The summer I turned sixteen, I played internationally competitive lacrosse for the Swedish National Women’s Lacrosse Team. Though I live in Connecticut, I have been steeped in Swedish culture from birth thanks to my mom, who was born and raised in Sweden. That cultural connection inspired me to join this European team, where I was pleasantly surprised to find many other English-speakers like me, with ties to Australia, England, and the US in addition to Sweden. On our first day of practice, I was greeted with both a Swedish hej and an English hello. During those months, we managed to communicate, whether with words or a non-verbal pass on the pitch. The experience offered a new perspective on American sportsmanship, the dynamics of teamwork, and overcoming barriers bigger than language differences.
There’s an interesting subculture in the world of European sports: many American athletes like myself with family ties to Europe and dual citizenship spend their summers playing competitively across the Atlantic. It’s seen as a way to hone one’s skills in the off-season while engaging in cross-cultural exchange.
At the European Lacrosse Championship, it’s not uncommon for D1 college teammates to play against one another as representatives of Ireland, Israel, or the Netherlands. Coaches participate, too. The Irish team, for example, is currently helmed by the head women’s coach at Brown University. Several of her players have joined her, along with other athletes from Northwestern, Vanderbilt, and Stanford. According to a 2024 profile of a German-American teenager who plays for the German national team, this is the norm. “Many coaches from around the world also coach college teams in America,” writes the Bozeman Daily Chronicle, so playing for a team that qualifies for the European or World championships can offer “further exposure” for college hopefuls. Thanks to the influx of “North American talent,” the women’s European league is now more international than not.
Such cross-pollination of talent makes for a team with different mother tongues. But while this might seem problematic, language barriers turned out to be not nearly as divisive as I had expected. Off the field, groups formed along linguistic lines. I gravitated towards the native English speakers, while those who preferred to speak Swedish formed another faction. But on the field, any distinctions disappeared. Before games, we blasted international music to get hyped up, whether we understood the lyrics or not. If a bad call was made, it wasn’t hard to understand a pointed eye roll, sigh, or a “What was that?” yell. Cheers, high-fives, and happy dances—the language of celebration—are similarly universal. No matter what language was being shouted on the pitch, body language ultimately prevailed.
But as the season went on, a different dynamic emerged. While it was easy to understand each other, who was sending these messages became significant. In fact, the athletes who had learned in the States had a vastly different approach to sportsmanship than the native Swedes.
Once the starting whistle blared, the Americans transformed. Girls who were all smiles and “good luck hugs” before the game became overtly competitive, even aggressive. Mistakes garnered screaming, shoving, and cold shoulders. The sentiment was clear: “You’re only as strong as your weakest player.” Afterwards, they were back to their regular selves. Some girls even apologized for their behavior, laughing the moments off as if they were nothing. Although I understand getting caught up in the heat of the game, it was jarring to be treated one way on the field and another off it.
The Swedes, by contrast, had a different gametime composure. They were, by and large, calm, poised, and collaborative. More than once, our Swedish coach reminded us to work together: “Win as a team, lose as a team!” Over time, this ethos translated to a prevailing culture of support and reassurance. If a teammate looked upset, many would smile and promise the next pass. Mistakes earned encouraging shouts and pats on the back. These small gestures instantly soothed my anxieties; I was not defined by my mistakes. I did not have to play from a space of frustration and shame. Instead, a lighter touch kept my spirits up—and my game sharp—on the field.
In Europe, the club sports structure favors community-building and teamwork over marketing individual stars, in stark contrast to America’s franchise-driven leagues.
What kind of team could we be if we combined the best of both cultures? What if we bridged the gap between Sweden’s good sportsmanship and America’s drive for excellence?
It’s clear that both sides benefit from the contributions of the other. At the 2024 Women’s European Lacrosse Championship in Braga, Portugal, the superior skill of the American athletes was undeniable. Teams with American athletes played significantly better than those without: Norway, for example, consisted of only native Norwegians and finished near the bottom of the pack. The top three teams that ultimately advanced to World—England, Israel, and Scotland, in that order—played in that sweet spot of international skill and shared team culture. But the reverse is also true. Experts across the world of sports are quick to point out that when American players embrace Europe’s focus on system thinking and tactical discipline, they can take their talent to new heights.
Although we had our moments of tension, I flew home at the end of that summer with new lifelong connections. Over a year has passed since the Championship, and our group chats are still alive with jokes and emojis and plans to reunite. We may not have been a perfect team, but our pursuit of a common goal brought us together beyond language and cultural divides. Whether we won or lost, our team proved that it’s possible to uphold the virtues of excellence and teamwork through the universal language of sport. And once we stood in a line to sing “Du gamla, du fria,” the de facto Swedish national anthem, we were united as one.