignored wholeheartedly (most likely because of the female participants). I truly hope to see my country’s sports media pick up on our feats, and capture our story, our mission.

I will pick up its burden in three years, the date of the next Women’s World Championship. I hope to see a larger and more competitive field, and I intend to see myself in a starring role…no longer an underdog, but a veteran of the first ever Gold Medal Team.

Mission accomplished, but much more to do. For those three short years, I will fly alone, but with my sisters’ eyes upon my wings. I have a wealth of knowledge to support me, and I have no intention of failing, or fading into the background. Circumstance may have dampened a shining spirit, but the love of my teammates both here and abroad will keep me standing. We’ve migrated back to our respective hives, but no one who witnessed that swarm will ever forget the sound of those wings beating concertedly. One team, one mission…always.

TEAM USA - 2010 Women's World Champions. The first...forever.

Pretty Poison

There’s a lot of lingo in football. One such instance is to warn would-be blockers that a punt is too dangerous to return: “poison”. It sends players scattering, heads spinning like fan blades to avoid the accidental touch that could return the ball to the opposing offense.

We’re finding that although international women’s football is alive and well, our country’s presence is both a blessing and a curse.

As ambassadors of the game, we must not let our patriotism appear as taunting.

We have conducted ourselves humbly and politely during interviews and conversations with our adversaries. This is a departure from the football standard; trash-talking and intimidation tactics are mainstays. We have been reminded from day one that we are here to grow the game, but our size and speed have been unaccounted for by Austria and Finland. Two countries known for their tough, athletic women have been meek in comparison to us. Though their coaches are crafty and creative and their players experienced and technically sound, 63-0 and 72-0 speak little of their perceived skill level.

No one can ever say we tried to run up the score. In fact, our second string offense tallied more points running the ball than our first string did throwing. The end of our game against Finland was the first time I’d ever seen the losing team taking a knee. We never intended to demoralize…we only intended to succeed, and make a statement to the world.

But a statement varies with vantage point. Though some Austrian and Finnish girls will be motivated and driven to improve and defeat the United States, still others may be shy to the task. The thought of driving people from the game is a horrible, haunting one. Our purpose is not well served with a blow-out in the championship. Destroying Canada, a team who coming into this tournament was highly lauded, would only harm our goal of Olympic status. The IOC doesn’t want sports that will be dominated by one or two countries continuously. If we want to stand under the rings one day, a competitive game is needed.

We want our love of the game to be infectious.

The eyes of the world have been on us from day one. We haven’t fallen short of our expectations yet, but our footsteps were cacophonous and our prints deep and glaring. Only time can prove if our legacy is well-received, and only 14 hours separate us from our golden aspirations. We hope the world receives us with hope for betterment, and not embitterment.

Film, Fluff, and Family

There’s so much more than the practices. There’s so much more than the games. There is laughter, teasing, singing, eye-rolling, coach-to-coach arguments, and unforgettable quotes. Here’s a taste of the life of a women’s national football team member.

bleaching my roots became a faux/mohawk contest. And then there's Brittany in the middle...

We’re dragged from our beds around 7:30 every morning. We’re given a flavorful presentation of free breakfast at our hotel. What they lack in room space and bed quality they make up for with  eggs, bread, organic cereal, and exotic spreads and meats (which I don’t dabble in).

The walk to the stadium is about a mile. It’s nice; a stroll through a quiet back street with gardens on one side of the road and parks on the other. Though we grumble about the extra time on our feet, it gives us a chance to get our eyes pried open from our sleep-deprived nights. It also serves as a mini warm-up, and clears out the cobwebs of the hours prior. I much prefer the leisurely stroll over the over-stuffed van rides with death-defying maneuvers from our eldest coach’s driving.

After practice we traipse back and shower, usually visiting each other’s rooms or making lunch plans. These rooms visits can range from very boring to very unusual and even ridiculous, depending on how delirious the people are. Each room is a carbon copy–overfilled laundry bags, helmets, pads, protein drinks, water bottles, the smell of cleats, and socks EVERYWHERE.

