Sidelines: From the Euro2013 Sidelines

This article originally appeared in the September Issue of Our Game Magazine. Subscribe now.

[Sidelines] The marathon season of Damallsvenskan requires that we report for preseason at the onset of the new year amid raging, bitter cold ...and finish just prior to the year-end holiday season, our final matches dusted in fresh white snowflakes. For the last two years there has been a two-month hiatus mid-season, in 2012 for the London Olympics and in 2013 for the EUROs in Sweden. During this season’s cessation, I spent the latter part traveling throughout the country to five different arenas to watch seven games and nine different teams compete in this exciting and prestigious tournament. And despite the nagging sensation – I WANT TO PLAY—I can say that I enjoyed the change of perspective from the pitch to the sideline.

As an athlete I’ve been told many times that the moment that I cross over the paint onto the pitch I must leave everything else behind me... and again when the match ends...I should...well... “leave it on the pitch.” Still, at an elite level, football becomes not only a source of income, but also a social circle, a source of pride, a vehicle for aspirations, and even a home. Hard as I try, the sport seems to transcend all demarcations. In many ways, I embrace this border-free lifestyle. The skills I’ve honed over the 20 years of my football career concerning technique, tactics, group dynamics, and training have simultaneously taught me about autonomy, confidence, problem solving, perseverance, and the pursuit of happiness. Again and again, I am reminded that soccer is, simply put, “the game of life.” And from this perspective, I refuse to “leave it on the field.”

From the stands as I watched Europe’s best football teams compete nation versus nation, it struck me that perhaps a without- boundary-embrace of the game happens on a much larger level. Each country’s style of football became vivid as if I were watching different styles of dance, and each squad seemed to move in a unique rhythm. I couldn’t help but notice that a national team’s tempo and strength reflects the culture of the very country in which it was born.

Football is self-expression. Like food, art, and dance, it is a microcosm of society: dramatizing the social order as well as the culture of its people. These teams from different nations reflect the varied virtues, vices, and priorities of the country. As I watched Spain versus Russia, France versus England, and Norway versus Germany, I observed the collision of cultures and witnessed their unique displays of patriotism manifested through sport.

American soccer epitomizes this connection between sport and society. In the land of the American dream—rags to riches through hard work—it only makes sense that the football culture centers on mental toughness, physical prowess, and dogged persistence. I would describe both American soccer and American society as highly competitive, tenacious and expedient. Like pursuing the American dream itself, the USWNT sustains a fast paced, high-intensity game throughout the match -- a pace, I might add, that few other nations can match.

At the risk of over generalizing, the USA celebrates success at the finish line, in contrast to Spain, which takes more time to celebrate the way. Known for Flamenco music and dance, bullfights, sunny beaches, and Sangria, the passionate, close-knit people of España live festival- style just about every day. I witnessed this first hand my junior year of college as I

spent winter quarter studying in Madrid. We have a running joke in my house about “Spanish time” as the rest of us wait on my Spanish roommates, sometimes hours, after practice as they stretch, talk, and shower shockingly slowly. During the EUROs, the Spanish Women’s National Team demonstrated their appreciation for the game’s beauty and nuances, as they tiki-taka’ed the ball up the field with all the creativity, freedom, and passion of a festival. Spanish football was born and nurtured on the streets, where there is an authentic and ever-present love for the beautiful game. And, although I am well aware that the USA appreciates the beautiful game and Spain does play to win, there is a notable stylistic difference on the pitch.

In contrast, Swedes describe their lifestyle with a word unequivocal in English: lagom. Over the last year and a half in Sweden, I have surmised that lagom means enough, adequate, just right, in moderation, in balance, optimal, and suitable. Lagom suggests the feeling of appropriateness, where in similar circumstances, we Americans tend to use words like “average,” which carries a connotation of mediocrity. Within the game, lagom comes from an understanding that putting the team first is the best way to reach any goal. In the USA, teams are more often built around star players; playing football in Sweden, however, the whole is valued much more than its parts. As I observed from sold out stands cloaked in yellow and blue, two of Sweden’s EURO matches, the lagom mentality was on fine display. Sweden played with group tactics, team organization, and defined player roles. With lagom, there is room for everyone to share in the successes as well as commiserate in the failures. I watched in admiration when the bench practically stormed the field after every Swedish goal, when the team marched united around the stadium to thank the fans, after their heartbreaking semi-final defeat, and when the newspaper headlines the next day read: “Save Your Tears, We Are So Proud of You.” I was once again reminded of the connection between football and the society of lagom.

