Our team bus drove down the long straight road leading to Manethorpe’s stadium. Even this early, with almost two hours until kick off, the road was a seething mass of black and white–the Manethorpe colours....     Football Girl Chapter 14 By Susan Brown

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Previously...

The ’phone went off and it took a few moments to realise where I was.

I reached for the ’phone and nearly dropped it.

‘Mmm?’

‘Good morning; this is your morning call, it’s seven-thirty am.’

I put the phone down and took a few moments to become compos mentis, as one of my boring old teachers used to say. Then my eyes snapped wide open again.

I was playing my first away game and it was against Manethorpe, the hardest team in the league and with the worst record. The ground was intimidating and the crowd were fanatical.

According to the lads, Manethorpe had born a grudge against Melchester ever since our team won the FA cup four years previously with a dubious goal. This game was not going to be a walk in the park and I expected to get a few bruises before the day was out.

And now the story continues…

I had never experienced anything like it.

Our team bus drove down the long straight road leading to Manethorpe’s stadium. Even this early, with almost two hours until kick off, the road was a seething mass of black and white–the Manethorpe colours. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy playing here, but judging by the reaction of the crowd to our team bus, we weren’t only going to be playing against the Manethorpe eleven, but their forty-odd thousand supporters too!

Hands were slapping on the sides of the bus, making a hell of a din and then the spitting started. Why do people act like that? Football’s only a game. Don’t they have their own lives or do they have to live their lives through their team? I don’t know, but I thought it was decidedly sad.

Eventually, we passed under the famous twin arches of the Manethorpe stadium and turned left, past the gated enclosure that led to the private car and coach park.

We grabbed our things. We were all rather quiet and I wondered if the other players were intimidated by all this hostility. Being a new player, I hadn’t been exposed to this level of fanatic hatred before. I knew that last season, Manethorpe had been fined several times for the behaviour–or lack of it–of their supporters.

I followed my team mates through some swing doors and along a corridor. There wasn’t anyone around to greet us. Was this the welcome we should expect from another premier league club? Or was it part of the silly mind games that some clubs seemed to like playing? I didn’t expect a red carpet, but I thought that they would at least say hello or something.

Soon, we were in a plain, featureless changing room, nothing like our plush one at Melchester. There were hooks upon which to hang clothes and benches to sit on and not much else. Oh, there were some showers and a few other bits of furniture, but it didn’t look exactly welcoming.

Several of the players were chatting and didn’t seem all that phased by the décor of the place: perhaps they were used to it.

After finding the bag with my kit in, I quickly changed, turning my face to the wall so no one could see my chest. My breasts were fairly flat, using the special vest that compressed my optional added extras, but I was taking no chances.

Most of the other lads wore something under their football shirts, it being a very cold winter’s day, so I wasn’t concerned about being anything looking out of the ordinary. However, if I was still playing for the team when the warmer weather came, it might become a bit of a problem.

As soon as we had our boots on we were ready to go out on the pitch for a warm up. It was interesting to hear what the lads were saying about the opposition and I took it all in as I didn’t want any surprises.

As a fan, I knew how good they were, almost as good as us last year, but ahead of us in the table this year, because of our appalling injury problems and the fact that they were a good, if very dirty team.

Several of their players had a reputation of falling down easily and milking the crowd and more importantly the ref. and his assistants. We had to be careful in their penalty area so as not to give them the opportunity to dive and get a cheap penalty.

Then there were their back three defenders, who between them this year, had been given several red cards and numerous yellows, so they were dirty, very dirty. A few weeks ago, one Plimstock player had his leg broken in several places by “Chopper” Davis, Manethorpe’s centre back; the injured player wasn’t expected to play again–ever.

I didn’t want to psych myself up too much, so I sort of zoned out after that. I had no wish to go out on the pitch, scared and unable to do my job.

We made our way down the tunnel and out on the pitch. It was forty minutes before kickoff now and the roars of the crowd got louder as we neared the tunnel exit. Our manager and his team were there and were welcome faces amongst the hostile opposition.

We were greeted by thousands of boos and cat-calls as we ran on the pitch. It was so nice to be made to feel welcome.

