Justin Bryant is the current goalkeeper coach for NC State’s women’s soccer program and a former professional goalkeeper for the Orlando Lions, Dunfermline Athletic, and the Cocoa Expos. Although Bryant reached the 1995 USISL final in his last season as a player, an error in the 3-1 loss ended his professional tenure on a sour note. Bryant opens up about the frustrating mistake - and how he’s incorporated the lesson into his coaching career - before recounting a standout moment that paved the way for playing overseas in Scotland and England.
For more on an outstanding career during a time when being a professional soccer player was rare, if not viewed as outright ludicrous, check out Bryant’s autobiography, Small Time: A Life in the Football Wilderness.
What was one of the worst moments in your playing career as a goalkeeper?
The last game of my career was the 1995 USISL Championship game between the host Richmond Kickers and my team, Cocoa Expos. In the 10th minute, a ball played over the top, angling toward the corner to my left, beat our back three. I could see the Richmond attacker, Rob Ukrop, running onto the ball, and I thought, 'That's going to be a really hard ball to bring down, coming over his shoulder like that.' So, anticipating a less-than-perfect first touch from Rob, I sprinted towards him, thinking I would easily be able to clear from outside my box. I figured that even if he took a really good touch, the fact that he was looking over his shoulder meant he would never know I was advancing, and I'd be able to clear. So, bad touch or good touch, either way was going to work out for me.
What I didn't anticipate, though, was that he would take neither a good nor bad touch, but instead miss the ball completely. The ball skipped past him toward the corner, but since he was already running more or less in that direction, he easily adjusted to it. I, on the other hand, had to arrest my momentum and make a hard left turn. He reached the ball first, with his back to goal, and took a touch just outside the box, which meant I couldn't try to plunge at his feet and win the ball with my hands. I briefly contemplated trying to tackle him, giving away a foul if necessary, but was concerned about getting sent off for a tackle from behind (recent changes to the laws meant this was a real risk).
So I calculated that my best chance was to turn and sprint back to my goal. I actually made it back in time, but my charge from goal meant that one of my chasing defenders went in goal to cover for me, instead of picking up a runner into the box, and when Ukrop turned and crossed, he found Brian Kamler arriving unmarked at the far post, and he headed back across me into the corner. The crowd of 6,000 exploded, and I lay disconsolately on the cool turf, growing damp with summer evening dew. 1-0 Richmond. They would go on to win 3-1, the only game that season I lost.
How did you overcome the setback?
By this stage in my career, I'd become adept at moving past mistakes. And honestly, at that moment I didn't particularly feel I had made a mistake; I was angry at Rob Ukrop for missing his touch! In my mind, had he taken any sort of touch, good or bad, I would've easily cleared the ball. So in a funny way, I blamed HIM for what happened. This isn't really rational; in fact it's delusional. But in this case, it helped keep my focus off my role in the goal, and let me play out the rest of the game without feeling I had anything to 'make up' for, which of course can lead to compounding mistakes. Goalkeepers get in trouble when they start trying to compensate.
Later, when I had more time to think about it, and especially when I watched the video, I realized an additional problem was that my starting position had been too deep. When I played for Borehamwood in England, we played a very high line, and I got used to playing high in support, and dealing with balls played into the space. But the Expos played a deep-lying 3-4-3, designed to draw teams in and hit them on the counter, and I gradually became accustomed to a deeper starting position. Starting close to your goal has a comforting, almost narcotic effect, in that you feel reassured by the proximity of your goal, and you begin to feel that straying from it is 'risky.' The exact opposite is true; the larger that gap between you and your defenders gets, the more likely a ball will find its way there and punish you. That's what happened in this case.
