Brandi Chastain - Its Not About the Bra: Play Hard, Play Fair, and Put the Fun Back Into Competitive Sports

Offers the parents and the coaches of young players sensible advice, advice that was so often forgotten as youth soccer exploded on the American landscape.

New York Times

Chastains book will appeal to all parents.

San Jose Mercury News

Emphasizes teamwork, sportsmanship, leadership and community service.

Tampa Tribune

To my parents, Lark and Roger, who gave me the game, their support, and, most important, their love

My thanks to my family, because they are the reason that I started this lifetime quest of soccer excellence; to all my coaches, who at some point saw my potential, and then had the patience to deal with me; to the many wonderful teachers whove lit a fire; to my little brother Chad, who played 1 v 1 with me in the hallway; to Cameron, who helps me continue doing what I love every day, which is challenging myself to be a great player and stepmom; to my teammates, (and especially my fellow 91ers, Julie, Mia, Joy, and Lil), who make me realize that greatness comes through hard work, dedication, and laughter; to my agents, John Courtright and Josh Schwartz, for having the courage and vision to dedicate time to a girl who only plays soccer, and who helped give her a face and a voice; to Dr. Michael Dillingham, for putting me back together through multiple surgeries, and to my physical therapist, Ron Kaminski at the MORE clinic, whos motto of just five more reminds me that I always have extra to give; to my buddy Doc (Dr. Joan Oloff-Solomon), who kept nudging me to write this book; to our editors, David Hirshey, whose passion for the sport has resulted in numerous wonderful soccer books, and Jay Papasan, fellow soccer lover, who helped give birth to this book and his son at the same time; to every young kid I have worked with, or will work with, because they are the future of my passion; to Gloria, because she believes that the game of soccer deserves a platform, and that I am a person who is worthy of spreading the message of teamwork, sportsmanship, and competition. And last but never least, to my husband, Jerry, the coach who all those years ago overcame my stubbornness, broke down my walls, and continues to help me find the best in myself as a playeryoure always in my heart and in my mind. I am forever indebted to all of you, because through you I am becoming the person I aspire to be. All my love.

They call me Hollywood. I guess my friends and teammates feel the name fits. I was part of that historic day for American womens soccer, July 10, 1999, whenafter ninety minutes of white-knuckled but scoreless play and two overtimesthe United States defeated a tough and talented Chinese team in penalty kicks to win the Womens World Cup. I took the final penalty kick in that game. Youve seen the photo of the moment after: Im the one on my knees, my face a mask of excitement and ecstasy, my arms flexed, my shirt held up in celebration. And yesIm wearing a black sports bra.

How did I know this moment would be so revered? How could I know that image would make the cover of Time, Newsweek, Sports Illustrated, and countless newspapers across the country; that eventually Id be seen jumping for joy on a box of Wheaties next to that famous The Breakfast of Champions slogan; that Id mix it up on Late Night with David Letterman, participate in game shows like Jeopardy, or become a commentator on television sports? Who could have imagined all of this?

The truth is Ive had the name Hollywood longer than Ive had that sports bra. I got the nickname in 1996, when our press officer, Aaron Heifetz, was asking my teammate Julie Foudy questions for her team bio. Under the category of favorite actress, Julie listed: Brandi Chastain. What are you talking about? everyone asked her. You know, everything is so dramatic with Brandi. Shes so Hollywood, she replied.

Foudy, the teams resident comedienne, gives nicknames to everyone and everythingfrom the car you drive to the house you live in. It just doesnt feel right without a name, she says. Mia Hamm, the highest goal scorer in the history of professional soccer, has become Booter, while hard-nosed defender Joy Fawcett now answers to the uncharacteristically sweet handle of Joyful. Most recently, Foudy christened our Olympic residency Villa Viejas (house of the old ladies). Whatever you call it, this little home is where the veteran National Team players are living as we prepare for the 2004 Games. In a small bit of payback, we call Julie Loudy Foudy.

Does Hollywood define me? I guess it does. I like to think it goes without saying that I take pride in the technical aspects of the game, in my ability to finesse a ball through the midfield, bend a free kick on goal, back heel a pass to a teammate on the run, or even clear a dangerous ball from the back line with a bicycle kick. But more to the point, I like to play the game with flair. I try to put the act back in action, you might say. So, especially after my genuine but now notorious celebration, the nickname is likely to stick.

If you think about it, there is a little Hollywood built into the game of soccer. The playacting that goes into dramatizing a foul or playing innocent when youre the one who did the fouling is part gamesmanship. And then theres the never let them see you sweat aspect thats a feature of all competition. When youre down late in the game or have just made a major goof, you have to act strong so that in the eyes of your teammates, you are a warrior. Then, they can draw from your strength and you can take from theirs. And as nervous as you may be, you try never to give another player, especially the opposition, the impression of your doubt.

That was a prominent thought for me on the day of that Womens World Cup final. When it came my turn at that PK (penalty kick) spot, I didnt want to let the Chinese goalkeeper, Gao Hong, feel she had one up on me. She had psyched me out earlier in the year in a game when I looked up before taking a penalty kick and caught her eye; meeting her gaze rattled me and my shot dinged off the crossbar. We ended up losing that game 21. Not this time.

At the end of that scoreless World Cup final, when the whole team walked to the center circle before the five people from each team were chosen to take the penalty kicks, we were physically and emotionally exhausted, having played 120 minutes of soccer in the intense sun. In the break before the PKs, we wore iced towels on our heads and stretched to keep our legs from seizing up from dehydration. On the field there was no breeze, no reliefthe Rose Bowl was like an oversized oven. I remember my feet felt as if they had actually melted into my cleats. I kept a brave face, praying that when it was my turn, I wouldnt go into spasm.

I didnt even know what number kicker I was. As one after the other of my teammates took her turn, I clicked off the numbers. Okay, Im not number one, two, or three. Then the fourth player went, so I realized, Fine, Im last.

As I stood awaiting my turn, I shook off as much of my anxiety as I could. This was just like practice, I told myself. I thought of the countless penalty kicks Id taken in practice sessions, after our goalkeepers were retired for the day, when Michelle Akers and I would keep on shooting on our equipment manager, Dainis Kalnins. But facing the Chinese keeper, I made one small adjustment; unlike my last encounter with her, there was no way Id look her in the eyes again. My confidence got a boost when Briana Scurry, our goalkeeper, blocked the third Chinese penalty kick. That meant my shot could win the game. If I missed, wed face another round of penalty kicks instead of defeat. I let out a deep breath and felt as calm and still inside as the amazing quiet that blanketed the more than ninety thousand people in the stadium for this final kick.

A penalty kick is as much a mental challenge as a physical one. The shooter is only twelve yards out and has such an advantage that the keeper rarely has time to react to a well-struck ball. As often as not, the keeper watches the shooters footwork; makes an educated guess as to whether she is shooting left, right, or center; and commits just as the shot is taken. No one really expects a keeper to save a PK, so she has nothing to lose. All the mental pressure weighs on the shooter.