At the football
Arsenal v Chelsea Women's Super League
The journey to the stadium is as much a part of the football as the game itself. I sit on the Piccadilly line all the way down to Earl’s Court; a group of middle aged women all get on at King’s Cross, laughing loudly and joking exuberantly. They all seem to know each other well. With few seats available, they cajole one of their party to take one, prompting mock-outraged retorts about old age. Two others sit down opposite me. They set to talking about their kids, who they all seem to have relationships with outside of the one the kid has with their parents. One woman shows another texts with the other’s daughter; the other exclaims that her daughter was much chattier with her friend than she was with her. They offer each other parenting advice, not from a place of superiority, but of actually knowing each other’s children and having some idea of what might be best for them. Family is bigger than blood, I think. Parents are to be found wherever they care to step up.
—
An attendant asks to search my bag on the way into the stadium. I fumble it open awkwardly, holding the open zip away from my body so he can get a better look inside.
‘I’m trying to see what that book is,’ he says into my bag.
I flush and admit, embarrassed, that it is The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir.
‘Feminism,’ I shrug apologetically.
Do I shrug apologetically because I am embarrassed about the fact of reading such a text because of its content? Or do I do so because of how this text might be perceived—academic, pretentious, out of touch, perhaps?
‘It’s really good!’ I offer.
‘Yeah looks good. Have a good match,’ the attendant says.
‘You too!’
—
In our seats, we are sat in the Chelsea stand, although by rights we probably really are Arsenal supporters. I joke to T that in women’s football, we’re all winners anyway.
—
A group of teenagers are sat behind us. They’re annoying, kicking our seats, swishing their hair over our heads, spraying deodorant, talking too loudly. But I can’t really be too angry, because they are having conversations that I never got to have. They ask each other what their type is, and one of them replies, femme butch, without any hesitation. They rip on each other for the types of girls they like, not because they like girls, but because it’s funny to rip on your friends for their blind spots. They go round the group, and one of them announces that unfortunately, she’s mostly into men. They laugh at the ‘mostly’. They are being loud and distracting, but I can forgive them that one. One asks about their ‘age limit’, and a couple of girls reply that they would date people (read: men) up to 30 while they’re still not yet 20. I think about turning around and saying something, but what would I say? They would laugh at me anyway. They wouldn’t listen. I wouldn’t have.
—
In spite of myself, I am swept up in the fervour of the Chelsea fans. I never used to like football, only got into it during the dreaded 2020/2021 winter lockdown as a distraction from the horrific mundanity of what my life had shrunk to. Like the rest of the nation, I was caught wildly in the national women’s team’s win at the Euros 2022. I go to enough gigs to know what impresses me; I often have the sensation while I’m stood in the crowd watching someone noodle effortlessly on a guitar in front of a huge crowd, or belt notes I couldn’t even imagine, that I am lucky to be seeing this person do what they do best, here, now, exactly at this moment. Watching Lauren James score two quick goals in under 30 minutes, making every touch look so easy, dancing the ball away from her Arsenal markers and leaving them in the dust, was the first time that I had that thought about an athlete. For a minute, her skill transcended the competitive arena and took me out of the game, slamming me right back into it when the ball hit the back of the net. I stood and roared as loud as I could with the other Chelsea fans.
—
We filter out of the stadium easily, none of the aggro or pushing or shoving that comes at the end of a men’s match. We manage to leave quickly; there is far less police and security presence than some of the other matches I have attended. I can’t wait to go to another game.