I agree. The character of America is so diverse and so abstract at times that we may only sometimes be able to describe it. But we know it when we see it.

The upcoming movie, Captain America, is sure to give us glimpses of the American Character. Or at least what it once was thought to be.

In the real world, a person can look at actions of others and have wonderful conversations about whether they match with our country’s character, values, and beliefs. Because of diversity of this country, beliefs won’t always be the same. Character will be diverse. But there are themes and threads that can be as easily identified as the Stars and Stripes themselves.

The United States Women’s Soccer Team was on the brink of elimination from the Women’s World Cup on Sunday afternoon in Germany. Down 2-1 in the 122nd and final minute of the match, the Americans scored a dramatic goal and won the game, moving on into the semifinal round.

A closer look at the team’s past and especially the saga of American keeper Hope Solo reveals the nature and diversity of the American Character.

The old phrase, “Adversity doesn’t teach character, it reveals it,” rings true in Solo’s case. The character of individuals like Abby Wambach, Hope Solo, and the entire US Women’s Soccer Team was revealed over three angst-filled hours on Sunday. Here’s how:

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America was founded on the basis of principles (among others) like manifest destiny and the idea of making it yourself. ESPN’s Sal Paolantonio theorizes in his book, How Football Explains America, that sports like American football are popular in this country implicitly due to its physical and structural connection to the idea of manifest destiny. If you want more details on this, and also on why soccer isn’t as popular in America as in the rest of the world, read his book. Paolantonio’s idea seems sound: Popularity of a sport or an athlete in the United States is based largely on whether that athlete fits into an imagined ideal.

For a football player forty years ago, that meant that you looked like Mike Ditka, Jack Lambert, or Bart Starr. For a basketball player, that ideal is almost certainly Michael Jordan. In baseball, Ken Griffey Jr. or pre-steroid Barry Bonds definitely come to mind.

In women’s soccer, that ideal has been embodied for at least the last 20 years by Mia Hamm. While she played and since she retired, Hamm was always quiet, unassuming, and dominant. She was light-years ahead of any female player on the world stage. In leading the United States team to Wold Cup glory in 1999, she seemed mostly quiet off the field– content to let others talk while she basked in the glory of achievement.

In retirement, Hamm has largely stayed out of the spotlight while some of her teammates like Julie Foudy and Brandi Chastain (among others) have gone on to be television analysts. Hamm has been the epitome of the quiet superstar. When you think of Hamm’s personality, visions of David Robinson, Cal Ripken, Walter Payton and other understated stars come to mind.

The 2011 US team is not made up of Mia Hamms. Hope Solo, most certainly, is no Mia Hamm.

The Wild West, Gunslingers, and Free Speech

In 2007, the United States lost their semifinal game vs. Brazil. After giving up only two goals total in the first four games of the tournament, US coach Greg Ryan played veteran Brianna Scurry in goal, benching Solo. After the team lost the game 4-0, Solo spoke her mind:

“It was the wrong decision, and I think anybody that knows anything about the game knows that. There’s no doubt in my mind I would have made those saves. And the fact of the matter is it’s not 2004 anymore. It’s not 2004. And it’s 2007, and I think you have to live in the present. And you can’t live by big names. You can’t live in the past. It doesn’t matter what somebody did in an Olympic gold medal game in the Olympics three years ago. Now is what matters, and that’s what I think.”

Solo’s words brought her a hailstorm of criticism. In a world where overhyped and egotistical athletes talk way too much, hers was simply another public example of someone making a bad decision in the heat of the moment. Ryan booted her off the US team and was fired soon thereafter.

As Solo said today in a radio interview, nobody else knows what she went through. In her mind, that precludes the right of anyone else to pass judgment on her actions.

And all the criticism begs this question: Isn’t speaking out about something that is a passion distinctly American? We love it when our athletes tell it like it is. We love Ozzie Guillen’s rants, right? We are hypnotized when Chad Ochocinco changes his name, when Bode Miller says something random, or when Ron Artest changes his name to Metta Worldpeace. We love it when Shaq says whatever he feels like saying in a post-game interview.

On Sunday evening, the US Captain, Abby Wambach said of Solo, “she is the best keeper in the world.”

So why was the reaction to Solo’s speaking out so negative? If she really is the best keeper in the world, might she have been the best keeper in the world in 2007? Don’t we expect our athletes to be as confident as a gunfighter in the wild west? Don’t you want a player, who may be among the best in the world in her position to be confident and to toe the line with cocky all day long? Here’s what the USA Soccer website has to say about Solo’s 2007. Straight from her profile:

2007: Started 15 games, earning nine shutouts and started the first four games of the 2007 FIFA Women’s World Cup in her first world championship … Was 13-0-2 on the year, allowing just eight goals and had three shutouts in the Women’s World Cup.

And then she was benched. How would you feel?

And isn’t free speech part of what we can do in America. Can you imagine what would have happened to the North Korean team had one of their players questioned the coach after the game? The coach, who used “getting struck by lightning” as an excuse for losing a hard-fought game to the United States, might have done a lot more than kick one of their players off the team.

