Tiny Rose bloomed for U.S. when it mattered
It was becoming a serious problem.
Dutch goalkeeper Sari van Veenendaal seemed immense, like she filled most of the frame and somehow could reach the few empty spots that remained.
She survived everything from blasted volleys to tricky re-directions —– and made it look easy as the Netherlands strolled off at halftime of the Women’s World Cup final with a scoreless draw that seemed van Veenendaal might be able to hold forever.
Yes, the United States got a goal midway through the second half, but it came off Megan Rapinoe’s penalty kick — and those are sometimes just impossible for a goalie if executed properly.
The USA then desperately needed a second goal to put a historic fourth Cup title to bed.
So what happened, it seemed, is that coach Jill Ellis summoned a scrawny teenager from a backyard in Cincinnati and said, “Kid, my big girls can’t beat this van Veenendaal. Take a minute from whacking the ball against the side of your house, will you, and please put one behind her so we can relax?”
AND TRULY, if you don’t know soccer very well, that seemed to be what was happening.
A little tyke named Rose Lavelle, who looks like a high schooler from someplace called Mount Notre Dame (yep, she went there), suddenly appeared in the midst of this World Cup mania and simply took the ball pretty much from end to end.
She’s 5-foot-4 but looks smaller among the tough, toned army of U.S. athletes — and appeared tinier yet while dribbling toward the Dutch defense.
Maybe it’s the baby face, the hint of freckles, the pale skin, and limbs that look like she’s never found a workout she liked.
She seems like somebody’s lost kid in the stadium, not an actual player in the midst of the most intense and important women’s sports event ever played.
But the Dutch know better.
Lavelle dribbled toward a pair of Holland’s last defenders, made a quick move left to freeze them both, and as she had anticipated, van Veenendal was floating left with her in front of goal.
Ah, perfect.
So then little Rose from Cincinnati just blasted a fierce left-footed shot back in the direction the goalie had come — and with such pace that there was no recovery.
As soon as Rose hit the shot, she knew.
In fact, it had barely left her foot when she toppled over backward, wearing the start of a happy, silly grin.
WHAT WE saw in that moment — besides the U.S. locking up another title with its new 2-0 lead — was the next face of women’s soccer in a nation now famous for producing them.
Except…
Our others have been tall, sculpted, powerful women — Mia Hamm, Brandi Chastain, Julie Foudy, Abby Wambaugh, and most recently the likes of Carli Lloyd, Alex Morgan and even the multi-colored Megan Rapinoe.
Our next icon, little Rose Lavelle from Cincinnati, got lost on the field after the game. One of the suits on the awards stands gave her the bronze trophy for third-best player in the tournament.
She held the thing oddly, as though you’d handed a screwdriver to the family cat, and stood alone.
Staring at the world.
Finally, Rapinoe appeared at Rose’s side, threw an arm over her shoulder and began directing her over to the awards area — which Lavelle surely hadn’t known even existed.
And then, discovering she’d become the next true American female soccer icon, Rose looked around and said: “Oh, my gosh!”
(Her other go-to phrase is “Yikes!)
But don’t be fooled.
Rose Lavelle, 24 years old and a prodigy almost forever (including the University of Wisconsin), has been compared, seriously, with Belgian superstar Eden Hazard and called the “Wayne Gretzky of soccer” — with her incredible vision, balance, technique, and mastery of everything her sport requires.
Who cares if our next heroine is a bit on the smallish side.
It works for Lionel Messi.
Steve Cameron’s “Cheap Seats” columns for The Press appear on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Steve also contributes the “Zags Tracker” package on Gonzaga basketball once monthly during the offseason.
Email: scameron@cdapress.com