#women’s football is literally what got her into supporting an english club

[afterglowkatie]

telling my sister she can watch man city at a reasonable time bc they’re in aus and she sounded so surprised 😭 like does she not follow the womens side of her club 😭

[kickassviv]

Pernille Harder: "I first dared to say that I would be the best in the world when I got away from Denmark"

Danish national team leader Pernille Harder was only a fan of the women's soccer World Cup. However, due to her high profile on and off the field, she left her mark on the tournament. Berlingske has met her for a conversation about love, homophobia, the fight for equality and the ambition to become the best in the world. And about two parties that got the national team leader out of the chair.

Credit to @magdaerikssons for the article and disclaimer, google translate was used to translate into English.

Is there a Danish "Liebes-Spionin", a love spy who helps the Swedish women's team against a victory?

That's how the German newspaper "Bild" speculated about the Danish national team leader and Wolfsburg player Pernille Harder in the heat during the just over the World Cup in women's football in France.

The newspaper had noted that the "Bundesliga's best player with a good knowledge of Germany" was constantly found among the Swedish players because of the girlfriend and defender Magdalena Eriksson. Eriksson plays daily for the London club Chelsea.

Two days before Berlingske meets Harder in the French city of Rennes, a picture of her and her boyfriend, both wearing Swedish national team jerseys, went viral on social media, not least in South America:

“It's a little crazy. I've gained 10,000 new followers on Instagram and I haven't even posted the picture myself. Many are from South America. I don't know what it is about homophobia down there, but it obviously means a lot of two female soccer players openly dare to show their love, ”says Harder, who also notes that she has lost no followers because of the picture.

It's 38 degrees hot, and the blue-and-yellow fans are trying to hide in the shade of bars and cafes before heading out to the stadium where the double world champion Germany, with some of Harder's teammates, waits.

Commander's Tour de France as the roe Instead of just being upset that it missed out on Denmark's participation, Harder has been taken to the World Cup as a Swedish roigan. The qualification smoked on the floor, among other things, as Denmark, due to a conflict between the national team and DBU, could not place teams against Sweden in the fall of 2017 and therefore lost 3-0 at the desk.

Now, instead, she is undertaking her own personal Tour de France in cities such as Nice, Paris, Rennes and Lyon. To support her girlfriend, who otherwise beat Denmark in the World Cup qualification, and to become smarter in her sport:

“It gives me another perspective to be here as a fan. I sense what the football gives off the field to all the fans. When you play a final round, you don't think so much about it off the field. But now I realize how big it all has become with fan march, etc., and that makes me want to put even more heart into it on the track in the future, "says the 26-year-old star, while the Swedish fans agree a new kind of song.

Harder and Eriksson have been together for five years. The Dane has not been exposed to homophobia or hate emails herself, but decided in the spring of 2019 to go actively into the debate on homophobia. This happened after FCK star Viktor Fischer was met by homophobic calls.

In a broadcast on TV 2, Harder openly talked about how she had previously fallen in love with a guy, but fell for Magdalena when they both played in Linköping:

'I didn't really think much about it. It just came very naturally. You have to be with the one you love. I have always felt that if there is something I want, then I do it and do not go into what other people think. And then I also have a good family that totally doesn't care who I love, just like it is pretty normal in the women's soccer world, "says the Wolfsburg player.

According to Harder, in the men's football »a front figure is missing. There are certainly gay and bisexual men in men's soccer too, but they obviously dare not stand out because the tone is different in the dressing room and among the fans. That is a sorry trend. You have to be proud of the one you love '.

More edge in women's football Courage to step up in the homophobia debate, Pernille Harder shares with female U.S. national team leader Megan Rapinoe, who up to the World Cup declared that her team would not accept an invitation from President Donald Trump if they returned home with the World Cup trophy. In addition, Trump was too homophobic and condescending to women:

"There are several in women's football who dare to have an opinion, although that may not be the opinion that other people think one should have. And so it gives something more edge. After all, not one of the really big men's team players actually does. Maybe just with the exception of Zlatan, ”Harder points out. Swedish Zlatan Ibrahimović has, among other things, commented on the Swedish immigration debate.

