World Cup Musings Part 4.2: The Matches

First, I want to say that it has been rewarding and so very hard to write about the World Cup. Rewarding, because I get to relive my experience through my words, and hard, because there are so many things I could say, so many events I could describe, so many interactions I could detail, and it’s hard to pick out the most important or the most blog-worthy moments.

I’ve started on the last part of this blog series about a half dozen times now, and I can’t ever find my footing. The hardest part of World Cup, was of course the competition and everything surrounding or a part of that. It’s also very hard to put that part of the experience into words. The anxiety, nerves, elation, tension, excitement, joy, and all of the other emotions were amplified, and would simultaneously flood over you at times. So, this is me trying to put that experience into words.

Let’s start with our first two matches. Against Italy and Spain, we played in the stadium at University College, Dublin. Those matches were lead ups to the stadium’s main event, which was always an Ireland match, so we always had a big crowd. The stadium wasn’t the biggest, nor was the crowd, and the pitch was the same as any other pitch, but with the World Cup logo painted on the grass and three years of built up expectations humming in the crowd, everything was bigger, louder, longer, faster.

Leading up to the games, we always had a match pitch familiarization block in our schedule. During this time, we get to walk around the match pitch, check out the locker rooms, and get used to our competition venue. During the match pitch familiarization, the field and stadium look and feel like any other would. On gameday, everything is more.

When we lined up, outside of our locker room, ready to take the pitch against Italy on August 9, energy radiated from each of my teammates. When the World Rugby folks put on the pre-game music, we all felt our hearts beating in our throats, perhaps because the pre-game music was a very loud and aggressive heartbeat. When we formed our circle after singing our National Anthem, you could feel the electricity in the moment.

And then there was the whistle, and all of that melted away. When you’ve been playing at the elite level, you learn present moment awareness. You learn to put away your awe when it’s time to take care of business. Those moments leading up to a World Cup match, transform you into a kid again. You’re smaller than everything that surrounds you, looking up with wonder at a world that’s new, scary, and exciting. When the whistle blows, you’re a scrappy, hard-working hooker again, intent on running over your opponent.

We handled Italy and Spain in dominant performances, though we would’ve liked to do more things right in both cases. We left points on the field, in both matches, and we think we should’ve shut out Italy. Our match against England, ended in a loss, and though we scored four tried and picked up a bonus point, had our defense against the maul been better, we would’ve had a shot to win that game as well.

Despite the loss against England, we would advance to the semi-finals. Wales did us a favor, in their match against Canada, and held them to only one try, so though the Canadians won, they didn’t earn a bonus point. Nor did they earn a bonus point in their final pool match, a loss against New Zealand.

I was having dinner with my mother and step-father, at Kiely’s of Donnybrook (I realize that the name of the restaurant has no significance to this story, but it sounds oh so Irish), after our match against Spain, while Wales was playing Canada. The Spain match was the first international match my mother had ever seen.

Kiely’s was full of Canadians, part of a viewing party, so we got to see the Canadians play Wales. Fresh off our second bonus point win, we had put ourselves out front of the pack. With only four teams advancing to the playoff rounds from pool play, we were in the catbird seat. And there, at Kiely’s, with a beef stew and a coffee warming me—a nice post-game recovery meal—I watched the happy Canadian viewing party relish in their victory over Wales. I relished along with them, because Wales had given Canada a run for their money, and now Canada would have to either beat, tie, or eke out a bonus point in a loss against New Zealand (and hope we lost to England without a bonus point) to advance. Bonus points are life, when your World Cup can’t handle more than four teams in a playoff.

We were confident, going into the days leading up to the England match. We thought we could beat England, and though there was plenty of pressure to do so, we knew we were in a good position, having earned two bonus points thus far. And then, right before we played England, New Zealand routed Canada.

The Canadians are a strong team—very strong. Their scrum is powerful and dynamic, they run good lines, their backline has a few threats, and they play with a bit of finesse here and there. They aren’t the most powerful, the fastest, or the most creative, but they have all of those aspects of their game honed, and they execute.

We all thought they would give the Black Ferns a run for their money, but that wasn’t the case. New Zealand made them look amateur (something they’d do to us a few days later), and after the Black Ferns’ victory, we knew we’d perhaps be seeing them in the semis (if France took care of Ireland).

The England match was tough. Our defense was ill prepared for their maul, and they exploited that to the fullest. However, in the last 15-20 minutes of that match, we played perhaps the fastest rugby in the entire World Cup, or at least that’s what our S&C coach told us.

When you play New Zealand, you always face a unique challenge, and that is the Haka. How do you approach centuries of tradition with respect, but also an “unfuckwithable” attitude? We decided to do both. We stepped up to the Haka, but acknowledged the tradition, in which their war cry is steeped. And we also stepped up to the challenge of playing with New Zealand…for a half. Our second half wasn’t exactly our best rugby, and we put ourselves out of Cup contention.

