La Reina | The Story of Melanie Kavitz

mexico

We had been blowing it.

All night, every second of every minute, we were being dominated.

I didn't know what we were doing to be this terrible, but everything was falling apart.

The game start it off relatively smoothly; Donovan and I have been trying our hardest to get an early goal. Donovan had been creating chances for both Adair and I, and I had been doing my damn hardest to either score a goal, or place Adair in a position where he could score a goal.

But every single one of our shots were being blocked by the Human Wall known as Memo Ochoa.

Shot after shot, attempt after attempt – every single one of them has been blocked. Either this Mexican side had been studying the last three games that we played... or they truly were masters of their craft in every situation they played under. And having seen Mexico play since I was a young girl... it would be safe to go with the latter.

The Mexican forwards had pressed us really strongly. If it hadn't been for us hold on for dear life, they could've easily scored three goals past us. We didn't know what we were doing, and we didn't know how to regain her strength.

The minutes were going by, I was getting tired, and with every passing moment... I felt more and more uneasy.

...
leo's point of view
...

This was bad.

The entire American side looked incredibly dismantled against Mexico, who looked as if they were playing like a brand new team. The camera would occasionally pan to Melanie's distressed expression throughout the field; whether it be missed chances, balls being given away to the opposition, or failed through balls... she looked defeated, which was breaking my heart.

"I haven't seen Kavitz this disoriented before," Gerry said, taking a sip of his mojito. "I mean, she had only played three games before this but... she was never like this in any of them."

"Because she and her team weren't fairing this badly in those other games," Busi said as it if we're a matter-of-fact statement as his eyes remained on the television in my living room. "The overall performance impacts the mood of the players, and she and the rest of the team know they're in a bad position."

I had to do my best to hide my own distress; none of the guys in Barcelona and the national team knew I had been conversing with her the last several weeks. I didn't know why I felt the need to keep it a secret - I just knew I wasn't ready to open up about it just yet. There were fifteen minutes left until the first half would be concluded, and America looked as if they would concede a goal in any minute.

Come on, Mel...

...

I didn't even see the ball going into the net.

Javier Hernandez blasted the ball past Howard, which led him to fall onto the floor, and led Mexico to be a point ahead of us.

The deafening cheers of the Mexican players and their fans almost crushed my skull. I looked over at Donovan, Dempsey, Bradley, Bocanegra, and even Adair... and they looked heartbroken.

The goal had been my fault.

I had tried to pass a through ball to Adair, but it has been intercepted by Guillermo Franco, who then dribbled ferociously towards our net. He had cleverly led Howard to believe he would be the one to score. But... without anybody noticing and with all of us rushing towards our net to protect it, Franco cleanly tossed the ball towards Hernandez who tucked it away brilliantly.