Finally, Germany stole the EURO trophy with a disciplined, organized, and consistent style of football. They were not the flashiest of the competitors this year, but for the most part, Germany played minute 90 with the same intensity as minute 1. The Germans conceded just one goal throughout the tournament and squeaked out 1-0 victories in the elimination rounds. In my perspective, their compact and systematic play reflected some of the same qualities associated with the prevailing culture and economy. The German people, like their football, are largely considered a forward-thinking people, who appreciate security, rules, and planned organization. Across the board, the Germans sustain high levels of performance and stability in sports. In football this is made evident by the consistency of the player roster for this tournament. Like the present population of Germany, its women’s national team reflects a diverse yet cohesive set of talents. No, they did not play the most glittery football, but the trophy sure did sparkle.

I started this article by stating that football is so much more than just a game. It transcends the boundaries of the field’s sidelines, reflecting and dramatizing society. While highlighting some of the cultural differences between countries through nuanced stylistic variances, football simultaneously acts as a social union, thus, transcending this very notion, and emphasizing the commonality between all athletes and all people. The moment the whistle blows at the start of the match, the Russians... same as the Swedes... same as the English...same as the Danes entered an even playing field, all dreaming the same dream, ending with the same image: hoisting the Cup amid the golden rain of celebratory confetti before fans and state. 

Mind Matters

[THE PITCH] A sports psychologist once asked me to complete a simple task. He held out his index finger and said, “focus on my finger for one minute.” I directed my eyes to his finger and told myself, “Okay, that’s his finger… that’s his finger… that’s his finger, I wonder why he wants me to focus on his finger? Christen!… that’s his finger… that’s his… which part of his finger am I supposed to be focusing on?” His smug smile confirmed that he made his point. It’s impossible. “Focusing,” he said, “is the process of constantly refocusing.”

I’ve returned to the blog after a month long hiatus from writing… during which we played and tied our rival Damallsvenskan team Malmö, and I attended USWNT camp where we played South Korea and Abby Wambach broke the all-time scoring record.  I went home to California for three weeks, then returned to Sweden for “pre-second-half-of-the-season” which consisted of training while traveling to watch teammates and friends compete in the  Euros...well...I digress...My point here is...I'm back !!!

I think it is only appropriate to dedicate this blog to refocusing.

Vedic meditation demonstrates the same point as the focus-on-my-finger task. While you try in vain to focus on your mantra, distractors—impeding thoughts—creep in and fight for your attention. The point of meditation is to accept these sometimes-stressful thoughts, and by mere acknowledgment and active refocusing , you can strip them of their power to dictate your life. I have been practicing Vedic meditation for 18 months now, and only recently realized its massive implication to my sport.

Long ago I recognized the importance for me to make performance goals – goals that compare me to only me—rather than outcome goals – goals that compare me to others. Performance goals are in my control. Focusing on the things I can control is where I thought I could find my mental strength.

So, on the pitch, when I start to hear the self-doubt in my head that stems from outcome goal anxiety—if I don’t score, [fill in the blank] is going to outscore me or take my spot—I get angry at myself and begin the self chastising. I begin by yelling, "Don’t think about this Christen!” In the middle of all this cacophonous chaos the game is going on. Perhaps I have lost track of my position on the field, of the ball, or my teammates. Trying to coach myself into positive thinking consumes all of my attention, taking it away from the most important task: football.

Yes, of course I want to think positively about myself, especially during a game. I’d pick confidence as the single most important factor for success. But my mistake is the emotional reaction to my natural stress. By not accepting that sometimes I am simply going to have doubts and worries and by getting angry at myself for this, I give power to the negative, and remain distracted from the goal at hand for longer periods of time.

I thought my mental strength resulted from positive thinking. I was wrong. I thought that if I masked my fear and my frustration with louder positive thoughts, I could trick myself. I was wrong. Like the baby Buddha I try to be during my 20-minute twice-daily meditation, I can bring this mindfulness onto the pitch. Repression is not the answer. Acceptance is. My power as an athlete will grow from maximizing my refocusing speed, the same way as my power as a person. Negative thought in my meditation? Deep breath, get back to my mantra. Negative thought in my game? Deep breath, get back in the game!

