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

pregame chapels. The dude had 24 cousins, and Laura was one.
    I noticed Laura immediately. It was hard not to: with her flirty girl-next-door vibe, she was dazzling enough, I swear, to light up this whole dark basement.
    We spoke only briefly that night—I remember I learned that she was a loan officer at a bank, that she loved animals, that she’d been an All-City basketball player.
    I’m sure I blinked and cleared my throat eight million times during our chat. My tics come out especially fiercely when I get nervous or excited. This time I was both.
    Before she left, Laura asked, “You guys are playing the Dallas Burn next month, right?”
    I nodded. Near me, I could hear Clint’s unmistakable Southern drawl, Who needs another beer? Anyone? Anyone?
    “Well,” Laura said. “Maybe I’ll drive up to Dallas to see you play.”
    As I watched her walk up the stairs, Clint came over to me.
    “Timmy, my friend. Can I get you another drink?”
    Laura disappeared from view.
    “Nah,” I said. “I’m good.”
    The truth was, all I wanted was another chance to talk with Laura—in Dallas, or here. I’d have followed that girl to Timbuktu.
    A few weeks later, Laura and Ross’s brother Ryan drove 450 miles—7 hours, round-trip—to see us play in Dallas. Afterward, I ran into her in the lobby of the Embassy Suites hotel. She was waiting for the elevator with Ryan and Ross.
    “You want to come hang out with us?” Ross asked me.
    Of course I did.
    Upstairs, Laura and Ryan sat together on the sofa, while Ross and I took the armchairs on either side. We talked about the game we’d played that day. It was our fourth match against the Burn that season, and the first time we’d won—Clint had scored on a header in the second minute.
    There was a long, awkward silence. Finally, Ross glanced at me, then at Laura. He stood up. “Guys, I’m going to bed,” he said.
    Almost immediately, Ryan followed him.
    Laura and I were alone.
    It didn’t matter that I was a pro athlete who’d been named the best goalkeeper in the MLS. It didn’t matter that I’d been invited to play for the U.S. National Team in exhibition games. I was learning that a guy can accomplish all these things and still get jittery when he’s left alone in a room with a girl he likes.
    When I looked back up at Laura, she patted the sofa next to her, smiling. “Well, don’t be so shy all the way over there. Come on and sit with me. We’ll watch some TV together.”
    Feeling like I was back in seventh grade, an insecure kid who became tongue-tied around pretty girls, I got up and moved to the couch.
    Laura clicked through the channels until she saw Denzel Washington on the screen and stopped. Denzel was saying, “You think football is fun?”
    “ Remember the Titans !” Laura exclaimed. “One of my favorite movies.”
    It was a favorite of mine, too.
    So we watched it together, quoting memorable lines out loud, and when it was over I didn’t get up to go. Instead we talked some more, about Memphis and basketball and her days at Christian Brothers University. I told her about my Hungarian family, about my Nana’s church, about twitching and blinking and coughing my way through middle school.
    We moved on to my high school basketball rivalry with Jay Williams. I told her about Mulch and my burning desire to play in Europe.
    I told her about playing for the U.S. Men’s National Team—I’d played several games now, along with my friend Carlos Bocanegra, from the youth team. Carlos and I were the new kids on the block—not quite experienced enough to sit at what we called the “grown-up table,” so we hung around together during training camp, watching the older players and trying to pretend we weren’t completely intimidated.
    Laura and I talked about everything that mattered, or so it seemed, and we didn’t stop until after the sun came up. When the clock said 6:15, I realized that the MetroStars bus would be leaving for the airport in 45