U.S. Women's Soccer Ace Mia Hamm with Erskine
student athlete Sue Kahrs at the 1996 Olympics
Erskine
Athlete Reflects on Recent World Cup Win
by
Sue Kahrs
Class of 2000
EDITOR'S NOTE: The following article
appeared in the July 18, 1999, edition of the Greenwood
Index-Journal. Sue Kahrs is a rising senior
English major at Erskine who works part-time as a
staff writer for the Greenwood newspaper and is a
regular contributor to Erskine NetNews and Inside
Erskine.
I watched the 1999 Women's World Cup, but not from
the enthusiastic national bandwagon that followed the
U.S. team through its breakthrough moment, capturing
the spotlight the way the WNBA, the X-Gamers and even
the men's national soccer team has been trying to do.
My perspective was different. I have felt we were
on the verge of greatness for a while.
We.
I associate with these players almost as if we
played on the same team.
Maybe it is because I play soccer at Erskine
College and have always followed women's soccer.
Maybe it is because I worked the women's soccer venue
during the 1996 Olympics in my hometown of Athens,
Ga., and watched this same U.S. team take the gold.
Maybe it is because during those games I met Mia Hamm
and all I could do was hold my breath and try to tell
her in the span of 30 seconds everything she had done
for me.
We were on the verge of greatness, and before the
final game against China I reflected on what it had
taken to get here.
Women soccer players will tell you there is
nothing attractive about a shin-guard tan-line or a
collection of different color bruises that seem to
move around but never go away. We take pictures of
our bruises, compare marks on our skin made by the
ball, cleats, or a well-placed elbow, and show them
off like battle scars. Scars from battles fought
quietly all over the United States by us young female
soccer players training without role models like
Favre or Jordan, Woods or McGwire.
Until now.
I have learned that soccer is a game that requires
imagination. We are all quarterbacks. When the
whistle blows we are free to do whatever we want
within the rules of the game. In a span of ninety
minutes it is a physical and mental duel of emotion
and imagination in which a single flick of the head
or toe-poke can change the motion of the game.
When I was a freshman at Erskine I was fortunate
enough to win a starting position as the left outside
halfback. My job is to cover the transition from
offense to defense, and vice versa. On average, as I
track the 120-yard field during a game, I run the
equivalent of about four miles. In 90 minutes I might
touch the ball for about two minutes –just 120
seconds.
That's less time than it takes a football team to
run one play. It is that two minutes a game that I
head hundreds of balls for, lift weights for, and run
sprints for. And in that two minutes, I expect to be
perfect.
In the hours of practice that consume a normal
week for me as a soccer player at Erskine, I often
picture the repetitive headers and touches as
game-winners, and worthy of a spot on the U.S.
National Team. Even on the Division II level there is
a feeling of camaraderie with the national team
heroes.
That is because many women soccer players have an
immediate connection, an unwritten understanding that
says, "I know what it's like to play a game at
12 noon in August." Or, "I know the feel of
a ball on soft leather cleats."
And now we can add, “I know what it feels
like to win.”
My excitement about our World Cup finals game
against China was matched only by the excitement I
felt my freshman year at Erskine when we were in the
semifinals of the Carolinas-Virginia Athletic
Conference Tournament matched against our biggest
conference soccer rival – Belmont Abbey College.
The game was tied 2-2 at the end of regulation,
and the rules state that there are two fifteen-minute
overtime periods to decide the win. If neither team
is ahead at the end of this time, the game would go
to penalty kicks, similar to what would be played out
in the World Cup finals.
Both teams scored in the first overtime to tie the
game 3-3. In the final overtime period, seconds
ticked away slowly and turned into minutes as the two
teams battled in what could be a season-ending
defeat.
With just over a minute to play, I received a pass
from the defense, and attempted a shot with my right
foot from about 30 yards out. But I miss-hit the
ball.
My errant shot turned into a far-post cross, and
there waiting for the cross was our left forward
Bromley Whitt, a strong senior player who had made it
clear to her teammates over her career that she did
not like headers.
I will never forget the look of fear on her face
as the ball came closer. But Bromley's competitive
spirit took over. She closed her eyes and the ball
glanced off of her forehead and into the goal. And
that was all it took.
The clock stopped at 13:53. Though we lost in the
finals that year we had tasted victory. That taste
culminated in a return trip to the conference
championship game my sophomore year, which we won,
capping a 15-2-1 season, the finest mark in Erskine
history.
But as the World Cup finals approached, from my
perspective, the rival was China, and the desire to
win just as strong.
Every bruise and every mark was worth it when the
World Cup was won on penalty kicks. Every minute of
every practice meant something more.
We won. My heroes have become household
names. And we are not on the verge of greatness
anymore.
