Why Is the Rhetoric So Amped When We Talk About Hope Solo?

It only took five minutes for Hope Solo to be tested in Monday's U.S. World Cup opener. Had she failed to get her hands on Australia's Emily Van Egemond's shot, the narrative would have been set for the rest of her tournament: finally, real consequences.

Instead, Solo pushed the ball up and off the crossbar. She made another two huge saves for the United States in the first half, which kept the game close for the eventual 3-1 victory. Regardless of her stellar performance, questions still arose about her off-the-field issues despite fruitless attempts from U.S. Soccer press officers to corral questions to on-field matters only.

A USA Today reporter was the winner for managing to get in the first—and only—question about Solo's state of mind as a result of ESPN's Outside the Lines recent report that revealed new details of her June 2014 arrest. Solo's response? "I am perfectly focused, sir. Perfectly focused."

Solo's—and her team's—perfect focus has been the big story of the past two days. There's also been the backlash to the narrative of Hope Solo as a distraction, and then backlash to the backlash, and then even more questioning of U.S. soccer's handling of the whole thing.

The world is now watching, after all. But the timing of this latest distraction is awfully convenient. And that it came from ESPN, whose parent company ABC/Disney has given Solo multiple avenues in which to present a favorable side of her story, is even more curious. First was a February appearance on ABC's Good Morning America that addressed both her arrest and suspension; then came a lengthy ESPNW profile released just before the World Cup. Does ESPN/ABC/Disney even know which side of story they believe anymore? Do we?

Aside from those stories with ABC/Disney, Solo wrote a new blog on her website about the incident. It is debatable, however, if she did more harm than good with any of it.

Whether Solo has grown as a person from this incident—and several others including a January suspension after her husband Jerramy Stevens was arrested for driving a U.S. Soccer van while under the influence—or has made a sincere effort at rehabilitation and self-examination, or whether she merely faked her emotional public appearances to protect her starting spot seem irrelevant at this point. The media has already decided upon her character. The overwhelming response since Sunday has lined up with Deadspin's headline: "Hope Solo's Redemption Tour is Utter Bullshit."

And there's plenty more where that came from.

(No really. There might be a theme here.)

Whether a male athlete would have faced similar scrutiny or whether the media is overcompensating for the attention given to recent instances of athlete domestic abuse against women is a relevant question that continues to hover over the entire Solo situation.

This isn't to say that Solo is innocent, or guilty, or someone who got caught up again in a bad situation and who doesn't deserve another chance to make things right. Nor should we dismiss what she's done either because of a good game against Australia or because her teammates—who obviously fear a distraction could derail their title hopes—have publicly supported her.

But when we talk about Hope Solo, what are we really talking about? Why is the language so black and white, the rhetoric so amped?

Hope Solo makes people uncomfortable. This is true now, and it was true before her arrest for domestic violence. The stakes are higher now, and yet the conversation generated by media coverage still isn't really about domestic violence. Female athletes aren't generally expected to be villains, ruthless perfectionists, larger-than-life personalities, or opinionated assholes who open their mouths too much. Or in Hope Solo's case, all four.

There is a narrow spectrum of tidy behaviors that will earn women athletes national coverage, especially in women's soccer: role models who exhibit perfect sportsmanship who play for the love of the game. Players must survive a second layer of categorization once they reach role model status. Here they get the pleasure of being assigned one of three categories: Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue model, soccer mom, or LGBT poster child.

Hope Solo has walked back and forth over the line of several of these categorizations many times in her career. But in coverage of Solo, it's less about the act, and much more about every fundamental character flaw she possesses.

Again, Solo tends to be her own worst enemy. Over the years, she's been fueled by a me-versus-the-world existence. The reward for such an attitude has been an on-field excellence for club and country. And U.S. Soccer seems perfectly willing to accept the repercussions if it means adding a third star above the crest to the women's national team kit.

The space for a productive conversation about Solo just doesn't exist at this point in time. Limited narratives exist because there is limited coverage of Solo outside of her transgressions. Women's soccer receives so little in-depth, nuanced coverage from the mainstream sports press—whether it be print, online, television, radio, etc.—on every level that context is still lacking. These same outlets then wonder why more people aren't outraged by Solo, and the echo chamber is complete.

In September, the media and U.S. Soccer weren't doing themselves any favors in their handling of Solo. Since then, it's only gotten worse. But this time, there are over three million sets of eyeballs watching Solo play, and waiting to see if, maybe, just maybe, all those articles were right.