Riptide.

"Riptide": A Stanford Soccer Story.

This article originally appeared in the college edition of Our Game Magazine in July 2013. 

[Sidelines] “I have failed over and over again in my life and that is why I succeed.” – MJ 

The tide does turn. It has before, but the feeling is somehow different this time. I watch with an eerie indifference as the clock winds down. Tic- toc – tic- toc. A calm washes over me like the final wave. The thought, “This cannot be happening, not again...” is interrupted by the piercing cry of the final whistle. 

What day is it? What year? If someone had told me it was December 2009 I would have believed him. But it’s not 2009, it’s 2010. And this time we aren’t drowning in the Tarheel baby blue under-toe. Instead, the shrill screams of victory are emanating from a sea of Notre Dame deep navy. The fear of this fate—back to back undefeated seasons, only to lose in the National Championship final—made me sick to my stomach for months. But in the fruition of this reoccurring nightmare, I am numb. I must be numb for I feel nothing, not the stiffness in my back nor the fatigue in my legs. 

Just one day earlier we had been deemed the heir apparent to the NCAA National Championship crown, yet today the Stanford University women’s soccer team—my team, my family for the last 4 years, my identity—now lies on the icy hard field in College Station Texas. The cries of the broken aren’t shrill at all. They are low and breathy and haunting.

Once upon a time, my fear of losing made me hate the game. My fear lost me games. I lost the game to hate. And while simultaneously fearing and hating the game, I lost myself.

The college soccer system is an excellent proponent of women’s football. The lure of scholarships gets a lot of girls playing, increasing the competition. Title-9 guarantees opportunities to play at a higher level. And the college environment brings top-notch resources (unmatched by any women’s professional environment I’ve seen), fans, and the competitive culture of deep-rooted rivalries. Yes, it was a fantastic experience; and also not a wonder why it felt like winning and losing were life and death. 

Overtime, I’ve learned that the stories that aren't often told are the ones most worth telling. The stories that begin when the cameras shut off and the reporters walk away, leaving the athletes on the field, some to pick up the equipment, and all to pick up the pieces. The stories that appear to be about losing something, well, they are really stories about finding something… finding oneself. Because, when the bright lights go off, another light comes on. While you’ve read the story about me falling down, I lived a different story about getting back up.

For as long as I can remember, I have overlooked the ocean. It is home. I watched it appear from the thick gray fog in the morning and disappear in a warm orange glow at dusk. In the winter I can observe its dramatic ebb and flow from my parent’s balcony, and in the summer, though calmer, I know that it rolls in and out in a natural rhythm. 

Like me, the ocean is always moving and always changing as a result of its surrounding elements. But more specifically, I connect with the waves because they are the way I want to be: resilient. Storm after storm, they crash and break against the cliff rocks but are not diminished. The ocean does not hate or fear the wind and the moon. It thrives on these elements. After the waves have been pulled and strained and sucked down by the tides, they form again. I have observed the waves of the Pacific breaking and rebuilding for years from the cliffs by my house, but I never realized I was watching the soul of a great athlete. 

I can remember so clearly how I felt on that cold, winter night at College Station. I wipe my face and look upward. I am still alive. I know because my heart beats hard and I choke on every breath. Losing has taken a chunk out of me, but somehow left me more whole. I stand with my team in a circle that lies somewhere between despair and hope. And with our arms linked we transcend the pain of loss. Somewhere under all the hurt, we can feel that we are on the brink of beautiful. There is something magical about being so close to teammates... it gives us a reason to carry on…to keep striving. 

So much is made available to the young player because of college athletics. While learning and honing the game, we learn and hone important life skills. Over the course of our college careers, the physical, technical, and tactical improvements, which the outside world judges and rates, sometimes overshadow the subtler yet more valuable changes in our maturity and character. The former list will surely garner the accolades, but the latter will carry you through life.  Losing is a part of life. But it’s up to you how big a role you give it, and  your choice will set your life’s stage.

“It took me a long time to realize that there ain't much difference between winnin' and losin', except for how the outside world treats you. But inside you, it's about all the same. It really is. Fact of the matter is, I believe that our only curses are the ones that are self-imposed. You know what I'm sayin'? We, all of us, dig our own holes.” – Friday Night Lights

Very Superstitious!

