With the World Cup being here in the US this year, I am reminded why I fell in love with the game. Let me be clear–I don’t need reminding why I stayed in love with it–just what got me here in the first place.

I remember being 9 years old in 1994 and seeing grown men show pure, raw, genuine emotion. Elation. Desperation. Agony. Disappointment. To the fullest. I can still see the Brazilian players embracing and celebrating… and then, Roberto Baggio’s face, after he missed the PK. It has been engrained in my soul since. 

For the next 20 years, I had a picture of him hanging on my wall. Not because he was the hero–but because he failed. He failed in front of the whole world and it destroyed him. He carried the burden of letting down an entire country. I saw the look in his eyes and I felt it, how heavy it was. I knew then–I wanted my life to be filled with all the good I saw him do at the World Cup, even if it came along with some of the bad. I knew I could face the bad too.

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Yesterday at the wake, I heard someone say “are all these people are here for Janet” I’m sorry I don’t remember who asked, but I thought to myself, of course they are.

You see, when you give so much of yourself to so many people, it’s a simple decision to go pay your respects. Everyone who was there yesterday, everyone who is here today has been touched in some way by this incredible woman.

Throughout my youth playing career, I was superstitious and quirky, as my mom says.

My siblings thought I was crazy to be outside training as much as I was, watching VHS tapes of old World Cups, jumping at any chance to guest play for teams, unable to understand why I couldn’t find more people to play with (this would be the story of my life apparently).

One of the stranger habits I can remember was actually after games. My family always wanted to go out to eat. They had just sat through what usually was a long drive, a warmup and a full game and so they were hungry.

In the instant that the ball reaches a player’s feet, I’m desperately searching for a way to get it from them. It’s a vulnerable situation. I start shouting. And running toward them. I want what they have.

“Yes, yes, yes.”

As an adult, (a real one now) I see that we give young people a lot of mixed messages. I’m guilty of it myself.

We tell them to not waste opportunities. To take their goals and dreams seriously. We tell them to work hard and train more and be dedicated. We also tell them to rest, not overdo it, not over-train, to be kids and enjoy life.

At some point, the messages have to be confusing. Are we promoting balance? Or are we promoting being the best they can be in a given area? Is there a right or wrong thing to promote? Can you do both?

I’m in a unique position.

And I can see it very clearly every day how unique it is.

While on staff at Yale, the coaches gather after training and talk about the session. Their hands in their pockets, looking over at the players, it’s clear they have analysis and suggestions for one another.

The players are doing partner stretching as part of their cool down after training. They’re engrossed in conversations about everything and anything and don’t even acknowledge the coaches.

I watch from the bench as a member of some sort of purgatory world that many have lived in before, seeing both at the same time.

So, I just sit there and watch. Realizing that I don’t fully fit in either group (yet or anymore).

Back in December, I was grappling with the idea of continuing my career as a professional soccer player or retiring. I’m 35 years old, and “retire” is a word that means something very different than what it means for most people who throw it around.

Here’s a typical conversation I have with my knees:

“We’re going to do this again, okay?”

“No, we really don’t think it’s a good…”

“Okay, great, thanks for your input.”

When my former coach Brian Sørenson called me about playing for a club in Denmark this season, I had to really convince my knees it would be okay.