Some people have tattoos, some have a posse, others have crazy jewelry. Nickerson has her hair. Since her first practice with the U.S. Under-17 team—when she showed up sporting an electric blue ponytail—up to and including the present day, Kathleen Nickerson has dyed her hair every color of the rainbow and beyond. Mostly she prefers solid colors. But sometimes she’ll have stripes. The world has yet to see her attempt polka dots, but who knows? Soccer paparazzi eat it up, kids with indulgent parents copy her color of the season, and rumor has it the hair has both a Facebook account and Twitter feed.
I have the sense her hair has kept her more in the public eye than she would like, but she’s been doing it so long she now cannot escape the monster created in her teens. Also, after she and Allerton led the US to Olympic Gold in 2008, Nike made a series of brilliant commercials with the pair. The ads played off Allerton’s ebullience, Nickerson’s reticence, and, of course, the hair, and were a huge success for all involved. Kathleen Nickerson took the money, lived with the fame, and made sure the hair continued to change shades and be a source of conversation. She also continues to be the best goalkeeper in the world, no argument. She once went an entire YEAR without allowing an opposing goal, and I swear half her popularity is because of, not in spite of, her endless capacity to say “no comment” to any and all media.
She is, in fact, responsible for hooking me on women’s soccer. After the 2008 Olympics gold-medal match NBC corralled players for post-game comments. Nickerson, who’d shut out Germany, and Allerton, who’d scored both U.S. goals, were standing next to each other with microphones in their faces. Allerton was her usual effusive self, waxing enthusiastically about the game. Nickerson simply stood there, silent as always, arm around her teammate’s shoulders, her hair sporting equal amounts of red-, white-, and blue-colored locks. The smile on her face was full of happiness, accomplishment, and deep-rooted satisfaction, and it pulled me right in.
That was it. I was in lust with not-afraid-to-be-herself Kathleen Nickerson, and in love with the Beautiful Game.
The lust for Nickerson faded over the years, a combination of her persistent silence and persistent girlfriend. My interest in soccer, though, still burns strong.
Today is the first time I get a glimpse of the real woman behind the hair. As Nickerson reaches our little group she stands behind Jaye, smiles at the kids, and gets them talking. Turns out “cold and forbidding” is an exaggeration. She genuinely likes the youngsters and is good with the crowd. She doesn’t talk much herself, naturally, but is skilled at asking leading questions which let the kids chatter away. Interesting.
I also confirm that she is indeed the picture next to the word “Amazon” in the dictionary: tall, strong, handsome but not beautiful. She has broad shoulders, small breasts, a narrow waist, and legs perfectly proportioned for . . . for whatever you care to fill in.
And maybe her ego is not too monstrous after all. She doesn’t freak out when someone breaks the rules and asks a question about her hair.
“What color is your head today?”
This comes from a girl, not a parent, and I think the odd phrasing catches Nickerson off guard, or maybe she’s in a particularly good mood. She gazes upwards, making a funny face as she tries to see her hair (which she’s wearing short this year), then turns back to the inquirer.
“It’s called ‘Desert Dust.’ Now you have to ask a question about soccer.”
Whether she made up the color name or not, it fits. Nickerson’s hair is the exact shade of the soil at the graveyard in Dunn, a light orange-red ubiquitous to West Texas. I’m sure she did it on purpose, but it doesn’t suit her (honestly, not many of her color choices do). My eyes fall to Jaye, whose natural blonde tresses I find much more appealing.
She catches my eye and winks. I surprise myself and wink back, realize I have a new secret ultimate object of lust.
I follow it up immediately with the thought that Jaye Stokes deserves better.
The camp’s afternoon activities are more subdued than the morning’s scrimmages, no doubt in deference to the copious amounts of food consumed by the children. The instructors divide the kids into small groups and do what essentially comes down to classroom teaching, talking and demonstrating different lessons while the students sit around and watch.