Very Superstitious!: The role of rituals in sport.

This article originally appeared in the June 2013 edition of Our Game Magazine.

[Sidelines] When I was 12 years old, a close friend of my family gave me a small glass elephant that gently flickered when the light hit it just right. I kept it safely tucked away inside my soccer backpack. Soon after, when we set out on a long car ride to play the first round of State Cup—let me add here that if someone in our household mentioned State Cup back then, you might have thought they were talking about the World Cup—I pulled the elephant out hoping to get lost in the kaleidoscopic diversion. My mom caught a glimpse of its sparkle in the rear view mirror…and I’m pretty sure I caught a glimmer of panic in her eye. She asked to examine my elephant so I handed it over. It seems, she explained, that elephant figurines like mine, with their trunks turned down, are actually bad luck. And before I could say “I’d rather be lucky than good,” she promptly rolled down the window and sent it flying into a gully.

What sphere of life arouses otherwise intelligent human beings to hold on to such bizarre superstitions as does sports? I can’t quite understand it. I adhere to them, like salt over the right shoulder, and avoid them, like the dreaded crossing black cat…but I’m not sure just why.
I am sure that it was 1993 when I became superstitious. Every day…countless times a day… I would play this game with myself: In the spur of a moment, I would come up with a personal challenge—if I can stop that ball before it crosses the line… if I can jump over 3 cracks on the street… if I can swim to shore in the next minute—I’ll win the national championship with my club team Slammers FC. Soon, I was swimming so fast and hopping so far I was nearly out of breath and clearly ready for my triathlon, when fate left its calling card. I still have the slip of paper from a Panda Express fortune cookie that I opened before the finals of Southern Cal State Cup. It reads, “A tropical destination is in your near future.” Low and behold…Far West Regionals were in Hawaii that year.
For sure, none of those mini challenges affected the outcome of the State Cup games, but, when the next check comes, I might advice not to throw out those pre-sealed, sugary, albeit stale, fortune cookies.

Today in the House of Happiness, matches do not pass by discreetly. Game days are marked by florescent yellow nail polish, Meghan’s GAME DAY neon tee shirt, and Kristina Maria’s “Our Song” on full volume, windows down, voices up, hair flipping everywhere.
It’s common for a man to not shave his beard throughout the playoffs…for luck. It’s common knowledge that Michael Jordan wore his UNC shirt under his Bull’s jersey…for luck. Cristiano Ronaldo never shoots towards the goal in his pregame warm up because he dare not “waste the goals.” And don’t even think about messing with the USWNT seating arrangements on the bus.Although some rituals are downright dirty…like a former teammate who refused to wash her sports bra. Some are quite pure…like those, rooted in a team’s legend, which involve kissing a picture of the Virgin Mary before every match. When I asked my teammates/housemates their thoughts on the subject, Verónica Boquete confessed to hopping with both feet before crossing the line onto the pitch before each game. She hops with both feet at the same time because, obviously, she doesn’t want one foot to feel left behind and jealous. As for Meghan , she admits that she used to have a specific order to putting on every garment, after which she would tap her shin guards twice, stand up, and turn once to the right. But that sounds less like superstition and more like obsessive-compulsive behavior.And, since we are all coming clean here…every morning before the game, I go out to the field and take 21 shots. If a field is not available to me, then I sit on my bed with the door closed and all the lights off, visualizing myself at the field taking 21 shots. Hmm, if I deferr to the wisdom of CR himself, then I wonder just how many goals I have left in the back of my pillow…On the other hand, USWNT teammate Yael Averbuch told me, “I try to avoid them [superstitious behaviors]. Because, to be honest, once I believe something like that it'll make me go crazy.”