A party in Basel In addition to the fight against homophobia, Harder's main theme is gender equality. And here we are approaching the canceled match against Sweden and the football conflict with DBU.

Instead of looking back at the conflict, Harder first takes a mental detour to Switzerland. In 2018, the FC Basel football club held an anniversary party that got Harder out of the chair.

Before the party, the club had decided that the gentlemen should attend a gala party with a three-course menu, while their female counterparts were asked to sell the ticket and were literally eaten off with a sandwich:

“It's incredible that it can still occur today. But that's why it's so important that we have enough self-respect to say. And that women know what value we have. If we don't, they just do it again. And that is exactly why we had to take that fight with DBU, 'says Harder.

Similarly, Harder and teammates from Wolfsburg said when the club in 2017 asked the women's team to postpone their championship party until it became clear if the club's men's team avoided relegation.

When the women's team won "The Double" again the following year, no-one was thinking of issuing a ban - even if the men again fought relegation.

The conflict between the national team and the DBU was primarily about the remuneration of the women's team players. A sub-agreement between DBU and the Players' Association was landed in October 2017. But negotiations are soon on a long-term agreement, so that the national team is in control if Denmark should be able to arrange the European Championships in 2025 at home.

And here too the national team leader is ready to make demands. However, she fully agrees that in the future there will also be a difference between women's and men's salaries and bonus schemes, simply because Denmark does not have a women's league that can afford to pay the domestic players sufficiently in salary.

This is why DBU has to step in with scholarships, and then "there is something else you can't get," Harder points out.

The decisive point, however, is not the money, but that the national teams - regardless of gender - must have the same conditions for all the matches:

“Now just take the planes. Now we have to go to Georgia soon and play the European Championship qualifier. It is such a match that we risk playing a draw and thus lose important points to qualify for the European Championships in England. So it's mega important. But we are definitely traveling over there with two stops where we have to get up at 05:00 in the morning. DBU should, therefore, charter an aircraft. After all, they do this to the gentlemen, and so does the German and Swedish Football Federation for their wives, ”Harder points out.

Of other differences, the leader mentions that, unlike the gentlemen, the women travel without a cook and only occasionally have a volunteer analyst who can help understand and illustrate the tactics of the opponents. According to Harder, it is also not OK that the national team has only 18, and not 23, players with:

"It's a problem when we have to play 11 against 11. Then the physical therapist has to get into the field. There, I think we can demand equality and that it must be completely the same regardless of gender. And it's not, ”Harder points out.

The conflict was not the main problem Although the conflict is still filling, it is definitely not the whole story of why Denmark is not on the field in France:

“We simply weren't ready physically after the summer holidays in 2018, when we were going to play against Croatia and Sweden. Before the two matches went well. But we have learned from that and have now got a new physical trainer in Peter Krustrup. "

Harder is also confident that Peter Møller's new director of football, Peter Møller, will address the women's case to the DBU board.

She is aiming for Denmark to qualify for the European Championships in England in 2021, just as she hopes that Denmark can secure the European Championships in 2025:

"It will be crazy for Danish football, but we can learn something from them down here about how to set up fan zones and use modern, hard-hitting discos rather than always horn music for the matches," the national team leader says.

Although the level in France is high, Harder is not intimidated on behalf of Danish women's soccer: “We have a good team, and now we work with physics. This is where we need to put in. We are already fully involved in the technical, football and tactical aspects. "

According to the leader, a number of new talented players are also emerging, such as Emma Snerle from Fortuna Hjørring.

Harder welcomes the high viewership of the World Cup, which has seriously given women's football its popular breakthrough. In England, the fight against the United States was the most-watched TV show of 2019:

"I also don't understand if people can't see the exciting thing in eg. the battle between France and the United States. There are 40,000 at the stadium, high pace, chances, and fighter will. Now I have also seen men's football at the stadium several times, so it is not because I think 'hold it up, where does it go 100 times stronger', 'notes Harder.

Football camp in Ikast As we speak, several fans pass by in national team jerseys with women's names on their backs and no longer just men's stars such as Mbappé, Messi and Müller.

As a child, Harder had only one possible role model, Brazilian Marta, but it was now United gentlemen David Beckham and Ryan Giggs who hung in the children's room. Back in the nineties and nineties, there was also no opportunity to attend a girls' soccer camp.

