It was at the Queens Classic ’26. With the tristate area, as well as the rest of the country, encapsulated both by forest fire smog and the smoke and mirrors of the men’s edition of the FIFA World Cup, a scion of the much better American side delivered a wave of hope against one of the ugliest skies to which the author’s eyes have ever born witness.

With an audacious worldwide entry already against the Netherlands to go up 2-0 in the 2019 women’s World Cup Final, Lavelle wasn’t looking for more of the same: she never is. Every goal she scores occurs in an exactly different way from how any other goal she scores does, except for herself. Rose Lavelle captivates and creates, provides and inspires, but she is a poacher at heart.