I've been reading a lot of alternate-format fics lately, where the story is told through tweets or court case transcripts instead of traditional novel format. That inspired me to imagine myself as a journalist in the GCU, and write some articles within the universe about everyone's favorite amputee soccer goalie. It's been almost a month since I concluded Beyond Gravesen and that's long enough to justify revisiting this universe! I've never tried writing like this before, so hopefully I did a decent enough job.

Sports Illustrated Vol. 137 No. 9

From Cover

One-Armed and Dangerous: US Amputee Soccer's Bucky Barnes on His Rise to Stardom

by Michael McKnight

I sat down with Paralympic gold medalist and Espy award winner Bucky Barnes to discuss his career, from his first exposure to amputee soccer through his recent accolades. What strikes me first is his youth; at only twenty-one years old he's accomplished more than most athletes will in their entire careers. However, beneath that youthful exterior lies an old soul. Barnes' life, though short, has been anything but easy. At fourteen, he was diagnosed with Ewing's sarcoma, a rare bone cancer which ultimately claimed his left arm. Barnes didn't let that hold him back. Since then, he's become a viral Instagram personality alongside one of his teammates and possibly the most formidable goalkeeper that amputee soccer has ever seen.

For readers not familiar with the sport, can you tell us a bit about amputee soccer and how it differs from the regular version of the sport?

"First of all, we don't call it 'regular' soccer. For us, amputee soccer is regular. If you have to specify, call it 'able-bodied' or 'two-footed soccer.'" After (rightfully) correcting my word choice, Barnes explains, "Unlike some Paralympic sports where the athletes wear prosthetics, amputee soccer is played without them. Fielders use crutches and are only allowed to use their one foot to maneuver the ball. Goalies, however, can have two feet but only one arm. Other than that, the rules are pretty much the same as able-bodied soccer."

Did you know anything about the sport before you became an amputee?

"Absolutely not. Like most able-bodied people, I was completely unaware of the disability experience. When I found out I was going to lose my arm, I did a lot of research online, looking for other people who'd been in similar circumstances. I came across a comedian and former player for the US National team doing a stand-up bit about amputee soccer, how it must've been invented by internet trolls." Barnes laughs. "That was how I found out the sport existed, and where I learned the basic rules. I'd already been playing goalie for most of my life, and was convinced I'd never be able to go back to it." He starts to choke up. "To learn that there was a version of the sport specifically for people like me…it was indescribable. It was just the burst of hope I needed back then."

I question whether it's even appropriate to pursue my intended line of inquiry. However, I ask not out of morbid curiosity, but because the circumstances of Barnes' limb loss only underscore his incredible drive and athletic accomplishment.

You were diagnosed with bone cancer at only fourteen years old. Could you talk a little about that experience? What was going through your mind when you received that news?

Barnes shakes his head. "I was scared out of my mind. Still am, sometimes. I'm only six years in remission, which is technically past the benchmark for 'cured,' but not by much. As I mentioned, I spent a lot of time reading about other people who fought Ewing's sarcoma. Pretty much everyone I encountered had bones replaced with metal, had a limb amputated, or died. That's really daunting to see, especially as an aspiring athlete.

"When they told me they'd have to take the arm, I worried I'd never play again. Finding out about amputee soccer was great, because it gave me something to look forward to when treatment ended. That was something I really needed, because treatment was brutal. I spent ten months in and out of the hospital in pretty much constant pain. I lost twenty percent of my body weight—plus the arm—because I was often too nauseous to eat, my mouth was full of sores, and nothing tasted remotely the way it was supposed to. At the same time, I can't be too harsh on that period of my life because it's also when I met my closest friends."

What was it like to get back to the game after such an ordeal?

"Where do I even start?" Barnes chuckles wryly. "I did a lot of physical and occupational therapy, right after the amputation. You don't realize how much you use your arms for balance until one of them is gone. There were also just a lot of everyday tasks I had to relearn how to do. Seriously, spend a few hours with one hand in your pocket and you'll see what I mean.

"A few months after treatment ended, I was back in school and I started going to team practices again. It was humiliating, at first. I couldn't do ten percent of what I used to, exercise-wise. My coach—who I owe most of my success to, that man is a saint—made me run in the opposite direction around the track so I couldn't easily compare myself to the other guys. During the off season, he worked with me one-on-one on strength and endurance training. It took an entire year before I could do even one push-up. I wasn't off the bench until my senior season, over two years after cancer.

"I went to the Netherlands for a week to train with Ulysses Klaue, who's probably the best goalie in amputee soccer. That was actually my Make-a-Wish. I also went to a training/recruitment camp for the US National team. I got recruited right out of high school, trained at UVA with their able-bodied team during the school year and with the US team during breaks. Their previous goalie retired right around the same time me and Lemar, our other goalie, joined up. And the rest is history, I guess." He smiles crookedly.

Are any of your 'signature moves' things you learned from Klaue?