This bike ride to the U.S. Embassy was riddled with falls, car-dodging, and near collisions with people. "Fotlag" is Swedish for sorry. We said it A LOT.

Free time is limited, but we use what we get to the fullest. We often find ourselves slightly outside the rules/expectations of our managers and coaches, but we are well aware of what we can and can’t get away with. Sweden is very lovable. Almost everyone speaks English, and things aren’t terribly expensive. The city is complex, but not so big that it can’t be walked or biked with limited map skills and energy. Our trip to the U.S. Embassy was less successful than we’d hoped, since it was closed for Sweden’s “Midsummer” holiday weekend, but we’re still trying to get some ambassador support at our Gold Medal game on Saturday (provided we get past Finland).

Hallway "gauntlet"...this ended with me on the floor.

Our coaching staff is a tremendously amusing entourage. Though our receivers coach, Coach Huston, mostly keeps to herself and laughs at the madness of the other three, they make the noise and comments of five men. Chicago natives Coach Konecki (Head Coach/O Coord) and Stone (D Coord) create humorous banter and arguments while Wisconsin’s Coach McLaughlin (Special Teams – known lovingly as Mac) serves as the older and MUCH wiser third amigo. Mad scientists and brilliant football minds, they are also very goofy and interact in memorable fashion. Here are a few Konecki quotes from yesterday’s film session.

“Offensive line: you can cut at the second level. Make a pile of asses and elbows.”

“Quarterbacks are made of glass and filled with butter.”

“The tacklebox is the land of the giants. Receivers: stay to the outside, where Ewoks and gingerbread men live.”

We scout other games while also amusing ourselves with dances and tomfoolery.

We break down film like we’re voting for Best Picture. Film of our game, film of our practices, film of other games, and film of our coach’s other teams. The more we see, the more we understand. The more we’re pointed out, the more we can improve on (though our egos do tend to bruise). It’s very entertaining to watch the two coaches try and share a room (with two projectors of very DIFFERENT quality) and try to talk over each other. Space in limited here, so I’m convinced that Swedes are not big people (elevator and turnstyle sizes seem to back up this assumption).

We also watch every other game in person. By doing so, we can scout our competition, support the event, and still enjoy some shenanigans with our teammates. Most of our merriment comes from the unusual music the DJ chooses (techno, polka, zydeco, and some 80′s song redub “Touchdown Music” all back to back is normal) but we also get quite a kick from hearing the referees announce fouls in English with very prominent European accents. One interesting note: all the officials in this tournament are women, and they’ve come from all over the world for our event.

Part of our walk from the hotel to the field...complete with shock and awe at the nearly full day of sunlight (taken at 10:30 pm).

Another adjustment is the full day of sunlight, and the full day of human activity. Due to Sweden’s northern position, during the summer, the sun never fully retreats from view. It does get dark for a few hours, but it’s still a smokey twilight, never pitch black like in the US. And since it’s never really dark, people never stop being active. Even as late (or early) as 4 am, people can be heard outside our open windows. And no, they wouldn’t be open if we had A/C in our rooms. Welcome to Sweden!

There are huge demands on our body, and intense amounts of information being flooded into our heads. But we are well-handled: the powers-that-be understand the need for relaxation and laughter. I’m in no hurry for these times to be over, and look forward to what tomorrow brings; both in knowledge, experience, and memories.

New Shine

We kicked our tires and it drove just fine.

The moments leading up to the game were long and tense. No one knew quite how our stadium entrance would be, or how we would be received by the rather thick crowd on either side of the stadium. We were restless and eager beneath the stands awaiting our call onto the field. As soon as we got the green light, we shot out like bullets.

Some is better than none.

To stand out on that field, look down at that jersey, and hear the national anthem was like a dream. Thinking that in just 6 years this could be me standing in that uniform with Olympic rings above my head gave me shivers.

We came out firing, and even though our first drive stalled, we quickly picked up the pace. We pounded the Austrian side in the air, then started subbing people in and running exclusively. We kept their offense off the field for the most part, and ended the contest 63-0.

