Do Goalkeepers Wear Tiaras?

by Helena Pielichaty

  “Huh! I doubt it,” the creep Gary Browne muttered.

  Hannah stopped in her tracks. “Meaning?” she asked.

  The coach’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, it’s more than my job’s worth to say, isn’t it? I’ll be accused of all sorts!” His eyes swept over us dismissively. It was so obvious what he was thinking: girls shouldn’t be allowed near a football pitch. I felt my cheeks burn with anger.

  He began to head off, but as he turned I grabbed his sleeve and pulled it hard. He turned back and scowled at me. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  I wasn’t sure myself. All I knew was that I was really cross. My heart was racing, but I kept hold of his jumper. “Give us a match,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Ten minutes each way.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. And let go of my sleeve, please.”

  Next to me, Daisy and Dylan took up the chant. “Ten minutes! Ten minutes!”

  “What’s the matter? Are you worried we’ll beat you?” I challenged.

  Everyone was chanting now, “Ten minutes, ten minutes.” It was a bit off-putting but I didn’t dare back down. A Fawcett always finishes what she’s started. Unfortunately.

  Gary Browne focused on me. He tried to control his face and gave me a Miss Parkinson-type smile – you know, totally fake and more scary than a vampire at sunset. “Look, petal, I know what’ll happen. One of my lads’ll tackle you and you’ll be crying your eyes out and screaming blue murder! I don’t want that responsibility.”

  “Try us!”

  “Megan,” Hannah said, “Gary’s right. You’re not ready yet.”

  “Play mixed sides, then, like in school!”

  “No! Not going to happen! Not in a million years!” the boys’ coach grunted, shrugging my hand away.

  “Yellow! Yellow! Yellow!” Amy and Eve now chanted.

  Gary Browne did not like that. “Yellow? Don’t make me laugh!”

  “Yellow! Yellow! Yellow!” they continued.

  Gary Browne’s face stiffened with anger. “Right. If that’s what you want,” he said briskly, in the fastest changing of a mind I’ve ever known. “Five minutes each way, seven-a-side. Hurry up; some of us have got a proper match to prepare for.”

  “Fine,” I agreed.

  “Make sure you warm up properly!”

  “You heard the man!” I said and led us in a trot round the outer edge of the field.

  “Megan!” Hannah said, coming up alongside me.

  “Yes, coach,” I said, glancing at her nervously out of the corner of my eye. I had disobeyed her. I had got us a match against who-knows-what kind of opposition.

  “I like your style,” she said and veered off.

  16

  Once we were warmed up, Hannah gathered us in a circle. “Look, you know you’re not going to win or anything daft like that, don’t you? This team are near the top of their league.”

  We nodded. We knew.

  “So all you can do is try your best. Remember everything you’ve done in training. Have you all got shin pads on?”

  We nodded. We had.

  “OK, positions… Based on what I’ve seen the past few weeks …”

  My heart thudded. I was always in goal when we played our six-a-sides – but so was Amy Minter for the opposite side. What if I didn’t get picked? I’d be devastated!

  “… Tabz, let’s have you up front to start, with Nika, Gemma and JJ in midfield. Er … Holly in defence with Lucy. And Meggo…” I looked at her. I think I almost stopped breathing.

  She grinned. “I guess you’re in goal.”

  “Yes, coach!”

  “Get yourself some gloves from the storeroom.”

  Yes! Yes! Yes!

  Amy’s face crumpled. “Where do I go?”

  “On the bench for the first half.”

  “That’s not fair. I’ve been in goal as much as Megan has!”

  Hannah sighed. “I know! You can swap round at half-time, OK?”

  “Huh,” Amy muttered.

  We kicked off. Five minutes doesn’t sound like a long time, does it? It wasn’t long enough for me to get nervous like I usually do, but it was long enough for me to let in four goals. Yep. Four.

  The first one caught me out before I’d had time to think – a clear, clean shot from their number 9. The second one, a minute later, was more scrappy. I totally lost sight of the ball because there were so many bodies around me – mostly my team, it has to be said – and their player, a tall kid with gelled-up blond hair, just tapped it in after it had rebounded off Holly’s knee. He had the cheek to smirk at me, too. I didn’t blame him. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, to be honest.