Our captain, Ogsood led us to the left where our supporters were. There were not as many of our fans as I would have liked, only a couple of thousand at the most, and they were all behind the goal waving and shouting at us. At least we had some support here and we waved back at the crowd as we started to kick some balls around and do our warm ups.

At the other end of the pitch, the opposition were doing their warm ups to the cheers and chants of their adoring supporters. The ground had filled up completely so there was a full house, making the noise deafening and it was almost impossible to hear what other players were saying.

One of our trainers came over and gestured that the warm-up was over so we ran off the pitch, down the tunnel and back into the plain, depressing, changing room. I kind of had a bet with myself that the other team had a much superior one to this.

Mr McPherson was waiting for us, a mug of steaming tea in his hand. He had a slight smile on his lips. He had seen all this before and wasn’t fazed like I was with the hostility of this place. I wondered if I was strong enough to take this kind of thing. I kind of wished I was back home, in a nice top and skirt and…

‘Right lads, settle down for a minute; we‘ve not got long and I just want a quick word with you about tactics.’

His gaze swept over us, his face expressionless. I wondered if he really thought that this team, not his normal first team squad by any means, could actually win the game.

‘Ye know about them, we’ve been over and over their merits, strengths and weaknesses, so I won’t go over that again. What I want ye tae do is go out there and give it your best. Their main weak point is–and has been for the past two seasons–that they come forward too fast, leaving their back exposed, especially at home. Try to take advantage of that and we can nick a quick goal. Don’t let them settle on the ball, and take every opportunity you can to go for the goal. Enough of the speeches, I know that ye’re all great players so go out there and prove it to me.’

We went back into the tunnel; the other team was there already. I was surprised at the greeting. I thought that they would be at our throats, but there were several handshakes and back slapping as we lined up next to them. I said a shy ‘hello’ to Justin Blake, their leading striker as we waited for the ref to get his finger out and lead us out on the pitch.

‘I’ve seen you play, Mark, great player.’

‘Thanks.’ I said, not knowing what else to say.

‘Maybe we’ll play together for England one day.’

Justin was England’s current top scorer so that was quite a compliment.

‘That would be great.’

Our conversation stopped as we moved out to face the clamouring hordes. The noise was deafening and the chanting intoxicating. All right, they weren’t chanting and singing for us, but the atmosphere was electrifying and made my goose bumps have goose bumps.

We ran to our end of the pitch and kicked some balls about; getting ourselves warmed up again for what I knew was going to be a crunch match in the literal sense.

The whistle blew and we took up our positions; a few seconds later–to the cheers of the crowd telling us that we were going to get stuffed–the game started.

Then first half was hell. They were all over us like a rash. My first touch of the ball gave me an inkling of what was going to happen as I was barged out of the way, none too gently, by their massive Russian centre back–Osmonovich.

He helped me up and shouted in my ear.

‘Little boys should play with toys and not play a man’s game.’

Well he got that one wrong as I wanted to be a girl–but not a little one!

We tried to get into their half to relieve the pressure on our back four, but it was like the tide coming in, they were at us again and again. They had had six shots on target compared to our one. It didn’t look good, but we are nothing if not fighters and we gradually got into the game by spraying balls down the flanks and with our full backs overlapping, we managed to get a few decent crosses in.

It was with a decided sense of relief, that half-time came without any goals being scored.

We sat in the dressing room having isotonic drinks and rubbing our sore muscles. I hadn’t come away unscathed as I had a large bruise on my upper thigh, where I had been tackled high–out of the sight of the ref. of course. I was already tired and concerned that my medical problems might cause problems as the game continued.

Desmond Etoo, our left back who had only just returned from injury, had a nasty gash on his leg from another studs up tackle and it looked like he would probably need a couple of stitches for him to be able to continue. All in all, we were a sorry looking bunch, but we weren’t downhearted because, despite all the fouls and injuries, we had held them to a scoreless draw so far.

Mr McPherson was talking quietly to individual players and I could see why he is considered one of the best managers in the game as the lads were visibly perking up after his little talk with them. After bit, he came and sat down next to me.