The best part was that we acted like we’d been there before. We won with style, but not with excess. Our defense made big stops, but kept it clean. There was little trash talking (that we could understand), no late hits, no fights…we represented our country with dignity.

My part in the play was minor. I served for three series, run-blocking and running one wide-open route that went unrewarded. But in the end, I was still there. I was on the field, in the uniform, and witness to a flood of history. I’m a small fish in a big sea, but I’m still swimming, and my scales are shining with the best of them.

Strength in Numbers

I’d be a liar if I said I was a standout. But I’d be no less a liar if I denied the accomplishments I did have. For a young buck from an unknown team, I did run neck and neck with the best in the country. I did work hard, make some great catches, and kick well. And I have already made friends that will last a lifetime.

I’m still battling to gain the confidence of some. Elitism exists in all walks of life, and no one can be blamed for it. Playing in the playoffs, all-star games, and owning a championship ring are obvious proof of individual skill and performance under pressure. But meeker greatness does exist, and equal talent can dwell in modest housing.

Physically, camp was hell. If two-a-days in the Texas heat weren’t enough, cramped sleeping conditions and hours of meetings capped it off. Typical days consisted of a 100+ heat index and 6 hours of practice (with often less hours of sleep). Free time was short, but  personality clashes were few and far between. The coaches are harsh, but our spirits are resilient. They are focused on a goal; even if their comments aren’t always uplifting, their dedication is.

I am witness to the throwing together of something that two years ago seemed impossible. An event which will likely pave the way for football to finally gain Olympic status. I am party to the birth of a team that can make history forever. 45 people learned completely new systems, and took on a completely new philosophy. We are here to bring pride to a nation, and tasked with carrying our gender to the next stage of equality.

Only an ocean separates us from the fields of destiny. To women who have defied everything, that’s nothing.

Respect is better when fought for.

Fortunes and Fortitude

Day two is done. Round Rock is more temperate than I had expected. The heat index reads in the 100′s, but a steady wind and cloud cover made our morning practice rather pleasant compared to most of the weather I’ve been accustomed to in Palm Beach.

The IWFL and USA Football have been very generous. Every person received two sets of wicking shorts and short sleeve T-shirts, as well as a long sleeve, warmups, a full set of practice gear, a girdle, leg pads, 2 bags, and a resplendent navy uniform set. I was lucky to be receive my number (17), as well as really friendly roommates. The group as a whole is pretty affable, with only a few exceptions. The coaches have really tried to reinforce the attitude that we are one program, and our individual backgrounds and programs are unimportant compared to our shared goal.

Unfortunately, the atmosphere off a football field can be very different than on it. I found myself largely bewildered by the complex and ever-changing offense. Though I respect its intricacies, as I doubt any other country will be able to predict it, I am finding it hard to pick up in comparison than the simplistic systems I have run with Palm Beach for the past 4 years. Our meeting tonight clarified some aspects, and a hard copy of the play book is a mammoth help, but there is still much to learn.

prepping for a team meeting

The chemistry on the field is progressing, but slowly. People are trying to treat each other with respect, but with so many people trying to showcase their talent, rivalries tend to develop. Many players are finding themselves placed in unfamiliar positions, or being called upon for something that isn’t their primary skill. All we can do is hope our coaches pick up on our talents, and keep us from calling upon flaws. It is important to note however that the cohesion is still far better than most all-star teams I’ve played on, so there is reason to be pleased.

Perhaps the hardest part is not getting opportunities to shine. Playing time is limited, and I’ve been unlucky with my reps…when I’m the ball seems to end up targeted in another direction. Tomorrow is another day. Also, adjusting to kicking a larger leather ball is proving challenging. The latter part of the week should grant me improvement, however, provided I keep my legs well rested. On that note, I’m getting a spasm in my quad, so I will wrap it up.

With only two practices under my belt, it’s tough to be certain of anything. But although I am out of my comfort zone, confused, and without the confidence-building mainstay of a real weightroom, I can only work hard, believe in myself, and hope for the best.