Here We Go, Abs
My friend Abby Wambach is saying goodbye to women’s soccer — but not before I shed some light on how amazing she really is.
By Hope Solo
Abby Wambach has been my friend and teammate on the U.S. Women’s National Team for nearly my entire career, and tonight against China, on the final stop of our Victory Tour, she’s putting on her No. 20 jersey one last time. Over the past few weeks, a ton has been written and said about her countless accomplishments. In case you hadn’t heard, she’s the leading international goal scorer of all-time for both women and men, with 184 goals — 77 of which she scored with her head.
A lot has happened for Abby over the course of all those goals, and I was lucky enough to be there for quite a bit of it. So as we all prepare to say goodbye to her, I’m going to say some things about her you might not have heard before. Abby has a killer sense of humor, and she can laugh at herself, which is one of the things I love about her. She can take it. (And she can dish it, too!)
Unbridled Enthusiasm
Abby’s changed hobbies more times than I’ve changed my goalkeeping gloves. She’s curious about everything, always searching for passions outside of soccer or things to keep her busy on long trips. I guess you could say she has a short attention span. She’s tried everything: different cars, longboarding, surfing, so much more. Our coach during the 2011 World Cup, Pia Sundhage, played guitar, so a bunch of players — Abby, Tobin Heath, Megan Rapinoe among them — started playing, too. (For the record, Pinoe actually became pretty good.) Just picture Abby and all these other brand new guitar players belting out “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” in the hallway. Yes, it’s exactly as good as you imagine it. Abby carried that guitar with her everywhere for a while.
Abby also loves reading books — especially anything that’s new and getting attention — and whenever she finds something that moves her, she shares her newfound excitement with everyone. I’ll never forget when Abby read Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now. She was so into it. Anytime someone said something, she’d say, “That’s the ego talking!” She loved talking about letting go of our egos, of being in a constant state of presence. Even now, it cracks me up just thinking about. She was obsessed with that book!
Shirt Off Her Back
Abby is one of the most generous people I know. She’ll share anything and everything with anybody. Maybe that stems from her being the youngest of seven. Whatever it is, it’s genuine.
She once read a book called The Five Love Languages, and quickly identified herself as a gift giver. The fit couldn’t have been better. She’s so generous — with her time, her attention, her resources — and just loves giving gifts. Not just any gifts; the best gifts. Everything is way over the top: Apple watches, jewelry, you name it. We used to always tell her, “Abby, you don’t have to do all this for people for them to know you love them! We know!” It was just her way.
TMI!
Abby talks about things nobody else dares to touch. You think a men’s locker room is bad? You haven’t heard Abby. She’ll walk in and, out of the blue, ask anyone who’ll listen, “How many times a week do the rest of you have sex?” — at the top of her lungs, no less. Or she’ll pull out a Q-tip after cleaning her ears and start talking about the color of her ear wax. She knows I get queasy with that stuff, but that doesn’t stop her. “Oh yeah, Hope, sorry,” she’ll say. “Can’t talk about that at the dinner table.”
When she got a big turf burn on her leg during a game — a raspberry, we call it — the trainers would put plastic over it to keep from getting irritated further. A lot of pus usually builds up under the bandage. Abby would pull off the bandage and comment on the smell of the pus — yes, the smell of the pus! — in incredible detail. “Abby! I don’t want to hear about that!” someone would say. But that only encouraged her.
Where’s Abby?
Abby would always say we can’t take life too seriously, that life shouldn’t begin and end with soccer and soccer alone. She was wise enough to realize that, without balance, your play is bound to suffer. As serious and committed as she was, Abby kept things light, and was always up for a good time.
I remember back in 2012, we had a trip to Sweden right before the London Olympics. A few of us went out one night in Gothenburg — me, Abby, Sydney LeRoux, and a few other teammates. While we were out, we happened to run into our training staff. (At the time, we actually thought they ran into us on purpose, because they wanted to join us.) We were at this club and everyone was dancing, having a good time, and generally getting crazy. Then, out of nowhere, we saw Abby’s knit-cap-covered head slip out the exit, and in the opposite direction of our hotel. Our team doctor caught up with her outside the entrance. “Abby,” he said, “the hotel’s that way!”
The trainer came back in to get the rest of us, and when we all got outside, Abby was gone! So there we were, wandering aimlessly through the streets of Gothenburg on this crazy Abby hunt — like “Where’s Waldo” brought to life. We had no idea if she knew where the hotel was, let alone what it was called. Finally, we ran into her on this small cobblestone side street, not far from the hotel.
