Only someone raised in the same house would notice. Her family picks it out in all the still photos. When Mia Hamm extends herself in the run of play, leaping to hurdle an opponent or launch a shot, the middle finger of her right hand curls naturally toward her thumb, forming a circle as if something delicate is nestling there.
That small and private space is emblematic of what Hamm tries to reserve for herself, even as she has become one of the most scrutinized athletes in the world. Hamm is the daughter of a pilot and a dancer, and both professions inform her work. She may be regarded as the prima ballerina of her troupe, the U.
But Hamm also has a horror of being viewed as a prima donna. Like a flinty and laconic flyer used to landing in thunderstorms, she routinely brushes off accolades. The dancer in Hamm comes out in the stepover moves and side volleys and back-heel passes that are an evolutionary step removed from arabesques and plies.
As a little girl, she quit ballet lessons after a couple of weeks. Walk into a new classroom and try to focus on the unfamiliar faces swimming into vision like a heat mirage. Be watchful. Try to blend in. And it was a way for an emotional child to channel her fierce temper and shore up her confidence.
Hamm gets it. This is one of the secrets held in that gently cupped right hand: Her public polish and panache have been hard-won. She was a screamer, a brooder, quick to anger, argumentative. In soccer, Hamm found motivation to submerge her pride and her moods, to work toward that perfect last touch. A lot of times, on the field, I fight to control them. I did the same thing on stage.