‘Well, Mark, you’ve done quite well so far. Don’t let that Russian animal get to you. He always tries to psych new players out. What you need to do in the second half is move upfield a bit more: the lads will cover you. If you keep changing sides, they won’t know how to deal with you. I haven’t come here to lose or draw. We need the points. If you have a sniff at the goal, go for it. No one is going to say anything as long as you try, okay?’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Good man.’ He tapped me on the shoulder and moved to the next man.

All too soon we had to get back out there and after a few words of encouragement from the manager and the other staff, we returned the battlefield–to boos, of course and a few cheers from our small, if loyal, band of supporters.

The second half started as the first had finished, with Manethorpe packing our half with players and making most of the play.

Then disaster struck. Justin Blake made a break for it in our area. Etoo went to tackle him, missed him and Blake went down, arms flaying and he was writhing about in agony as if someone had fatally injured him.

PENALTY!

I couldn’t believe it. I had been in a good position and Etoo hadn’t touched him. We all ran over to the ref and protested and unbelievably I got a yellow card together with our captain Ogsood and Etoo.

We were seething with righteous indignation as Blake who had recovered miraculously after having the magic spray applied to the area that was causing so much agony, put the ball down on the spot took three steps back and shot at the goal.

Ivan Gloshter, our goal keeper, didn’t seem too concerned as the ball flew to the left hand side of the goal. Somehow, he managed to get his gloved finger tips to the ball, pushing it inches past the post.

SAVE!

Our fans went wild, we went wild; Manethorpe groaned and Blake put his head in his hands.

It was still game on!

After the failed penalty, Manethorpe came at us with everything they had got. I did my bit as I managed to spray the ball about and generally make a nuisance of myself when the ball on rare occasions actually left our half. I even had a shot at goal which hit the crossbar.

On the sixty minute mark, the boss decided to change things around a bit and we had three subs, a brave decision as I thought that changing the team’s shape might de-stabilise us. But Etoo was still suffering from the knock and Turner and Arnold were suffering similarly with knocks from some bruising tackles, so they had to come off.

The new players slotted in okay and we carried on our rearguard action to prevent Manethorpe from scoring. It was amazing that they hadn’t scored yet. They had several appeals for penalties and in fact Blake was yellow carded for going down in the box after a puff of wind caught his hair.

Things got more brutal, if that was possible and I got hacked down by a defender just outside the box; luckily only my pride was injured and we had a fee kick. One of our forwards, Lepe, took the free kick but it was one of those days because he sliced it and the ball went wide and hit a cameraman–shame.

The pressure on us continued and they managed to score a goal–which was disallowed as one of their players was an inch offside. The crowd was not amused and vented their wrath. I only hoped that the bleep machine on Match Of The Day was in full working order as the language was enough make a brickie blush!

It came to full time and there were four minutes of injury time to play. I was so tired; I could barely run up the pitch. I wasn’t anything like as strong as the other players and wondered if I could do anything for my stamina. I just wished for the whistle to go and soon!

I never did like their goalkeeper, Tom Johansson, who was a Swedish international. He was big headed and thought that he was God’s gift to football. He had a newspaper column in one of the trashier tabloid dailies and he was always going on about how great he was and his team too and how poor every other team was. He seemed to target our club for some reason and he loved the fact that we hadn’t done very well this year, not because we had terrible injury problems, oh no, but that we just couldn’t play anymore and deserved to be relegated.

He had the ball now. He went to the edge of his area and kicked it up field.

I was standing about twenty feet inside our half and wasn’t feeling that great. I was blowing hard and had my hands on my knees. I looked up just in time to see the ball come straight down at me. My football brain took over. I saw that Tom was walking slowly back towards the goal mouth and nowhere near the goal.

I connected sweetly on the volley and the ball sailed back towards Manethorpe’s goal. It was a fluke, but as Tom looked around when his players shouted at him; he stood amazed as the ball gently flew over him and went in the net, just below the bar.

GOAL!

I was mobbed by our players, our supporters screamed with joy. Manethorpe were for once quiet and as we went back to the centre spot to restart the game, I ached from all the back slapping I had got.

The ref. blew his whistle to restart and almost immediately after that, blew for time. The game was over and we had won.