“Abby!” we yelled. “We found you!”
For us, it was something like a celebration. Not for Abby.
“What’s up, guys?” — the perfect Abby response.
Afterwards, we went and got ice cream at McDonald’s. Incredibly, Abby rallied the next day and trained like a champion. Looking back, it might’ve been our best training session that year.
The Huddle
There was nothing like our pregame huddles, and Abby always led them. Before games, I’ve always tried to stay focused, within myself. Abby is the exact opposite. She needs to get fired up before every game. She was always the one in the huddle’s center, pumping everybody up.
Some of her antics were pretty hilarious. When we played China this past World Cup, it was Abby who dropped one of her classic F-bombs during a live broadcast. She went through a phase when her favorite line on game day was, “It’s a bad day to be [insert team we were playing here].” She used that one for months, and literally every time, she’d say it like she was saying it to us for the first time.
My favorites, though, were these “Come on guys!” speeches Abby would give us right before the game. Sometimes, she’d get so excited that she’d stumble on her own words, or even make up a word. “Oh, Abby!” we’d think to ourselves, trying to catch someone else’s eye across the huddle, bursting out laughing when we did. What made it even funnier was she would laugh, too. And yet, even though we didn’t seem serious, it still accomplished what she wanted. She’d let cut the tension and allowed us all to relax. That, for us, was what helped us perform. I’ll never forget those. None of us will.
Confidant
Abby has always reached out to me through hard times, offering to do anything she could. I never asked her for help, but I always thanked her for understanding that life happens to everyone, and for reaching out. I realized that people didn’t know what to say to me at times, and didn’t know how to handle situations. Abby didn’t either, but Abby would always be honest about not knowing how she could help, and expressing a willingness to do anything she could. She just wanted me to know that she was there. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to be there for somebody. It’s a quality that I have always respected and admired in her.
I’ve learned a lot from Abby over the years: how to be, what I want for myself, and how I want to do things differently. We share a lot of similarities, but I think it’s the differences between Abby and me — as is often the case — that I’ve learned from the most.
Very Superstitious
Abby is really superstitious. When something works for her a certain way — even once — she doesn’t change it. Ever. She never really prepared for a major tournament until the final weeks leading up to it. That would spell trouble for anyone else, but not for Abby. She’d give up different things as she trained — sometimes beer, sometimes fried food or dessert. It was her way of showing sacrifice, to feel good about herself, not just physically, but mentally as well.
It was an approach different from that of everyone else. And yet, I always knew Abby would be ready to go — in her time, in her way. When we made it to the World Cup final in Vancouver, we were all given our own rooms for the first time during the tournament. For weeks we’d been sharing tiny rooms together, and we finally had our own space. Abby didn’t want it. She couldn’t break the routine, so she made Sydney Leroux keep rooming with her!
That’s just one of many Abby superstitions. Whenever she sang along with the national anthem, she always sang all the words… Except for, “And the rockets’ red glare…” — the high-pitched part of the song. Come to think of it, that might’ve been as much about the limits of her singing voice as the actual superstition itself. Whenever she finished her pregame warmup, Abby would always take one last shot. As she did, she’d instruct me to “Let it ride, Hope.” Meaning: Let it hit the back of the net. I suppose exceptions could be made.
The Look
Abby always lived in — and for — the biggest moments, and they always came to her organically. I’m going to miss looking into Abby’s eyes in the biggest games, knowing we can get it done. It’s not the everyday games, not the friendlies. It’s the big-game moments when you find the eyes of those you know will make things happen. Every team has a few people like that, those for whom no words are necessary.
It’s The Look: You’re going to do whatever you have to do. I’m going to do whatever I have to do. And we’re going to find a way to win.
There’s something about how Abby and I found each other’s eyes in those moments. That look — that unbeatable confidence — is what I’ll miss the most.
Here We Go
There’s one last superstition Abby had, one the two of us have shared for years. I don’t know when or why it started, but before we play China in the final game of the Victory Tour, it will happen for the last time. I’m always the first person in the locker room after warmups. Abby is the second. When she walks in, she always says, “Here we go, Hope!” And I say, “Here we go, Abs!”
We never planned it. We never talked about it — not once, ever. It just naturally became a part of our routine. It helped settle my nerves when they needed settling, and picked up my excitement when we were ready to kick some ass. Nothing could ever replace what those words have meant to me. And no one could replace the person who spoke them.
So here we go, Abs. One last time.
