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Latest News U.S. women are singing in the reign Scurry: I may have bent the rules
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ON SOCCER
The US women's soccer team had been living, practicing, eating, playing, traveling, laughing, weeping, bonding together all year. And now, win or lose, it was over. Twenty women who had vowed to take two fillings for each other would be taking their gold or silver medals and going back to husbands, children, boyfriends, jobs, lives. ''It dawned on us,'' Scurry said, ''that we might never have this group together again.''
National teams are like infantry platoons. They're made up of people from Huntington Beach, Calif., and Altamonte Springs, Fla., and North Andover, Mass., who are thrown together in close quarters for months and through the alchemy of stress and a common goal are bound like blood relatives. Then, when the tournament is over, they shake hands and head for different ZIP codes.
The Babes of Summer are history. They never will play in another World Cup. Some of them, perhaps most of them, will be back for another go in 2003. But not all of them. They can't even be together at next summer's Olympics in Sydney if they want to be. The Olympic rosters allow for only 16 players, not 20. ''So we know we won't have the same group,'' Scurry says.
They may not even have the same coach. Tony DiCicco has been with the squad since 1991 and has been head man for six years. He has a wife and four sons, one of whom will be graduating from high school next year. How much longer can he be a gypsy with a whistle?
''My 7-year-old asked me, when are you going to get a new job?'' DiCicco was saying, even before the tournament began last month. ''As much as I love this job, there's a price I'm paying. Some days it seems worthwhile. And some days it doesn't.''
What else is there to win? What else is there to prove? Seven of the players have won two world titles. Most of them have an Olympic gold medal. How many trophy cases do they need to fill?
Michelle Akers has been playing since 1985, when the ragtag Americans were sewing numerals on hand-me-down men's jerseys. She's had a dozen knee surgeries, countless concussions, and has been fighting chronic fatigue syndrome for eight years. She had to be helped off the field before the final was over and was hooked up to an IV when her teammates were getting their medals. How much more can she take?
Kristine Lilly, the Queen of Caps, already has set the world record for international appearances. Does she want to go for 200? 250? Joy Fawcett has a 5-year-old and a 2-year-old. Will she want to pull them out of school to have them travel with her again? Mia Hamm already has scored more goals than any woman in history. Wouldn't she rather sharpen up her short game and join the LPGA?
The national team isn't what it was when the Americans won their first Cup eight years ago. It was still a volunteer fire department then, getting together just before big tournaments, then disbanding. They played only two matches in 1992. They'll probably be playing two dozen before the Olympics.
Once the flurry of parades and banquets and appearances is done, once they've grabbed what's left of summer with their families, the players will be back in camp preparing for the US Cup in early October. There's talk of a `gender equity' tour that would take them to South Africa, to Egypt, to the Middle East. There's a winter trip Down Under for three matches with the Australians, the Algarve Cup in Portugal in March, another trip Down Under for a pre-Olympic tournament, probably a ''road to Sydney'' barnstorming tour in the States, then the Summer Games.
Not all these players will volunteer to be on the bus that never stops rolling. Not all will be asked. All they knew, in the Rose Bowl on Saturday, was that they could count on one more game together. And only one.
''So all the emotions came out,'' Whalen, the Natick-born defender, was saying. ''After all we've been through together for so long. We were crying before the game. We were crying at halftime. And we were crying after the game.''
The Americans were celebrating and mourning while trying to hold on to a moment that seemed to be moving at warp speed. They just had been through a scoreless grinder of a final. They had gone to overtime, then to penalty kicks. They had seen Scurry make a save, seen Brandi Chastain drill the winner home. Then they were having gold medals draped around their necks, were taking a victory lap with Old Glory, were talking to a gazillion notebooks and cameras. ''I don't remember anything that just happened,'' Tisha Venturini was saying.
It was that way for the Boys of Winter at Lake Placid in 1980. They beat the Soviets, they won the gold medal, they went to the White House, and suddenly they were saying goodbye to each other. ''It's over, Jack,'' Dave Silk said to Jack O'Callahan. And then Silk began to cry.
The Babes of Summer already have been crying and they haven't gotten to the White House yet. ''I'll probably have post-excitement syndrome,'' Scurry was saying. ''Be totally depressed for the next three months.''
Scurry felt that way three years ago, after the Olympic platoon scattered. Most of them came back for another mission this summer, but not all of them. Most of them will be back in Sydney. But this team, these 20 women with two silver fillings and one gold medal, never will wear a jersey again. The Babes of Summer are history.
This story ran on page D1 of the Boston Globe on 07/12/99.
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ASADENA, Calif. - They were sitting in their Rose Bowl locker room before Saturday's World Cup final, getting ready to face the Chinese in front of 90,000 people, when Sara Whalen turned to Briana Scurry. ''I'm sad,'' Whalen told her. ''This is the last game. This is it.''