Perspective | The new face of U.S. women’s soccer is stunned disbelief (2024)

Megan Rapinoe smiled through teary eyes, her emotions clashing as the end of her famed career ambled to an unfitting close.

Those are the faces of utter and abject disappointment. We’ve never seen the U.S. women’s national team look like this — like lost tourists at a tournament they had once known so well. Williams’s traumatized expression. Naeher appearing as though she would like to have a word with management to file a very angry complaint. Rapinoe wilting in her final international match and looking unsure whether to laugh or cry during her last moments on a cold Sunday night at Melbourne Rectangular Stadium.

Almost a month ago, they arrived at the World Cup held in Australia and New Zealand, and hopefully the players at least got some cool, new stamps on their passports — because they’re certainly not coming home with a third consecutive trophy.

We’ve never watched the Americans leave the World Cup this early. This will officially be scored as the U.S. women losing, 5-4, to Sweden on penalty kicks after a scoreless draw. However, the record does not show the agony. It was seen through the players in this storied program, who performed so unevenly that American dominance in this game should now be spoken of in the past tense. And it was felt by the fans who traveled across the globe, reworking their itineraries on the fly and fighting off jet lag just to get their hearts broken in a different hemisphere.

At least for Nadine and Dave Parsons, the wine was worth it.

This is what belief gone wrong looks like. Three married couples from Texas have been in Australia for about two weeks. Soccer-loving Greg Gipson was the master planner of the trip. At the previous World Cup in France, his group attended every U.S. match. The Americans made it look easy, so Gwen Gipson told me they decided to skip the group stage this time and enjoy themselves a little as the Americans breezed through. Because they had so much faith in the team, these soccer aficionados wound up witnessing just one match, and it was the most painful one in program history. The trip, however, wasn’t all bad. The Parsons, Texans who are temporarily living in Korea, ditched the group matches for a winery tour in Adelaide.

“Fantastic,” Dave raved of the whites and reds. “We’re going to go back.”

This is what unrequited devotion looks like. Portland Thorns super fans Nicole and Dan Froelich booked their flight from Vancouver, B.C., to Sydney — under the wrong assumption that the Americans would win their group and begin the knockout round in that Australian city, not this one. What followed was a travel nightmare: Their original flight was delayed 10 hours. They slept in the airport until 3 a.m. They sat near the back of the plane for the 17-hour flight, and when the plane hit turbulence, they felt every scary jolt and shake. They landed in Sydney on Friday night, fatigued yet still fanatical, and less than 21 hours later they caught another flight to Melbourne. Dan got stuck in the middle seat.

“Ooooof. that was rough!” Dan texted me following the match — about the soccer, not the travel. Though those five O’s in “oof” revealed some suffering, the Froelichs never complained.

Neither did a single protest escape the loopy smiles worn by New York City friends Taylor Wells and Bri Cullimore. They sat in their seats, surviving on Red Bull and vibes after landing for their spontaneous trip to Melbourne on Sunday morning. Their itinerary: New York to Los Angeles, Los Angeles to Fiji, Fiji to Sydney, and Sydney to Melbourne … and Monday, they planned to leave Melbourne on a 6 a.m. flight, because this is what crazy looks like.

“We love the U.S. women’s national team so much!” Cullimore yelled through her sleep deprivation.

“That’s how much!” Wells echoed. “It’s been refreshing to my soul to see grown-a-- men wearing a Crystal Dunn jersey, wearing a Rose Lavelle jersey. That’s been really incredible for me to see. As a sports fan, as a woman, as a woman in sports business, it’s amazing.”

This is the fervor that has fueled this team. And for 90 minutes, the Americans appeared as though they could feel all the passion and hope from their fans. Over 90 minutes, they were in control of a game they’ve owned for decades, well before this current roster had taken shape.

The U.S. women won their first World Cup when co-captain Alex Morgan was just 2 years old. Later, another iteration of the super program turned sports bra celebrations into a fad before Sophia Smith was even born. This was the legacy the new U.S. team was living up to for 90 minutes Sunday. Trinity Rodman pressured Sweden’s defense and led the Americans to a 6-2 shot advantage in the first half. Morgan came oh-so-close on potential goals — and was shut out twice by Swedish goalkeeper Zecira Musovic.

But the United States did not score for the second straight match, opening the door for the game to be taken over by randomness and penalty kicks — and, ultimately, heartache.

In the 99th minute, when fans noticed the flash of pale blue hair, a roar reverberated through the stadium, for the great Rapinoe would be entering the match. It was an ovation worthy of a superhero, as though hiding beneath her bulky winter coat was some magic left over from 2019. But underneath that outerwear was just a 38-year-old who probably shouldn’t have taken all those corner kicks, because they led to nothing. And in the most crucial stage, with her team leading 3-2 in the shootout, Rapinoe stepped up for her turn. She could have given her team a nearly insurmountable lead, but her shot sailed over the crossbar. Smiling awkwardly, she returned to the comfort of her teammates.

And then, the nightmare.

Kelley O’Hara’s attempt hit the post, setting up the Swedes for the winner. Though Naeher appeared to stop Lina Hurtig’s kick and quickly collected herself to deflect the rebound, upon review the ball did cross the line — just barely enough to send the Americans home. Stunned, Naeher wouldn’t let go of the ball. Williams wouldn’t move. Rapinoe couldn’t stop laugh-crying. This is what U.S. soccer looks like now.