RaW

“You can’t!” chorused my friends. “It’s boys only.”
“That’s a stupid rule,” I replied.
We cornered Mr Salvage, our teacher.
“We want to play football,” I blurted out, bluntly.
“Mmm….”
“We want a girls team” said Laura, my best friend.
“Very well. Find a few more girls and we’ll meet for training Friday”

Friday arrived quickly. It was a lovely, bright day and twelve girls gathered on the school field. Some were classmates, others I didn’t recognize. Mr Salvage divided us into teams. The bigger girls defending, me in midfield and Laura up front.

We played until exhausted; Mr Salvage was impressed. He now knew what he was dealing with. “Right girls,” he said. “That was great. You really enjoyed yourselves.” Friday training became a regular fixture.

West Ham under 12's

That half term, dad enrolled me on an intensive West Ham training course. I was the only girl. At first I felt slightly intimidated but soon started enjoying myself. I began training regularly with the West Ham under 12’s. My developing skills were soon evident and Laura was quick to join me on evening training sessions. Playing against nationwide teams was doing us the world of good; as was practising something until we got it right.

Our school team was soon ready for new challenges, but our results showed, we just weren’t good enough, yet! It was around this time that my knees began to hurt. I would hobble home from training sessions and spend the night writhing about in agony.

Days of pain

A consultant diagnosed Chondromalacia patella, very little cartilage left underneath my kneecaps. Under doctor’s orders I cut down my training. Next month we lost again, our opponents were older and bigger. We tried hard and played well, but I only lasted twenty minutes, I had let everybody down. Playing even a little was hard work, and there were always days of pain to follow.

Three months later the doctor delivered a devastating blow.
“Stop playing football now, or you’ll be in a wheelchair by your mid-twenties.”
I sat there dumbstruck.
“No football at all?” I mumbled in disbelief.
“That’s right, no physical activity whatsoever!” He stopped for emphasis. “Light swimming should be ok, your knees need time to recover.” With that last remark, he ushered us out of the door. So that’s that then. My football career was over and in its 
place, a great gaping hole