And does anyone think that Solo didn’t know what the repercussions of her actions would be? She stood up for something she believed in, went against what you are “supposed” to do, and, with the tournament already over, impacted her teammates and the game much less negatively than people think.

Admitting Mistakes and Second Chances

In the Hero Journey, the protagonist must overcome adversity and, eventually, commit to change. The commitment to change is usually the turning point in a story and can be difficult for the hero and those around him/her.

When she made her comments, Solo certainly committed to change. She had to know what was coming

It wouldn’t be fair not to criticize her actions at all though. Solo spoke out when her teammates and soccer fans around this country were hurting. Her choice of timing — right after the game — was as effective for getting her message across as it was divisive. And her friendship with Brianna Scurry was demolished.

Because of all of that, Solo has spent the past four years regaining lost trust from her teammates. A New York Times article from 2008 carries some weight in the matter.

It also discusses the role Solo being a woman played in the extremely negative reaction of the public, which is an interesting point, but one for another article. It also talks about the role of Solo’s father passing away shortly before the 2007 World Cup and some of the tribulations she went through while at the University of Washington. Solo had been through a lot, risen to the top of the soccer world, and had been struck down emotionally by her coach and by the unkind realities of human existence.

But America is about nothing if not second chances. Time has passed, the US team has been rebuilt around Wambach and Solo, and they are poised to complete their path toward redemption.

Be like Han

And then there’s this. Her name is Hope Solo. She was born the same year I was: 1981. For your reference, The Empire Strikes Back debuted in 1980; Return of the Jedi in 1983. So let’s compare her to the swashbuckling Harrison Ford character who happened to also be distinctly American.

When he first appears in Star Wars, Solo is a first-rate jerk. He doesn’t like working with anyone. He even struggles working with his first mate, a Wookie who only stays with Han, presumably, because Solo once saved his life.

Han even goes so far as to give up one of his only friends to Darth Vader. A bad decision. Remind you of anyone?

Han Solo, of course, redeems himself. As the most American of Americans, Solo helps Luke Skywalker and the rebels destroy the Death Star and Darth Vader himself. There is a decisive victory, but it only came because Skywalker gave him a second chance. Solo went from a traitor to a hero relatively quickly and this ascension, this ability to pull oneself up by their bootstraps and get to the top, is (historically) a uniquely American experience.

It’s taken Hope Solo a lot longer, but hers has the potential to be a similar journey. To put it another way, she has a firm grasp on her bootstraps with two games to go.

Winning and Redemption

As definitively American as Hope Solo’s journey has been, it’s not complete. The story of the American Character, to be satisfying to the public, must end with triumph and unquestionable victory. Solo is not there yet. In so many ways, neither is any of the US team. If they lose on Wednesday, they will be a team whose fate was only delayed three days by great individual plays from Wambach and Solo. Players like Shannon Boxx, Wambach, and Solo will have careers marked by gaping World Cup holes and unfulfilled dreams. To complete the journey and, some would argue, to make theirs a completely American hero journey, the team must win. The story must be completed.

For Solo, this World Cup is a microcosm of her career. After a brilliant start, there was a significant hiccup and it took time to get the original confidence back. Wambach’s header into the back of the net Sunday afternoon gave the team that confidence anew. And kept Solo’s story going. How distinctly American.

There is only one man who can answer these pondering’s, that being “Big Shot Bob,” otherwise known as Robert Horry, who made a living with the Rockets, Lakers, and Spurs, en route to seven rings by nailing the clutch shot.

Why does this matter? He was never a star, but he has rings galore bronzed on his swish- svelte fingers. 

In today’s NBA we judge  all-time greats by how many rings they’ve won and whether or not they led their teams to title town. But is this a fair assessment, considering a life-long bench guy like Horry can be carried to seven?

Never was Horry the franchise guy. In fact, as great as he seemed in closing minutes, Robert Horry never became the player we expected him to be after his timely three point shooting for Houston’s 2nd title run.

Horry’s brief stint in Phoenix after a trade in 1996, proved he was not endowed with a star motor. A hot tempered, dramatic and aloof head case, Bob languished averaging 6.9 points at a career low shooting clip: 41.8%. A trade by mid-season to the L.A. Lakers–a team filled with Kobe Bryant, Shaquille O’Neal, Nick Van Exel, Eddie Jones, Elden Campbell, and Cedric Ceballos changed the trajectory of his failing career.

So why then is Bob a champion? Why not franchise guys like Barkley, Malone, Stockton, Dominique, Ewing, or Reggie Miller?

Each of those listed above were worthy of winning gold, were they not? All of them were respective franchise pieces with the heart, skills, and late game heroics to hold the O’Brien.

The answer to their problems was Michael Jordan’s Bulls: a team of role guys surrounding the king of the sport with that IT factor needed to win it all. Something today’s critics use to gauge greatness and rank the all time elites.

So what is the issue then with the tautness of this old-time equation? Why not turn a blind eye and allow this to be the answer to everything?

Simply because it just does not add up. It does not offer enough answers. If Big Shot Bob has seven, or the likes of Jack Haley–former twelfth man for Jordan’s final three peat has three, the equation’s a bit off. We need something else, a new perspective when thinking of the greats and why and how they never hung the O’Brien.