What made this moment so hard to take was that it was my last game. I had already decided to move on from playing at the end of the season. I was about to turn 29 and had struggled for years in the lower levels of the pro game, barely making enough money to live on, and I was ready to move into coaching. So although it was a great learning moment, I never got to personally put into practice the lesson I was harshly taught, which was that while proactive reading of the game is great, committing to a course of action that is dependent on *something which might not happen* will eventually get you into trouble. In my case, it caught up to me on my last night as a professional player. But I have certainly made a point of sharing this lesson with all the goalkeepers I've coached down the years.
What was one of the most successful moments you experienced as a goalkeeper?
I had a number of moments I'm very proud of. I was the first high school player from Brevard County, Florida to sign a D1 soccer scholarship (at Radford University). I had a very strong debut as a 21-year-old American for Borehamwood FC in England, playing well and keeping a clean sheet in my first game in March 1987. But my best moment came in September 1988, on a preseason tour of Scotland with my team Orlando Lions. I had already played well in games against St. Mirren and Aberdeen, coming on to play the second half of each game in place of my boyhood hero, the brilliant Winston DuBose; but in the final game of our tour, against Dunfermline Athletic, I was given the start.
The terrace behind my goal was packed. As a kid who grew up enthralled by the atmosphere of swaying, chanting British crowds, I couldn't believe I was playing in front of one just a handful of years later. But I wasn't overawed by the occasion. I played well, making a number of saves as we were under heavy pressure for the first twenty minutes or so. At one point, I twisted to hold a close-range header, drawing a loud 'Oooooohhh' from the crowd directly behind me. Feeling pretty full of myself, I turned and showed the ball to them in a playful taunt. The first half ended, Winston came on for the second, and I felt I'd done my job well. I retreated to the dugout, satisfied.
But when the game ended 2-2, we found that Dumfermline had commissioned a trophy for the winner, which would be decided by penalties. Despite Winston's vast experience, I brashly suggested to manager John Higgins that he put me in. He seemed surprised, but said, "We'll ask Winston." And even more surprisingly, Winston was easygoing about it. "Sure," he said. "Go save a few."
We went back to the end I'd started in, the one with the packed terrace. As I jogged into the goal, I gave the Dunfermline supporters the overhead clap I'd seen so many goalkeepers give their home support. To my amazement, the entire terrace, in the spirit of a friendly match, returned it. The first Dunfermline penalty taker stepped up. I decided for no good reason to dive to my left, and he obliged with the kind of penalty keepers love: waist high and about three steps away, just far enough that it looks like a much more difficult save than it really is. For the second shooter, I thought, well, he's seen my save to my left; he'll probably go right. He did, low but not well-placed enough, and this one I not only saved but held. Two penalties, two saves. I still can't explain the feeling. It literally felt like a dream. Both teams scored their next penalties, and then Dunfermline hit the crossbar with their fourth, and we won.
Why was this moment was so important to you?
If you dream of being a professional goalkeeper, and then you get the opportunity to not only sign a professional contract with a team, but test yourself right out of the gate not against the Albany Capitals or Boston Bolts (with all due respect to those teams and others in the old American Soccer League), but instead the likes of Aberdeen FC, who beat Real Madrid in a European final in 1983, St. Mirren, and Dunfermline Athletic - full-time, established British professional teams - it's the very definition of a dream come true. If you're a kid born in Florida in the mid-1960s, who didn't start playing until age 13 and had no real coaching, and then just eight years later you're standing in Scotland in front of a packed terrace of fans clapping you, the emotional impact is overwhelming. I still think about it today.
More practically, because I played well in all three games, I had tangible proof that I belonged. My best level was going to be good enough. My greatest fear had always been that even if I maxed out my ability, I would be out of my depth and totally embarrassed. But that didn't happen. All aspects of my game were tested in those three games in Scotland. I got bombarded with crosses, I got crowded at corners and free kicks, and shots rained in on me from all angles. I did well enough, in fact, that Dunfermline invited me for an extended trial the following season. It didn't work out because I couldn't get a UK work permit - a persistent problem which meant I never really achieved my ultimate career ambitions - but that was beyond my control.
