They are freedom
I fell out of love with football, briefly, but a surprise coaching gig has helped me find the joy again.
Hello. It’s been a while. Again. There hasn’t been much weightlifting going on lately (knees, adenomyosis, general middle age merde), but football and I are back on speaking terms.
In January I wrote in my notes: “I don’t want to be a coach. I don’t even care much about sport anymore”. I’m not sure what my state of mind was at the time, or what prompted me to write such careless words in my notebook. (As IF I could rid my life of sport. Seriously).
My relationship with football had become problematic. I was dismayed by the direction of the Giants women’s program, and I had cancelled my Giants M membership. I felt I no longer had a club. I was not looking forward to the men’s season starting. The idea bored me. I had become tired of the sense that I – and many other women – are hitting our head against a brick wall when trying to change or even point out the problems with the culture around Australian Football. I wrote a book trying to draw these things out, what more could I do? It was time to move on.
I had lost the keen love that sits somewhere in my chest, the love cultivated over 20 years which makes me watch inane football chat shows and check game day team lists, even though I have no interest in either team playing. I had stopped noticing things: points that required jotting down, small moments that I could place in a larger picture.
There was no longer any joy.
Then, late in February, things changed. I was asked if I’d like to join the coaches at Sydney University Australian National Football Club. I had no intention of coaching this season. Like being a fan, I’d given up on it. I had, again, forgotten what it gave me previously: the satisfaction of doing something practical to help girls and women to find the space and time to experience joy on the field.
Of course, I said yes. It felt like a large swerve in my plans, but one that made complete sense.
I have a long history with Sydney Uni. My parents studied there. I worked there for over 15 years. I met my wife there. My son is here because of a friendship made at Sydney Uni. I taught myself HTML so I could do a job building websites at the Uni in 1998, a small act of determination that led ultimately to a PhD in information and interface design. My father played for SUANFC in the 60s. My son has played for them. (I even played soccer for Uni in a ragtag team that we scraped together every week, in 1992). Going back there was like returning home.
I’ve started watching football again. I still feel unsure about whether I have a club, but it doesn’t matter anymore. There are layers to watching the game. When you’re emotionally invested it is torture. When you watch as an intellectual activity, it becomes bearable, desirable even. Not following a particular team has freed me up to appreciate the art of it, without riding every dropped mark and twisting my guts into a knot. (However, ask me again when the AFLW starts and things may be different).
I’ve found joy wandering around a field, laying out cones, filling water bottles, putting a team together, packing the lollies, moving the magnets, talking to women about football, watching them execute perfect, flat short passes while keeping their chat upbeat, backing their team mates.
I’ve started to notice things again.
Football is a dance, but it’s also a fight. It requires poise, but also a willingness to place your body under duress, to absorb knocks, coil, bend and extend limbs, to want to possess and then to guard an egg-shaped ball with a merciless bounce. It is not a game played on flat feet. It requires constant movement. It is at its most beautiful when the movement is fast and decisive. I am noticing the beauty again.
I haven’t asked the women I coach why they play football. The question seems redundant. Irrelevant. When asked it can imply that there are many reasons why they would not play. Watching these women, it seems obvious that they would play. There is nothing standing in their immediate way, just the broader cultural issues that we can chip away simply by turning up and making the grass roots stuff happen. There is a freedom in their play and in their relationships as team mates that is unremarkable, until I remember how much things have changed since 1992.
I was walking the dog at Sydney Park recently and a very small girl rode past me on a scooter, at some pace.
“I am FREEDOM!” she yelled.
You are, my girl, you are indeed.
When I watch the Uni girls move their way around the field in patterns, manoeuvring the ball, I can only smile when I recognise that they are indeed “freedom” too.
Thank you, as always, for reading.
Georg x
I write this stuff because I have to, it’s a compulsion. However, if you like it and you want to show your appreciation, I admit that I get pretty chuffed when someone ‘buys me a coffee’ (pays me a little bit).
Love it Georg!
So Coogee was magic today?