  Their third goal was a brilliant header from a corner. I was watching the ball all the way, moving back, back, all the time. It came in high. I leapt, thinking, this one’s mine! I almost got to it with my fingertips, but a dark head made contact with the ball first and nodded it straight into the back of the net, taking me with it. The fact that the dark head belonged to Lucy didn’t help. “I’m so sorry,” she said, helping me up. She had tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry!”

  “Hey,” I said, smiling at her as I brushed myself down, “it still beats netball, right?”

  The fourth one was a penalty. Jenny-Jane decided the easiest way to stop the number 9 who kept outpacing her was to trip him up. She wasn’t even subtle about it. “He dived!” she protested.

  Gary Browne blew the whistle and pointed to the spot.

  It was the best part of the match. My first time facing a real penalty! Argh!

  The tall kid with the gelled-up hair placed the ball on the penalty spot. He looked at me, grinned, pulled up his left sock, then his right, then his left again.

  I crouched, waiting, waiting. I knew from watching Match of the Day that I mustn’t move yet or he’d know which way I was going to dive. I watched as he ran up. He swung with his right leg, kicking the ball with the inside of his foot. Left! It’s going left, my brain yelled. I dived left – and chose correctly, but there was such a swerve on the ball that it curled away from me and I crashed to the ground empty-handed.

  Four–nil!

  The boy came up to return the ball to the centre spot. “Good try,” he said.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “It was. You moved in the right direction.”

  Big deal, I thought – but at least he was being friendly.

  In fact, all the boys were all right. None of them tried to foul us or made fun or anything; they just played. It was only their horrible coach who kept spoiling things, barking at them constantly. “Mark up, Kieron! Mark up! Sloppy, Jack! Sloppy! What was that supposed to be, Scott, you dozy waste of space?” I felt sorry for them, having to put up with him all the time.

  So we went into the second half four–nil down. We had a two-minute break for team tactics before we were to begin again. “Well played! Well played!” Hannah told us. “I’m so proud of you all!”

  I went to hand Amy the gloves. “I’m not wearing those,” she said. “They’ll be all sweaty. I’ve got these from my mum’s shop.” She pulled out a pair of jazzy stripy yellow-and-orange knitted ones.

  “Please yourself,” I said, not looking at her.

  I walked over to Petra and she gave me a hug. “You are so brave! You almost saved that penalty! I had my fingers, toes and eyes crossed for you.”

  “So did I! That’s why I missed!” I joked.

  Hannah made several more changes so that everyone had a go. Petra swapped with Holly, Daisy with Lucy, Dylan with Jenny-Jane, Tabinda with Eve. Only Nika and Gemma stayed put. Hannah also made Amy wear the proper gloves. Amy wasn’t impressed!

  It was our kick-off. Gemma, in the centre circle, passed to Petra, and Petra tried dribbling the ball forward – but she kicked it too far and their number 6 swooped. He nipped it away and crossed it to his right wing. The winger mis-kicked it, though – I think it was Scott, the one Gary Browne had called a dozy waste of space – and it lande
d at Nika’s feet.

  She took the ball back into their half, then looked up, but there was no one to pass to so she ran further upfield. By now she had two of their players chasing her down. “Man on!” I warned. My heart was racing so much! Nika spurted forward again. It was the most we’d held possession all match. She looked round again and just walloped the ball into the penalty area. It was beautiful, arcing like an invisible rainbow.

  Somehow the ball landed right in front of an unmarked Gemma, who immediately chested it down as if she’d being doing it all her life, then swung her left foot and whacked it towards the goal. The goalie leapt and punched it out – but only as far as Eve, who headed it straight back at him. Headed it! We hadn’t even practised those! But the blooming goalie got an arm to it again and that was that. He threw it out towards one of his midfielders, who darted away with it. I don’t think the ball left our half again.