I’ve talked about the nerves going into our opening matches, but I don’t recall my feeling, before the semi-final and the 3^rd place matches, being one of nerves. It was more of an anxious humming. We’d also been dealing with injuries and other issues, and so pulling tighter together probably helped the nerves.

We went into the 3^rd place match with a young rookie flyhalf, and different faces all over the field. We were too concerned with supporting each other and being as efficient as possible on our side of the ball to devote much time to our nerves. While, we strayed a bit from our game plan a bit, we played well against the French. And though we couldn’t claw our way to a win, we clawed.

It wasn’t what we wanted, but it was probably a fitting way to end our World Cup—not quite having enough against the top three teams in the world. Not all journeys end in a sunset ride. Not all finales are nail-biting championships. Ours was much more.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been part of a team that had so little inter-squad drama/tension/bad vibes. This squad was special. A lot of teams talk about playing for one another; this team walked that walk. It is my firm belief that our biggest asset at the World Cup, which played the biggest role in our success, was the way we pulled together and played for each other. Like I said, it was special. I made memories and friends I’ll never forget. 

World Cup Musings Part 4.1 The World Cup Experience Without the Games

I want to start off this blog with a little snippet from an article I wrote for The Rugby Breakdown (check out that article for a little recap of the first part of our World Cup experience).

We kicked off our World Cup tour in Washington, DC, a place that boasts its own history and has its own spirits lingering around old buildings and swampy recesses. The Irish Embassy welcomed us and the 1983 team, the first ever USA Women’s National Team, to kick off our weekend in DC. The highlight of the event for most of the players was getting a chance to meet the players who had played their position for the first time. Kit Kat (Katy Augustyn) and I got to meet Mary Money, the first hooker for the USA WNT, and I found out that we almost played together at a tournament last year at the DC Furies-hosted tournament, Ruggerfest. I decided to play for the Old Girls that year, and though she usually plays for them, she had to miss that particular year.

We also had a fundraising event at Scion restaurant in Silver Spring, MD. If you’re thinking, “Isn’t Scion a rugby academy,” you’re right. The owner of Scion Academy, Joanne Liu, also owns two Scion restaurants. I’ve been playing for Scion for a few years now, and so of course I am biased in regards to both our brand of rugby and the restaurants’ menus, but I have to say, the food at the fundraiser was the best we’ve had thus far on tour.

The fundraiser also featured a Q&A with the current WNT, in which attendees were serenaded by Jordan Gray and her melodious harmonies, as well as Naya Tapper, and her glass-shattering screeching. There was also a photo booth and a myriad of props to entertain guests. And at the end of the event, Jillion Potter, Olympian and former World Cup competitor, gave the Eagles some well wishes and valuable advice.

We ended our stay in DC with a practice at the 15^th and Independence field, under the looming Washington Monument, on a pitch, riddled with divots and lush with wiry weeds (the home pitch of Scion Academy—where, in the words of Sara Parsons, “champions are made). It was a fitting end to our DC leg of the World Cup Tour, on a pitch like so many in this country, rugged and beaten, which is revealing of our squad—we play where we find the space to play, and we grind it out, despite the terrain.

And now here we are, in the mist and the fog of a lush Irish landscape. It feels a little surreal, in part because the ending of the long camp felt like the end of the hard stuff, but there is more hard stuff ahead; it’s just a different sort of hard. It’s surreal because we’re in a country steeped in mythology and history—that dates back hundreds of years before the USA existed as a country—and looking around at the lush grasses, foliage, shrubbery, you can’t help but believe in fairies yourself. And it’s surreal because we are living our goals and yet there are more goals—so much more potential to live into.”

That is exactly how noble and heroic we all felt in Ireland. The World Cup was a big event there. And here’s where I’ll pause and say that it could’ve been bigger, we could’ve had more promotion, and the women could get an easier go of it as far as the schedule goes. And that’s all I want to say about that now.

We were in the Irish media. People knew who we were…I mean, not by name, though I have been picked out in a crowd as Alev Kelter twice in my life now. We were asked for pictures in public. And overall, we got a little taste of the celebrity life (like B-list celebrity…or maybe Food Network B-list celebrity). It was fun, and not in an “all-night-bar-hopping-blast” kind of way. People told you how much they appreciated watching you play, and then some joked about how they wished you luck but only so far as the finals and then their team would best yours (this is, after all, the best they can do).

And then there were the fans—the support in Ireland, and the support flooding in from home was nothing short of amazing. I am not being sentimental or fulfilling some duty in saying that. I will forever be grateful for my friends and family, all of my teammates’ friends and family, and all of the USA supporters. My mom got to see me play in a United States of America uniform for the first time, and I got to give her a hug after two games in a World Cup, something I’d done in every sport I’d played, since I was five years old.