But is it really craziness? It’s hard to watch sports. It’s hard to watch someone you love take on a formidable opponent with no way to help. For fans, superstition serves as a channeled vehicle to feel a sense of control. Rally caps fall under this form of craziness. As for us athletes… perhaps it is because sports, and especially football, seem to be controlled as much by luck and fortune as they are by talent or skill. In our desire to achieve, it can seem like, all too often, the ball rolls the wrong way…hits the post…was out of the view of the ref …the list goes on and on. Wouldn’t it be nice sometimes just to hold your fate in your own hand…your right hand of course…and an elephant in the other hand…with his trunk turned upward. J

Still, years later, when I look back at my wrinkly old fortune sitting next to my youth soccer national championship medal, I am still in awe of its power. Not power to predict the future, but its power to affect it. If believing is achieving, then maybe there is more to superstition than we give credit.I was 14 when I succumbed to superstition. I am 24 today. Ten years later, I try everyday to be my own fortune cookie, my own college undershirt, and my own play-off beard. And I do so through positive self talk. Yogi Berra once said, “Ninety percent of the game is half mental…” Pumping myself up with positive self-talk is the most powerful and effective tool I can use. It is the process of crafting superstitious self-fulfilling prophecies. Unfortunately these little mantras don’t keep quiet during my matches. Last week was not the first time I’ve heard a defender on the opposing team ask if I’m crazy as they see me mouthing and gesturing to myself on the field. Oh well… Muhammed Ali said, “I told myself I was the greatest long before I knew I actually was.” That little bit of trust that we feel inside because of our rituals, that instant of hope found in our superstition, that moment we imagine how success feels after our “little lie”… is added power. And perhaps that power…that magic… is an edge. And at the very least, our superstitious rituals and behaviors help us cope and manage our fears…

“Fear, to a great extent, is born of a story we tell ourselves, and so I chose to tell myself a different story from the one women are told. I decided I was safe. I was strong. I was brave. Nothing could vanquish me. Insisting on this story was a form of mind control, but for the most part, it worked. Fear begets fear. Power begets power. I willed myself to beget power. And it wasn’t long before I actually wasn’t afraid.” – Cheryl Strayed in WILD.

The Calm.

[THE PITCH] You are enjoying fine food and fine company at a spring picnic when suddenly you realize the wind has stopped blowing. It’s eerily quiet… As if someone has turned off the soundtrack of whistling winds, chirping birds, and even rustling leaves. It’s calm… And in that moment of silence all that exists is a collective consciousness among cohorts…Not a cloud in the sky above…Hmmm…Instinctively you gather your belongings…A storm is coming.

The old adage “the calm before the storm” has been used for decades. Many believe it’s merely a wives tale or a myth, stemming from a sailor’s fabricated sixth sense. But we know now that under the right conditions, an unnerving calm can indeed befall the scene just before a system moves in. And the pressure from this storm-precursor is as real as it is perceivable. 

Two weeks ago after our 1-1 draw with Mallbackens IF (a team lingering on the bottom half of the Damallsvenskan table), a few players from our team stayed behind after the game. Caught deep in thoughts…It was quiet. The soundtrack of whistling referees, chirping coaches , and even the rustling crowd…stifled. It was calm… And in that moment of silence all that existed was a unanimous feeling of frustration made visible on the faces of my ‘coworkers.’ I look up to check for clouds. Clear skies. That’s strange… because I feel the storm coming.

As far as Mother Nature goes, a storm’s upward drafts suck up a tremendous amount of vapor and heat. The air swoops upward, compresses, and then cycles back down from above, but warmer and drier. The now more stable air forms a blanket over the lower troposphere, acting as a temporary shield, preventing more air from entering the storm clouds, and producing what we know as “the calm before the storm.”

What is more curious to me, however, is that if not for this cyclical and counter-intuitive process, the clouds would not have enough energy to storm at all.  And that much I can understand. If you’re an athlete, you are probably familiar with the feeling of anxious restlessness after a loss. Not every loss is like this, as sometimes you leave the field feeling flat. However in this case, the “loss” actually came in the form of an unacceptable tie; and as we stepped off the pitch after the Mallbacken debacle knowing we can do better, we were of collective consciousness and our mind was already at the next game: our chance for redemption.

The result both emotionally and physically exhausted us… sucking up our vapor and heat… I used one shaking hand to steady the other as my teammate clenched her jaw to suppress her anger… the air swoops up and compresses… and yet our hearts pumped and our muscles tensed…cycling back down…Regardless of its many and varied manifestations, the forecast was clear. A new energy was among us…a force …a disturbance of sorts. For then, we made it rain…

[Stoppage Time] The Storm.

Tyresö FF 1 – Mallbackens IF 1

Tyresö FF 10 – Sunnanå SK 2

Tyresö FF 7 – Jitex BK 0

RFL,