And I believe individual luck IS the partly the answer, luck, a maddening machine random like the California Lottery. Historians prefer the term historical happenings–a notion that choices are made for no other reason except that they were made, and the dominoes re-arrange the cosmos of a world more closely inter-connected than we might wish it to be (think guy who smells like farts at the movies, or the swine flu victim winding a cough onto the back nape of the neck.)

Luck.

To think Michael Jordan fell to number three in the 1984 draft could be easily overlooked for a variety of reasons: Sam Bowie, the number two pick before MJ, was a  college superstar and a big man compared at the time to the greats. The Blazers already had a gifted wingman in Clyde Drexler andat the time the league was built around bigs: Kareem, Sampson and Olajuwan, Robert Parish, Patrick Ewing, and Moses Malone.

But that doesn’t make things less ludicrous.  Look at how the draft shaped the NBA forever. MJ goes to an ordinary Bulls team built in perhaps the greatest city in America, where he wins ROY, ultimately five MVP’s, slam dunk contests, becomes the games biggest mogul, and wins six titles. Alongside Oprah, MJ is easily the greatest name in Chicago history and can be attributed for an economical explosion that saved the lower West side of the city once run with crime: drug abuse, gang wars, and prostitution.

Bowie, in the annals of the NBA, is known as ‘the bust.’ He never won a thing in the pros: no all star games, no shoe deals, thus injuring the once bright ideal the Blazers had in trading their franchise Center Bill Walton to Boston.

This, my friends, is the Sam Bowie, a supernatural element that cannot be ignored.

Luck.

Yet like so many children born into inner city poverty without the tools necessary to change their lives, we cannot judge the stars through the a similar bias, because not all players are born lucky into a posh franchise. The gift of playing in Los Angeles or Boston does not come to everyone. Not every player is born into a showtime era, a team so deep they make the ocean look like a kids pool.

For some, seeking a new home is like divorcing an abusive wife. In order for Mitch Richmond to adorn gold, the talented and true shooting guard had to eventually break ties in the perils of Sacramento. Karl Malone found it necessary to join with Kobe and Shaq in 04′ after a long tenure in Utah. And even the humble Clyde Drexlerleft a hell of a situation in Portland to win it Houston. All three of which were great with or without (Sing it Bono) a championship.

The reality of the situation is heart breaking for most. We as childish dreamers wish our favorite player could be greater than the others, but this is not real. Embracing a pragmatic approach to the sport tied less to your heart strings will allow you to see greatness wrapped in many different packages. 

Reality 1: Great players DO NOT win championships, great TEAMS win championships. The 2004 Detroit Pistons are a perfect example of this. A team of role guys without a future hall of famer, the Pistons had the momentary IT. Call it faith, hard work, purity, and any other beautiful thing you want, but to explain why they won a title over an L.A. Laker team stocked with four future hall of famers would be absurd.

Reality 2: Like the stars in the sky, NBA STARS need other STARS. Think for a moment about the teams who’ve won championships the last thirty years. All of them have one thing in common: team depth and stars surrounding stars. Magic had Kareem and Worthy; Bird–Mchale and Parish; Dr.J–Moses Malone; Isaiah–Dumars and Rodman; MJ–Pippen; Hakeem–Clyde; Shaq–Kobe and Wade; Duncan–Robinson, Parker, and Ginobili; Pierce–KG and Allen.

Reality 3:  Winning titles does mean a lot, but it does not mean everything for a myriad of reasons. If the 1919 Chicago Blacksox or dirty referees like Tim Donaghy can throw World Series and playoff games, then how serious can we take this thing? Not very. Take everything with a grain of salt and learn other decided facets when it comes to judging all-time greats: MVP’s, All Star appearances, Career Totals, Game Winners, Ability to close, Athleticism, Re-defining the sport, dominance-ometer, and sociological affects.

LeBron James is not a sell out because the guy wants to win, he’s a realist. A star unselfish enough to admit that NO star including himself, can win a title completely on his own.

LeBron is stuck in the the Bill Clinton Vacuum. Though he does great things, he is brushed aside because of one unlikeable decision.

But greatness is not a grade school quiz on being friendly, it is brutal giftedness. And likeability is not the twin brother to being great.

LeBron made a  decision to better his career andhis life. Leading a Cleveland Cavs team the last seven years, that never boasted anybody better than a has-been version of Antawn Jamison warrants James departure.  No it does not warrant the overdone TV cinematic’s regarding “the decision,” nor the Pat Riley blowout introduction party in South Beach. Yet neither should it foster the illogical hysteria across America attempting to deny the man’s sheer dominance and greatness.

This isn’t patty cake kids. We are talking about a production entertainment, where all titles are but a decorative decor. They might help the woman look fine, but if that woman is not fine without the jewelry or the tight fitting jeans, I say run, run as fast as you can.

Drop by the nearest bar and have a scotch on me. Look through the world with freshness and at what is truly great (it is not the girl next to you.). It is the scraggly bartender able to whip up drinks faster than the average Joe.