The world knows Australia and Chelsea striker Sam Kerr. She scores goals. She backflips to celebrate. She drops pitch invaders on their backsides. She tells the haters to “suck on that one.”
Audiences everywhere know the happy, infectious, joyful Matildas captain Kerr. But there is another Kerr that we all don’t quite know. The Kerr who sat deep in contemplation in the middle of the Stade de Nice, having missed a penalty in a round of 16 game against Norway at the Women’s World Cup. The incredulous, disbelieving Kerr whose goal was disallowed in the semifinals of the Olympics against Sweden.
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In those moments, where Kerr isn’t inevitable, she’s just human. You can’t help but look at her, trying to be stoic but the disappointment seeping through, and wonder: What’s going on in that head of hers? How can any one person carry the expectations of the nation — its collective joy and heartache — on their shoulders alone? How is she actually feeling?
“When I miss a really big chance in a really big game, I do think about it. I feel really guilty and I put a lot of blame on myself,” Kerr reveals in Disney’s new series, “Matildas: The World at Our Feet.”
“Those are the moments that normally make me who I am as a player. I hate losing more than I like winning.
“As captain of the team there is that responsibility to perform. That’s sport sometimes like, you do everything in your power and then you rock up and you don’t have your best performance.”
Her feelings of guilt and responsibility are immensely relatable. After the Asian Cup exit at the quarterfinal stage in January 2022, Kerr was similarly disappointed. It was plain to see on the broadcast and in photos. Now, fans know what she was thinking as well.
“That’s probably one of the biggest opportunities missed. We never expected to go out at the quarterfinal. We were probably a bit complacent. I didn’t even process that we were going to go home,” she said.
“I was personally disappointed, I missed a big chance. Maybe I take on too much responsibility sometimes but yeah, when there’s a big moment that I miss I definitely think about it more than I should.”
Kerr had a number of chances in that quarterfinal. On any other day she would have put them away; sneaking them in on the correct side of the post, hitting sweetly instead of scuffed. The responsibility she feels, as the striker and the captain, runs deep.
“Sorry for the s— misses guys” Kerr told her teammates in the circle postmatch. As her teammates begin a mismatched chorus of responses, she walks away. She’s the kind of player who needs that moment of reflection on her own, away from everyone else to begin processing what’s just happened.
Kerr doesn’t consider herself an emotional person over football. But she is the kind of player who wears her heart on her sleeve on the pitch. Much like she can’t contain the joy bursting out of her when she scores and the Matildas win, she cannot hide her dejection when she misses and the Matildas lose. Processing these losses isn’t unique to Kerr, every footballer loses games. But you could argue that very few footballers face the same exact pressure that Kerr is under.