"Of course! The idea of turning around in the net and using the back of my hand, that came from him. It took ages to get right, and I'm still working on improving my speed and accuracy. The vaulting sideways thing, though, when I hit the ground and kick out to stop a ball, that was just something I did reflexively one day during training in the Netherlands and I honed until it was a legitimate technique."

The acrobatics and strength it takes for that kind of save are arguably even more impressive than the flip.

Do you see yourself one day teaching that move to the next generation of goalkeepers?

"Absolutely. I would love to host training camps for other amputees, especially kids. There's not a lot of representation or awareness for kids with disabilities, outside of the community. It's getting better with the mainstreaming of Para-sports, but there's still a long way to go."

You've been playing a pretty big role in raising awareness with your Instagram page, Amputeam. How did that come about?

"We were in college, so, naturally, it was an idea we had at two o'clock in the morning while we were both pretty drunk. It started as just a bunch of poorly-designed memes based on what it was like to live with each other. Really stupid stuff. At first, the only people following were our friends, and then it started to spill to other amputees. I don't think it really got big until the LEGO prank, though. That video went viral. Neither of us ever expected it to go that far, but we're glad it did."

Can you give us any insight into what the future of Amputeam will look like?

"We're hoping to move away from just pranking each other. There's only so far you can go, after all. We want to make more content including other members of the team, may do some day-in-the-life type stuff. We're also looking into posting adaptive workouts. But we're always paying attention to comments and messages we get from followers, so whatever they want to see, we'll try to post."

Going back to soccer, the US team played in the Amputee Soccer World Cup in Mexico City, but you were conspicuously absent. Can you say why that was?

"I had a family emergency." Barnes offers no elaboration.

What were your expectations going into the Paralympics?

"Certainly not gold," he says with a laugh. "I was just excited to get out there and show the world what we could do—what I could do—especially after missing the World Cup. Also to see Paris," he adds. "Before the Netherlands, I'd never left the country."

As you continued advancing in the tournament, was there then any expectation that you might win?

"I mean, we were all hoping for it." He flashes a smile. "But I don't think any of us suspected that we would actually win."

What was the energy like on the field when that final whistle blew?

"It was magical. I remember watching Josiah score from across the field, hearing the whistle, and immediately sprinting to him. I fully picked him up—which isn't even something I knew I could do." He laughs joyously. "After that, it was just a celebratory dog pile. I think it took us a few minutes to extricate everyone from the tangle of limbs and return crutches to their rightful owners. It's a moment I'll never forget."

And then you won an Espy.

"I did." He looks like he still doesn't quite believe it really happened.

What does it mean to you to be recognized with an award like that?

Barnes shakes his head. "I'm still trying to convince myself I deserve it. Half the time, I still feel like that high school kid running the wrong direction around the track. It's hard to believe I've come so far in just six years. But it means the world, to be recognized among so many other disabled athletes. You know, a lot of people view that as a paradox, that 'disabled' inherently means 'unathletic.' But that's absolutely not the case. Some of my boys can crank out a hundred pistol squats like it's nothing or do a full three-sixty flip on crutches, like when you spin a foosball player. I guarantee most able-bodied soccer players can't do that." He pauses thoughtfully. "I guess what I'm getting at is different doesn't always mean worse. In fact, it rarely does. And I'm honored to be considered one of the best at doing things differently."

Barnes is nothing if not humble. He neglects to mention any of his own feats of athleticism when comparing disabled athletes to non-disabled.

I imagine you can crank out a few more one-armed push-ups than the average able-bodied athlete.

Barnes shrugs. "They're all just push-ups to me."

He's also got a sense of humor.

I can't let you go without asking about your fiancé. Congratulations, by the way. I was just curious if you thought that you so proudly announcing that you're engaged to a man will have any sort of effect on how people view you, or the LGBT community as a whole.

"That's a really good question. I actually debated whether or not to use that word fiancé in that speech. I was worried there would be backlash for me using my acceptance speech to 'come out' or whatever. But Steve—my fiancé—reminded me that it wasn't really a coming out. I've never said anything about being straight, certainly not publicly, so why should that be the default assumption? I sincerely hope that people see me, a man in a gay relationship playing a masculine sport," he uses heavy air quotes around 'masculine sport', "And realize that their assumptions are incorrect. Me loving a man says nothing about any other aspect of my life."

I tell him my husband would agree.

So, now that you've pretty much demolished the athlete's bucket list, what's next for you?

"I have to plan a wedding!" he says enthusiastically. "Beyond that, I'm not really sure. I just want to enjoy life with Steve, continue to play my best, and hopefully not relapse." He finishes with a grim but determined smile.

I thank him for his time and tell him this article has a decent shot at making the cover. He doesn't believe me. As I said, he's nothing if not humble. When I return to my desk to begin typing up this interview, I put my left hand in my pocket. I last less than a minute before frustration brings my hand back out. After talking with Barnes, I am left not only with a newfound respect for all upper limb amputees, but also with the suspicion that this man is destined for more than just soccer stardom.