I watch, too, though there’s only so many times one can observe a lesson in footwork. The instructors know this, and eventually they get everyone up, give them a ball, and have them practice what they’ve just seen.
The day’s activities end when the camp leaders treat the kids (and their adults, too) to a half-field, five-on-five scrimmage. In addition to Jaye, Nickerson has brought several of her Kansas City teammates along, and they split up with players from the junior college also recruited to help with the camp. The short field makes for a very entertaining, fast-paced mini-game. The college kids are not bad, but it’s clear Stokes and Nickerson are, by far, the best players out here today, more talented than even their fellow pros. Jaye doesn’t score on her friend, no one does, but she makes “Nickory” show the campers why she’s the best goalkeeper in the women’s game and wins over a few fans herself.
And then camp is done. The goal nets come down, autographs are signed, and pretty much everyone gets their picture taken with Nickerson. Now I can think about, ugh, getting ready for this evening’s party. At least I’ll know everyone in that horde.
“Rachel! Rachel!” A munchkin blur comes running up. Becca again.
“Yes, O Noisy One?”
She laughs. “I need your phone!”
“Why?”
“I just do! Please?”
With a suspicious glare, which Becca stands up to admirably, I hand over the object requested.
“Be right back!!” she says and runs off.
“Hey!”
Becca makes a beeline right to Jaye, who separates herself from a small group of families who haven’t left yet. She grins at me and takes the phone. By the time I’ve walked over, she’s punched in whatever she set out to punch in and gives the phone back to me.
“Now you won’t have an excuse to avoid me when you’re in Kansas City,” she says.
“There’s a password on this phone.”
“Becca knows it.”
I shake my head. The kid is loud but observant. I make a mental note to change both my phone and laptop passwords. Meanwhile, I open up my contacts list and sure enough, there is Jaye’s name and number.
“And I guess I have to go to Kansas City now?”
Her grin is definitely of the shit-eating variety. “Season opener is April sixteenth.”
“What if I’m busy?”
“Becca says you’re retired. So your schedule is flexible.”
Becca is going to get thrown into the swimming pool at the party house tonight. Fully dressed. “Cripes! Do I have any secrets left?”
Jaye takes this more seriously than she should. “Don’t be mad at Becca, I sorta put her up to it.”
“Why?”
She opens her mouth to answer, hesitates, and her expression shifts from amusement to uncertainty to something I can’t quite decipher. “Because we need all the fans we can get?”
It was definitely not what she was going to say originally. But it breaks the mild tension of my irritation and makes me laugh. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll be there.”
The brief hitch in her confidence disappears. “Cool. Oh, don’t be mad, but I sent me a text from your phone, so I’ll remind you to buy tickets when the time comes. See you in April!”
With those last words Jaye Stokes turns and walks off, leaving me speechless, but also intrigued by her audacity.
Kansas City here I come.
Chapter Two
Friday night, before the season opener, I call Jaye. She has texted me a couple of times since garnering my number at the soccer camp, and I had always returned the text with a brief call. This is the first time I’ve initi
ated contact without hearing from her first.
“I wanted to wish you good luck tomorrow,” I say after her pleased hello.
“You’re gonna be there, right?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I can get a field pass if you want one.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay in the stands. I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“You’re not trouble. You’re my cousin!”
I laugh and think she cannot possibly be that nice. But maybe she is.
I enjoy the game so much I decide to blog about it when I get back home. I was going to say hi to Jaye afterwards, but she was busy signing autographs so I let it go. I have business in Denver on Monday so my trip to Kansas City is a quick one.
I get a text while driving home on Sunday: “Are you still in town? Let’s get together!”
I have an iPhone5, currently meshed to my car stereo Bluetooth. “Siri, call Jaye Stokes.”
In a moment my “Road Songs” playlist is replaced by one intriguing and (for me) persistent distant relative.
“Hi, Rachel. Are you still in town?”
