“We’ll help,” Sophie said, opening up the dishwasher.
***
The game was end to end. Both teams were pressing hard. The crowd was like a twelfth player for the home side. I knew each team inside out and it felt like just yesterday I was on the pitch. I wished I was playing. There was a dull ache in my chest. I had visions of pulling on a jersey and running onto the pitch. Instead, I stayed put in the plush studio inside the stadium with my best suit on, chained to the sidelines.
Nothing about this felt right.
At half-time, we would be expected to give our analysis of the first half. The pre-match discussion went well. It was as if the cameras weren’t there, even though they were pointed at our faces under bright lights and giant noise mufflers. The director kept saying things likeI love the passion, guysandcan we try not to speak over each other.I did get a bit carried away talking about how much this match meant to the players. It was a London derby and a fierce rivalry, yes, but it was also about the history of these clubs. The clubs and their coaching staff went way back to before the WSL was even a thing, when the heroes of the women’s game were made in those unsung years when nobody was watching.
As the players jogged off the pitch at the interval, the director counted down to us being on air again.
My friend Sam seamlessly picked up her cue and spoke to the invisible audience down the camera with conviction. Her black hair was poker straight and her charm was on point, as ever. As a player she was a staunch defender and inspiration to us all who came up behind her. I’d played with her in the England team while I was a newbie and she was one of the leaders. Now she was still leading the way as lead presenter for the women’s game and doing a lot of good for it. I admired her passion and ongoing commitment to the game. I wasn’t sure I could do the same.
“Lily,” Sam addressed me speaking into her oversized yellow and black microphone giving me an encouraging but also no-nonsense stare. “Arsenal started the game full of fire and pace and press, but as the half went on, they sat deeper and could barely get the ball. Why do you think they struggled so much towards the end of the half?”
“Arsenal wanted that early goal but when that didn’t happen, they just couldn’t keep up the same level of pace.Chelsea started to hit them on the break and started playing much better once they had a few shots on goal. So I think some doubts started to creep in for Arsenal about their strategy, and they haven’t had time to regroup. I think the manager will speak to them in the dressing room and we’ll see a different team come back out in the second half.”
“Yes, the energy they came out with was quite something. David,” Sam turned to David beside me, one of the most prolific goalscorers for the English men’s team, ever. “Talk us through the goal Chelsea scored, what did you like about it?”
David spoke at length about his analysis of the Chelsea goal.
I listened closely, enjoying his take, but I still would have preferred to be in the dressing room right now figuring out how we were going to win the match.
“Arsenal’s goal that was disallowed just before half-time, do you think the referee should have checked the VAR?” Sam asked Ilana, a top coach in the women’s game currently managing the Swedish national team.
“It was clearly onside. If we take a look at the replay,” the play appeared on our small monitors, “I find it highly unusual the referee did not check it. What is the use in having this technology when they don’t apply it consistently?”
“You’re totally right, Ilana. The referee should have checked it,” I said, feeling all fired up, especially because my team were currently losing. “It damages the game not knowing if we can trust in the decisions the referees make.”
“That’s right,” Ilana said. “If they are going to give penalties in Euros finals using VAR, taking minutes and minutes out of the match to make a decision, why not now.”
“Exactly,” I replied. “I remember the penalty that was given against us in the Germany match in the Euros, or rather, I try not to because it was so gutting at the time. But I can sleep easier at night knowing it was the correct decision because it was so clear when they checked it using VAR. There were no arguments.”
“And also because you went on to lead England to winning the tournament,” David said. “That must help you sleep at night, too.”
“It does, it does.” I smiled, remembering the proudest moment of my life and all that it had meant to everyone in the team, and to the country.
When Sam returned the viewers to the live commentators in the commentary box, we all breathed a sigh of relief that our bit was over. The players were back on the pitch and the crowd was roaring. If I couldn’t be on the pitch, I had to admit this wasn’t a bad place to be.
“Well done again, Lily,” Sam said to me across the panel as the producers and directors fussed about us. “You’re a natural.”
I found myself smiling. Despite the fact that my team were one-nil down at half-time, I was enjoying myself being a pundit and I could see why others gravitated towards this once they could no longer play. You were close to the game and almost felt like you were still part of it all. Almost. “Just giving my two pence.”
The second half went from bad to worse. We conceded two more goals. It was humiliating. I felt so bad for the players, my friends, as they rushed off the pitch at full-time with their heads down.
I did my best to be neutral and objective in the post-match analysis on the panel. I couldn’t wait to get away though because it still hurt so much that my team lost.
In the corridor afterwards, I bumped into David. He was full of smiles and suited his trademark tweed flat-cap.
“Hey, Lily, there you are.”
“David.” I smiled.
“I’m sorry your team didn’t win today. I really am.”
“Thanks.”
“How are you finding your retirement?”
