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In 2007, U.S. goal keeper Hope Solo was dropped to the bench for a semi-final game in the Women's World Cup. The United States lost badly. Solo's veteran replacement, Briana Scurry, was largely to blame.Immediately after the match, Solo gave the interview that would define her reputation as the least-sportsmanlike great competitor of her era, as well as its most visible.

"[Not starting me] was the wrong decision, and I think anybody who knows anything about the game knows that," Solo said in her grating, pebbly drawl. "There's no doubt in my mind I would have made those saves."

Scurry's long, successful career functionally ended that day. Solo ensured her teammate's final lap was as humiliating as possible.

Like most of her colleagues, Solo was an unknown at the time. Women's soccer enjoyed a brief burst in the United States when that country played host to the 1999 Women's World Cup, but had settled back into an atmosphere of general apathy.

America liked women's soccer in the same way most people admire lawn bowling or croquet – as a pleasant idea, but not something you'd watch.

Well, they wanted to watch the hell out of this. Solo's post-game petulance was more than shocking. It was transgressive.

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At the time, top female team athletes did not reduce themselves to the boorish behaviour of their male peers. Outside the odd spitting match in women's tennis, they displayed irreproachable good manners.

Now here came Solo – an insufferable whiner, a cartoonish poor loser, and one of those nitwits who dress up their failings of character as a type of daring: 'I say these stupid things because I'm brave.'

There were two ways to look at Solo's emergence. She was either tearing down the temple walls or she was a prophet, sent to release women's sport from its banality.

From a certain angle, she could be both.

You may have hated her, but like a long line of detestable male stars – Charles Barkley, Cristiano Ronaldo, Floyd Mayweather, et al – her anti-social bravado enthralled you.

Solo made a meal of her notoriety and good looks, working as a model and starring on bad prime-time TV. There were moments over the past decade when, Serena Williams aside, she was the most recognizable female athlete in the United States.

Unlike Williams, sport had little to do with it. That Solo was probably the best goal keeper in the history of the women's game seemed almost parenthetical to her fame. That should have been a warning to all involved.

At her peak, Solo was both a problem for women's soccer and its solution. No single player did more to elevate the game's profile outside its affluent, suburban niche. More often than not, that was accomplished through the tabloids.

Solo's personal life was an ongoing public disaster: a precarious marriage to an NFL player; a high-profile arrest for domestic violence; repeated instances of shocking impulse control, often abetted by a few too many pops.

Solo was unique in that athletes with those sorts of problems tend to burn out fast. Somehow, she kept her performance separate from her extracurriculars. The U.S. squad kept winning. Solo continued to thrive, despite herself.

But it was always going to end badly at the worst possible time.

Solo and her teammates were expected to cakewalk through the Rio Olympics. They lost to Sweden in the quarter-final. In the aftermath, Solo reverted to her personal mean – lashing out in low-class fashion.

Nothing had changed in 10 years except that Solo was now old (35) and no longer anywhere near as good. A jerk who is a great player is a character. A jerk who's losing her edge is a liability.

Post-Games, U.S. Soccer did to Solo what she'd done to Scurry – knifed her in the back as she was stumbling out the door.

She was "suspended for six months" (read: 'was involuntarily retired') from the national program. Over the weekend, she took a "personal leave" (read: 'was fired') by her pro side, the Seattle Reign.

In two weeks, Hope Solo went from the most famous face in the game, to an unemployable has-been. You wouldn't have believed there's enough gravity in the universe to get someone back to Earth that quickly.

As usual, we've separated into two predictable camps – the 'she deserved it' shriekers versus the 'she's being picked on for speaking her mind and/or being a woman' screamers.

Both have this much in common with Solo herself – they're depressingly simple-minded.

Solo didn't 'deserve' anything. Character – good or bad – has nothing to do with athletic prowess. Be wary of people who conflate the two.

There will always be a place in any organization for a talented skunk. There's a word for teams that organize themselves on loftier principles of good moral fibre – losers.

Solo did her job better than anyone ever has for a long, long time. Everything else is a sideshow. 'Deserve' has nothing to do with it.

Nor was she unfairly dealt with. Solo was paid to play for the United States. A professional athlete is as valued as the level of their performance. That's the basis of the sports meritocracy. Once he/she slips, they become worthless.

If you want it to work otherwise, we'll have to start calling it sports socialism.

And Solo was treated no differently than a man would have been in her position – admired when she was good; despised once she'd declined.

It's a ruthless business. That's why the most competitive people alive want to work in it.

Rather than debate her fall, which was inevitable, we might better spend these last moments assessing her impact.

Solo was among the most important women's team athletes of her generation. Though she was remarkably skilled, there were far better players – many on her own roster.

What made Solo different was a keening need to be seen and heard. By force of personality, she pushed her game to the front of the overcrowded American sports mind.

You may not appreciate how she did it, but looking back on a vastly altered landscape, you must acknowledge the scale of the accomplishment.

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