“Hi. I’m headed home, just passed Salina.”
“Bummer.” I swear I can hear disappointment in stereo. “Why didn’t you say hi last night?”
“You were busy with your fans.”
“You’re a fan, too. Are you coming next week?”
I hadn’t planned on it, but the odd compulsion to please Jaye pops up again. “I think I might, yeah.”
“Good. This time I’ll give you a field pass.”
“No, don’t do that. I like watching the game from up high.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Promise you’ll come talk to me afterwards. Don’t run away.”
“I will. Unless you score five goals and ESPN gets to you first.”
Jaye’s laugh sounds good in stereo, too. “Even then,” she says. “Promise me.”
I’m mystified at this attention, but agreeable. “I promise.”
“So you live in Colorado?”
“Yeah. North Denver.”
“Long drive.”
“About nine hours.”
“Gosh. Thanks for being a fan!”
I laugh. “The trip was worth it. You guys played a great game.”
“And the crowd didn’t bother you?”
“You remember that.”
“Of course. But you were okay?”
“Yeah. It was fine.” And it was, since I was sitting in one of the sparsely occupied upper rows.
Then Jaye surprises me. “Until the end, maybe. That’s why you didn’t stick around to say hi afterwards.”
I take my time answering. “You’re a smart woman.”
“Hey, I went to college.” Jaye laughs. “You should let me get you a field pass. There are a lot fewer people by the bench.”
“We’ll see.”
We’ve reached the length of our previous conversations, so I expect Jaye to make her goodbyes, but instead she launches into another subject. “What job did you retire from?”
“I was an air traffic controller. They let you retire after twenty five years of service, so I did. Last year.”
“Wow. Lucky you. Was it as stressful as they say?”
“Sometimes.” I am a master of understatement.
“What do you do now?”
I don’t know why I keep “writer” to myself. But I do, because I’d have to own up to being a lesbian writer, and that amps up my residual fear of being rejected because I’m a lesbian. No matter how the world changes, no matter how old I get and how little I’ve ever been rejected or discriminated against, the fear never goes away.
“Travel a little,” I say. “Swim to keep in shape. Read a lot.”
I hear her smile. In stereo. “I read a lot, too. Who are your favorite authors?”
I answer honestly, but again omit the lesbians. Mea culpa.
We end up talking for quite a while, bouncing over a range of stuff, never running out of words. My interaction with Jaye feels easy and unforced, like I’m making a new friend. I end up telling her a lot more about myself than I usually tell anyone. But I still keep mum about my sexuality and the writing.
I’ve gone almost a hundred miles before Jaye hangs up, her phone battery low. I put my music back on and spend the rest of the drive in a kind of blissful fog. I get home in the early evening, wish my house a happy hello, then type and post the blog about going to KC’s first game.
I have no clue this is going to change my life.
Fyrequeene’s Blog: April 17
“In Praise of Strong Women, and the Soccer Fans Who Love Them”
Those of you who read this thing know by now that I follow two sports, baseball and women’s soccer. You know attending baseball games and soccer matches are the only time I willingly put up with crowds. Given that the National Women’s Soccer League, or NWSL, is still trying to establish itself, I have a much better time at their games than at Rockies’ games because the crowds are always smaller.
I do hope this changes. I’d like nothing better than to see the NWSL grow to the success now enjoyed by men’s Major League Soccer. But until that happens, I am content to be part of a small, dedicated core of fans who follow the most gracious group of athletes I’ve ever seen.
Saturday I wrestled my crowd phobia into submission and attended the season opener between the Kansas City Blues and the Boston Breakers. It’s a nine-hour drive from my home in Colorado to KC, but it was worth it. From a seat up high in the stands, I got to watch a tight, competitive match, admired Olympians on both sides making great plays and saw the “regular” pros make some outstanding plays as well. These women take their sport and their craft every bit as seriously as any baseball or football player, and if you like soccer, then you will like watching these games.