  The boys were just too experienced. They scored three more times and hit the woodwork twice, but I was still sad when the whistle for full time went. Not only because I was enjoying the game so much, but also – and I know this sounds awful – because if we’d had longer they’d have scored more. Three in the second half meant Amy had a better record than I did. Yes, I know that’s not the right attitude. I’m only human!

  What was nice was that the boys clapped us off. Gelled-up hair shouted, “Three cheers for the girls!” and the team cheered.

  I realized our team didn’t know what to do. We were all staring at each other, wondering if the boys were taking the mickey. “Three cheers for Lornton!” I shouted, walking back onto the pitch and leading the applause.

  I even went up to Gary Browne and shook his hand and thanked him for reffing. “You’re welcome,” he said gruffly, then blew his whistle again. “Right, lads,” he shouted, “now that’s over let’s get down to some serious business.”

  We all felt a bit deflated then. None of our parents had arrived yet and we were all really hyper after the short game. “I know!” I said. “I’ll go and ask Auntie Mandy to open the bar for us!” I dashed off.

  17

  I don’t think the clubhouse had ever heard such a racket. Honestly, you’d have thought we’d won the Premiership! It was all “Did you see…?” and “I tried to kick, but…” and “What about when…”

  Auntie Mandy just stood there, a bemused look on her face.

  “We’ve just played the Under 10s,” I told her. “We got whupped!”

  “I see.” She laughed, running water into a big jug of concentrated orange-and-pineapple squash and putting it on the bar for us.

  I was about to go into detail when Hannah blew her whistle and I scuttled across to where Petra was holding a space for me. I squished in between her and Nika.

  “Listen up, gang,” Hannah said. Her eyes had a glint in them. “I am so made up with every one of you! That took guts, taking on an experienced side like that. Lily Parr would have been dead proud of you.”

  “Lily who?” Eve asked.

  “Lily Parr. The player the Parrs are nicknamed after. Haven’t I told you about her?”

  “No!” we chorused.

  “Well, I should have!” Hannah said. “She was a legend. She played for a team called Dick, Kerr’s Ladies about … oh, it must be over ninety years ago now.”

  “There were women’s teams then?” I asked.

  “Dead right there were! Getting crowds of over fifty thousand, too. Lily Parr was famous. She scored over forty-three goals in her first season and she was only fourteen. She’s in the English Football Hall of Fame.”

  “Go Lily!” Daisy shouted.

  “Before her there was Nettie Honeyball. That’s who the Nettie Honeyball Women’s League is named after.”

  We shook our heads.

  “Never heard of her? Well, look her up too! While you’re at it, look up players like Rachel Yankey and Kelly Smith, who’ve played for England recently. Or Mia Hamm, the American player. Or go and watch top sides like Arsenal Ladies or Everton. You’ll see how brilliantly women can play together in a team.”

  “Could we ever be that good? Like Arsenal?” Tabinda asked.

  “I don’t see why not, if you work at it,” Hannah said.

  “We’d need to be in a league first, wouldn’t we?” Lucy asked. “To play other teams?”

  “Yes,” Hannah said slowly, “and I think you could do really well, but setting up a team from scratch is all sorts of hassle – you have to register and get insurance and have money for this and money for that…”

  As Hannah gave the same reasons she’d given me weeks before, my head dropped. So there wouldn’t be a team after all. Not a real team, with a kit and fixtures and rivals and minibus outings to away games. I bit back my disappointment. Oh well. Training with Hannah and Katie was still better than football practice with Mr Glasshouse. At least I got individual attention from them. Plus I liked playing with just girls. I liked being a goalie. That wouldn’t happen at school. I took a deep breath, lifted my head and smiled. Putting on a brave face, my mum calls it.

  Then Auntie Mandy spoke. “Do you mind if I ask something, Hannah?”

  “Shoot,” Hannah replied.

  “Are you saying it’s only a matter of money to get a girls’ team going? Once you’ve cleared all the legal stuff?”

  “Basically.”

  “And you’d continue to coach them?”

  “Definitely. I’ve enjoyed it more than I thought I would! So has Katie.”

  Auntie Mandy turned to us. “And are you girls all serious? I mean, I know our Megan is, but the rest of you?”

