Free The Keeper: A Life of Saving Goals and Achieving Them by Tim Howard

impressive record, considering how much time the MetroStars spent defending. By the end of the season, I was named to the MLS All-Stars, and I was voted MLS Goalkeeper of the Year, the youngest-ever player to earn that honor. I was also selected as part of the league’s “Best Eleven.” Perhaps most rewarding of all, I was named MLS Humanitarian of the Year for my work with Tourette Syndrome awareness.
    I put those trophies in a box and sealed them up. I was afraid if I looked at them too much, if I had them on display, it would make me complacent. I wanted to stay hungry.
    D an and I thought carefully about which country, which league, which club, might be the best fit for me. Holland is one of the stronger soccer countries in Europe. Its top league, the Eredivisie, isn’t rich like England’s Premier League or Germany’s Bundesliga, but it’s good.
    In the winter of 2001–2002, an elite Dutch club, Feyenoord, was looking for a goalkeeper. They invited me to train with them for two weeks—essentially giving me a tryout. I felt confident, physically and mentally ready. I’d had a great MLS season and I’d been getting looks from the U.S. National Team. I was so pumped, in fact, that when I stepped off the overnight flight to Holland, I didn’t even bother to stop at my hotel before heading straight into my first training session.
    It was a good two weeks. I trained my ass off. I liked the team, and felt like I fit in. By the end, I fully expected that Feyenoord would make an offer.
    But they didn’t. Instead, they told Dan that they thought Ihad great potential, but that they didn’t feel sure enough to make a move.
    Okay, so now what? I decided that I would aspire to be the best goalkeeper in MLS for a few more years, try to push my way into the U.S. National Team. Europe would come when I was a slightly more established commodity. And I had some luxury there; goalkeepers tend to have longer careers than field players.
    But it wouldn’t be long before my whole life would turn upside down.

“WE’VE GOT OUR EYES ON YOU”
    P eople’s lives can change when—and where—they least expect it. Mine took a sudden turn in August 2002, at a place called “Club Poogo,” which wasn’t actually a club. It was Clint Mathis’s basement.
    Clint had joined the team a few seasons ago, transferring from the LA Galaxy. It didn’t take him long to charm everyone; as soon as he scored his first goal for the MetroStars he’d lifted his jersey to reveal an “I ♥ NY” T-shirt. The fans ate it up.
    Before he left for the 2002 World Cup, Clint shaved his head into a Mohawk. While there, he scored a sensational goal against South Korea in their home stadium, earning the U.S. a 1–1 draw. In that one instant, Mathis looked like the best striker on earth. He helped the team to advance to the knockout stage, where we beat archrival Mexico in what was then the biggest-ever matchup of the regional powers. By the time the U.S. team arrived home after reaching the quarterfinals for the first time in our history, Clint had become the face of American soccer. He appeared on the covers of Sports Illustrated and ESPN The Magazine , and even bantered with Jon Stewart on The Daily Show about how to grow out a Mohawk.
    Clint was the kind of guy who liked nothing better than a good party, so when he purchased a town house in East Paterson, New Jersey, he refinished the basement to look like a nightclub. Midnight-black walls. Velvet ropes. Funky red velvet furniture and a huge red pool table to match. There was also an enormous glass bar, complete with working taps and tiny bulbs casting a red glow over fake ice. He even had a sign custom-made with the words CLUB POOGO spelled out in red neon.
    It was there, beneath Mathis’s twirling disco ball, that I met my future wife, Laura.
    She was there visiting Ross Paule, who had recently been acquired by the MetroStars. Ross was a quiet, hardworking family man who’d become a regular at our