A lot.
Afterwards, the members of both teams lined up along one side of the stands to sign autographs for their fans. The players signed programs, shoes, shirts, and the occasional stuffed animal. They did it with smiles and a patience that belied the end of a long night. KC’s Kath Nickerson and Becky Kaisershot were the big draws, of course, being Olympic standouts, but the fans made sure all of their players got some love and gave the Boston side affection as well. It probably didn’t hurt that Kansas City won.
Every fan who wanted an autograph got one. In a world where many elite athletes can be outright disdainful of their supporters, these professionals truly appreciate the fans who watch them, the ones who pay for tickets and provide them the opportunity to do something they love.
I may be a reclusive curmudgeon, but I enjoyed the whole night: great weather, great game, great camaraderie afterwards, sportswomanship at its best. If you live anywhere near one of the nine NWSL cities, find time to go to a game this season. You won’t be disappointed.
Game two for the Kansas City Blues is much tougher than the opener against Boston. Once again, the weather is fine and the competition sublime, but the opponent is Western New York, the Flash, and they have Wendy Allerton on their side.
I get to the field early, pick up a hot dog and Coke, and settle into my top row seat. Jaye had texted me on Thursday with another field pass offer, and I’d called her back, got her voicemail, and politely declined. By buying a ticket, I tell myself, I’m supporting the league.
Which is true. I’ve always wanted to support women’s sports. Nothing against men, but they so dominate everything athletic that, frankly, they don’t need my patronage (poor choice of words, but it proves my point). Women do.
Besides, I think as I chomp down on the hot dog, I see the game better from this vantage point.
The game starts, and I quickly observe that the teams are evenly matched. I suspect the deciding factor will be the battle between Nickerson and Allerton, the great stopper versus the great scorer. And I’m ri
ght.
Western New York’s strategy basically has Allerton patrolling the area in front of KC’s goal and waiting for opportunities. Even from my vantage point I can hear Nickerson as she works with teammate Becky Kaisershot to thwart their fellow Olympian. She shouts directions, sets up defenders, tries to make sure someone’s always defending, or “marking,” the Flash striker.
Despite all this effort, Wendy Allerton ultimately prevails. She uses her experience, skill, and height to turn two “opportunities” into goals. She’s not the fastest player, not the youngest player—she’s simply the best. She knows how to be in the right place at the right time, and despite my bias toward Kansas City, she’s a joy to watch.
Nickerson, for the most part, reins her frustration in and never gives up. Early in the second half she makes a spectacular dive to keep Allerton from a third goal and a hat trick. This brings the crowd to its feet, and the Blues feed off the energy.
On the ensuing corner kick, Jaye Stokes heads the ball clear and over to a teammate. She follows the action up the field. The KC players work the ball beautifully, and Jaye is there to take the ball on the sideline as forward Kirstie Longstreet moves in front of the goal. Jaye floats a gorgeous centering pass. With a fast-as-lightning kick, Longstreet redirects the ball right into the net. I stand and cheer with the rest of the fans as KC makes the score 2-1.
Sadly for KC, the score holds right ’til the end. The locals are disappointed, but most in the crowd realize everyone played well. Allerton was simply too good on this night. The buzz of energy in the little stadium is still positive as people make their way to the autograph line. I’m drawn there, too, and take a seat close enough to observe the player/fan interaction.
And yeah, okay, to get a close-up glimpse of Allerton, one of the true legends of her sport. I’m pleased to see her engaging the fans with graciousness (honestly, how many great male athletes can you say that about?), paying particular attention to the youngsters. She signs the usual papers, shirts, and a poster or two. She also poses for a few pictures with Nickerson, who softens her grim-in-defeat expression enough to keep cameras and cell phones from shattering. The pair even do some quick riffs reminiscent of the Nike ads, and the crowd eats it up.
Game Changers Page 3