  At that we nearly blew the roof off the clubhouse!

  Auntie Mandy had to put her hands over her ears to drown out the yells. “All right! All right! I get the message! Well, if that’s all, I’ll start the fundraising right here, right now.” She told me to go round to the kitchen and grab the largest empty jar I could find. Two minutes later I was back with a gherkin jar as big as a goldfish bowl. Auntie Mandy produced a sticky white label and a felt pen from a drawer next to the till. “The Parrs Under 11s fund. Please give generously,” she wrote. She stuck the label across the front of the jar and placed it in the centre of the bar. “That stays there until it’s full,” she declared. “Then the money gets banked and we start again until you’ve got enough.”

  “Lovely jubbly!” someone called out.

  You can rearrange this well-known footballing phrase to describe how I felt: moon the over.

  The mums and dads didn’t know what had hit them when they arrived to pick everyone up. Talk about hyper! I was glad Auntie Mandy was taking me home; if mum had walked through the door I’d probably have squashed her flat.

  “Wow!” Hannah said as the last parents waved goodbye. “That was something!”

  “Awesome,” I told her, “the word is awesome!”

  18

  I expect you think I’m going to bang on about how we had to do loads of daft things to raise money, like sitting in baths of baked beans and running cake stalls and selling raffle tickets to guess the name of a panda with half its stuffing missing. Well, actually, we never had to do any of that stuff, which is a shame in a way as I quite like the idea of sitting in a bath of baked beans.

  Basically, all the parents and guardians thought that their girls playing football in a proper team and eventually in a proper league was a great thing to support. Tabinda’s dad, who runs a garden centre just outside Mowborough, sponsored us and provided the home and away kit. (The downside of that is the garden centre is called Sweet Peas and that’s what is written on the front of our shirts. No offence, Mr Shah, and I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I’d rather be called a parsnip than a sweet pea.)

  Loads of other parents volunteered to do other stuff – organizing transport to away matches, sorting out membership and subs and publicity. Within a month we had all bases covered. All we had to do now was turn up!

  Here’s what it said about us in the Parrs’ newslet
ter:

  LORNTON FC

  Parrs News Latest

  Parrs Under 11s

  On 27 April we were delighted to welcome a new squad to the club: the Parrs Under 11s (the Parsnips).

  Originally, the girls came to Lornton FC’s ground simply to enjoy training sessions run by

  Parrs captain Hannah Preston. It soon became obvious that these youngsters wanted and deserved match practice, and with the massive support of their parents and Mandy Leggitt, at the clubhouse, enough capital was raised to form a squad.

  Says Hannah: “I was overwhelmed by how enthusiastic the girls were. All of them have such a positive attitude to the game I had no hesitation in agreeing to coach them as a proper team.”

  The girls will play in the Parrs colours of red shirt with white sleeves, white shorts and red socks with white trim. The home and away strip has been sponsored by Mr and Mrs R. Shah of Sweet Peas Garden Centre, Mowborough Road, Mowborough.

  THE PARRS UNDER 11S

  Megan Fawcett, Petra Ward, Lucy Skidmore, Dylan McNeil, Holly Woolcock, Nika Kozak, Jenny-Jane Bayliss, Gemma Hurst, Eve Akboh, Tabinda Shah, Daisy McNeil and Amy Minter

  COACH: Hannah Preston

  ASSISTANT COACH: Katie Regan

  There was even a team photo of all of us. Well, nearly all – Gemma was away that day. Eve told me she missed training on purpose because she hates having her photo taken. “Weird, isn’t it? You’d think with her background she’d be used to it,” Eve said. I asked her what she meant but she just chewed her lip and looked uncomfortable. “Oh, nothing. Forget it.”

  So I did, until much later but that’s another story!

  One day at the start of May, Hannah waited until training had finished and then took us to the changing rooms. Usually we all turned up in our gear and went home in the same gear, so we’d never been in the changing rooms before. “I just wanted to show you in here,” Hannah said. “This is where you’ll get changed before matches and where I’ll talk to you about tactics.” She pushed open the door.