After each game, we toured the inside of the arena, meeting with our friends, family, and fans. We would meet an amalgamation of old Eagles, costumed fans, loved ones, foreign fans, old teammates, young fans, drunk fans, and those fans who were chomping at the bit themselves. You know the ones, because you remember being like them yourself—putting your face out there to not only pay tribute, but to say as well, “you’ll be seeing me around.” That is always good energy—seeing the next generation immersing themselves in the game.

Having a birthday on the day of Opening Ceremony will also be one of my most favorite memories. I secretly pretended that the ceremony was in honor of my birthday, and that made me smile the whole way through (how they knew I wanted a lady to fall from the sky, I’ll never know).

And amid all the hoopla, and the recognition, and the fans, and pomp, and ceremony, and heroics, were my teammates. More than the ceremony, more than the hoopla, more that even the games, will be my teammates and the memories we made—and I’ll save you from having to read our sentimental inside jokes about The Bridge to Terabithia, peanuts, and single shot lattes (seriously...single shot lattes). Those are the moments that made the World Cup experience one of the best in my life. And those moments wouldn’t have been so special if we weren’t also competing in one of the most grueling sporting events…and I’ll touch on those in my next blog, World Cup Musings Part 4.2: The Games…and stuff.

World Cup Musings Part 3: Long Camp

Long camp was a grind. To say that I’ve never experienced anything like it wouldn’t exactly be accurate, but it was its own monster. I’ve been through four preseasons for a division one college basketball team, and each was its own monster, as is 7s residency, especially when leading up to the first tournament of the World Series. However, long camp was a sort-of combination of each of these, with its own elements churned in.

Camp kicked off with Navy Seal training in Coronado, CA. That would be a taste of what was in store for us during the month of July. In the arid Chula Vista heat, we dug our spikes into the dirt and put our noses to the rugby grindstone for four weeks. The long camp tested our fitness, our strength, our mettle. The goal with these long camps and preseasons is to prepare the body and mind for competition. To do this, you condition in extremes. You push your boundaries far enough so that hopefully, no matter what comes up, in competition you won’t meet them again, and if you do, you know how to push further. Or at least that is the heroic ideal. The truth is, it's a hellish grueling process, with a healthy dose of fulfillment.

A typical day consisted of a gym session, a practice preview (including film most days), a morning practice, a snack/lunch break and an afternoon/evening practice. Sometimes there were three practice sessions, sometimes no gym, sometimes only gym and one practice, sometimes a team bonding event—it varied, but most of the time we had three sessions and some sort of meeting and/or film. Usually, we were at the center for about 7ish hours, and we trained 5-6 days a week.

We also lived with one another—not in one large house, but in small groups divided among apartments. Of course, sharing space with others comes with its own problems, but I believe it made long camp easier for me (despite having to pick up behind Catie Benson…heart you Benny). For the duration of long camp, I lived in the Tight 5 House (plus Perry). It was myself and our courageous captain, Tiff, in one room, Benson and Kuno in another, and Perry and Nick James in the third room.

I’ve given you the rundown of a typical training day. Our days were much more than training. I still had my job, though I had cut my hours a good deal. Others had jobs as well. Some had school work, and others worked remotely. At one point, Nick James flew back home to fulfill coaching obligations in the Lone Star State.

Most mornings I woke up early and did yoga while Tiff worked in her section of our “office” in the living room. We had coffee and some great chats (sometimes over Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence”…you know, “Hello Darkness, my old friend”). Then off to breakfast. I sometimes stayed a while longer, ate at home and had some mindfulness time. Then off to training, with work afterward.

Side note: In addition to the team and staff, we had some family join us along the way. Family and partners came to visit during the week of the USA v. WPL match and continued to stop by. It was a welcome distraction to the rigorous monotony of training. We also had Pete’s little girl, Penny, motivating us (she liked the forwards best, because we fed her).

Usually, I’d come home from work around 9-9:30 and find a house full, most playing cards. Mata would have a plate full of watermelon and Tiff would be talking smack at the card table. Nick would occasionally break from cards to pour a glass of sweet tea from one of those plastic gallon pitchers, and Benson would be recording most of it on some sort of social media outlet. At one point, during camp we drew up a family history. I’ll give you guys my side of the family tree (apparently, I get around).

We’d usually have a day off on the weekend, and I’d set up my work schedule so that I was off on our off day. Sometimes, we’d visit the beach, and sometimes go to the farmer’s market, where we’d sample everything and sweet talk the cheesecake guy into giving us a deal on mini cheesecakes. And there were cookies. At one point along the way, I bought a poncho along with my good buddy, Bulou. 

That's the short of long camp, the jist, the all-in-all. That may seem monotonous, but there were plenty of mini adventures, little shenanigans, and lifelong memories (god I’m dripping with clichés). And when it was done, we’d only get to do it over again in Ireland. What’s that saying, “when one door closes, there’s a window open”…or “the door’s not locked”…or something. Kidding. World Cup would be open door around the corner, and really guys, I don’t know how I could ever fit that experience into a blog. We’ll see…