On the coach returning back home, I reflected on the match and its aftermath. The Manethorpe players were generous with us and congratulated us on a good game. The supporters weren’t so nice and we had a torrent of abuse right after the game and also when our coach left the stadium. The boss said that we made him very proud of us and it was good that he didn’t mention my fluke goal as it is a team game and everyone played their part. I was pleased that I didn’t have to do a post match interview with the TV people. They were told that I was in treatment, in truth, I was terrified of doing interviews and I bottled it.

I slept most of the way back, I was knackered. The physio did say while I was awake that I would have to get my fitness levels up because a season where you are playing two games a week can cause havoc to a body not in peak physical condition. Little did he know why I was so out of shape!

We arrived back at the club, very late. I had rung Jeff to tell him when we were arriving and he was there to pick me up.

After saying goodbye to everyone, we were soon on the way home. I was really exhausted so Jeff didn’t say much apart from the fact that he enjoyed the game, especially my goal and that he was proud of me.

Josie was up when we got back; Claire had gone to bed but left a message on the kitchen table.

‘Hi,
You were awesome, loved the goal. See you in the morning. They were raving about it on MOTD,
Luv
Claire
PS you know who rang and thinks you are well bad!

I smiled tiredly and just gave Jeff and Josie a kiss goodnight and went to bed.

After washing my teeth, cleaning my hair and brushing my face….hang on that’s wrong…After washing my face, cleaning my teeth and brushing my hair, I slipped on a silky nightie and got under the covers with my cuddly rabbit. I was so tired I think I was asleep in seconds.

Next morning, something jumped up and down on my bed; either that or there was an earthquake.

‘Wazzat?’ I said coherently.

‘Susan, you were great, I loved that goal.’

‘Mmm,’ I said, burying my face under the quilt.

‘Susan, come on it’s time to get up.’

‘Why?’ I mumbled.

‘Andrew rang me last night. I sort of arranged for us to go on a double date tonight.’

That woke me up and my eyes snapped open.

‘Date?’ I squeaked.

‘Yea, like sorry I knew that you two wanted to go out, so you know that John and I are sort of going out? I rang him and suggested we go out on a date with Andrew and you…what are you looking like that at me for.’

‘So,’ I said keeping calm and collected, ‘John knows about me now!’

Claire went white.

‘Oh God, like no. I wouldn’t tell him that, he thinks that you are a friend of mine.’

‘And when he finds out about me?’

‘I won’t tell and Andrew certainly won’t.’

I remembered John, a quiet boy, good looking, with dark hair and a bit taller than Claire. I sort of knew that they were an item, but didn’t want to pry. I had only spoken to him once and that was a while ago. He wasn’t in the same classes as me when I was at school, so I didn’t think he would recognise me as Susan.

‘I don’t know, it’s quite a risk and then my parents may not like me going out, I’m still only 15.’

Claire made a face.

‘What?’

‘I sort of mentioned it to them and they said that it was okay as long as you are happy to go. They said that they wanted you to have as normal a life as possible under the circumstances.’

‘Normal–normal! Let’s get this straight I live at home as a girl and I play professional football as a boy. I have half the worlds’–well UK press anyway, wanting to know about me and my personal life. I have a mad step father out there who doesn’t exactly love me. I have a medical problem that might need surgery; oh yes, and I fancy a boy while I still have my boy bits attached, is that normal?’

Claire looked at me frowning. ‘Well it would be if you were in a soap or something. Anyway Jeff said that we could only go if he takes us and picks us up and we don’t do any funny business and that includes me as they are in locust parenthesis or something. So, do you want to go?’

‘I don’t have anything to wear?’

‘Spoken like a true girl. Well there are places called shopping centres and even on a Sunday, they love to take your money and let’s, like face it you aren’t short of a bob or two.’

I looked at her and she looked at me and Rabbit looked at both of us with a bit of a blank expression.

‘Let’s do it!’

‘Like, cool.’

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To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape. and to the equally lovely Angharad for her expertise and support.

Here are few links that might interest you. The first is about Brazil’s 1970 World Cup team and if you look at about 3 and a half minutes in, you will see Pele’s attempt at goal — –that was the inspiration I had for Mark’s goal.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vSuxkQuAsk8&feature=related

The next link is a collection of fantastic volleys.

Magic volley’s http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C7LFSZY-3sc