That's the main explanation that, a few years ago, Harder and her sister and cousin decided to start a girls soccer camp:

“I want to pass on some of what I have learned both on and off the field. I even train the girls some of the time and give presentations. And this year I also had my mental trainer who gave parents some tips on how to be good parents. "

The world's best is the goal In 2018, Pernille Harder was named the second best Danish footballer ever to be Europe's best. The first to achieve this honor was Allan Simonsen in 1977. But despite the lack of World Cup, the goal remains to be the world's best footballer.

“I know it might not be very Danish with the Janet Act and all that. And I also dared to say it out loud first when I moved away from Denmark. But why is it so dangerous to say that I want to be the best in the world? One must dare to put words into one's dreams. And the worst thing that can happen is only that I don't reach it, but then I have pushed myself to do my utmost. "

The dream, which she first put into words when she came to Sweden, was born in Ikast. “Recently, I found a style that I wrote when I was ten years old. And there I wrote that I would be the world's best in ten years, 'says Harder.

The road over there is provisionally over Wolfsburg, where this year the club has invested in five to six new players to be able to conquer the Champions League trophy, which lost after another defeat to Lyon.

But Harder, whose contract expires in 2021, is open to trying her hand at a new country and league - also to learn a new language.

"German is doing very well," laughs Harder and continues:

"Although I do not always have a say in whether the pronoun should come in the middle or at the end."

During the World Cup, there have been rumors that Real Madrid are looking for the striker. As one of the last major clubs in Spain, the "king's club" now also enters women's soccer. Before the World Cup, the women's match between Barcelona and Atlético Madrid set a spectator record in Spain with over 60,000 on the limbs.

“We must say that both Denmark and Germany are behind. In England and Spain, they are targeting a professional league, where big men's clubs also invest in women's soccer. It would be optimal if we also did it at home. But it is clear that e.g. FC Midtjylland does not have as much money as Manchester United, so it will cost in the beginning, 'says Harder, pointing to FC North Zealand as a men's club, which is now also focusing on women's football.

On the team with Magdalena? A new club change could also open for the girlfriend couple Harder and Eriksson to put an end to the long-distance relationship, which is, however, facilitated by a direct flight connection from Hanover to London:

“Right now we are each running our own race. But we are about to be where we can again play on the same team. Defenders are slowing down a bit, but Magdalena has become one of the key players on Chelsea's team entering the Champions League semi-final, "Harder points out.

If the pair are on the same club team, there will also be no danger of the relationship being put to the test in a Champions League match between Chelsea and Wolfsburg:

“None of us can stand to lose. I want to win everything. Also in ludo against children. And so will Magda. If she loses cards to me, she won't talk to me for the rest of the day, 'says Harder, laughing.

But in France, the couple both get something to laugh at. Magda and the other Swedish players secure a bronze medal at the World Cup. Yet another image of the couple kissing each other goes around the world. Although Pernille Harder has not been on the field, much has been noticed by the Dane during the World Cup.

[wvearp]

Different anon here and this is going to be long and sorry but this is a thought I've had too, it's surprising to me the difference between men's and women's football teams (club and country) in that aspect, the English and Dutch men's teams for example have a lot more black/poc players than the women's. As you said, a notable exception is the frawnt that is pretty good at featuring a diverse team. DC talked about this in her beinspired podcast ep (won't quote directly bc I have a bad memory) 1/

“--but she mentioned lack of support as a big issue I think. The sport doesn't allow them a good opportunity so sometimes they can't really afford (literally or otherwise) to keep playing after a few years. To me this comes down to representation (need to have more prominent black players to show that success is possible, but obviously for that you need to have more black players to begin with) and also investment (financial support so that playing pro is an actual viable option for EVERYONE). 2/

--Just wanted to add that I'm really sad to see DC leave arsenal, partly because she represented a tiny bit of diversity, and as woc myself, I really hope they do sign some none white players but from the rumours we've heard, it's probably not happening this season 3/3”

Don’t apologise for the length, it was an interesting read!

Yeah it makes sense! Good to hear it from Dan’s perspective and also from yours. Especially given the lower leagues aren’t professional, so then I’d imagine economic inequality really hits hard there as well for WOC.

I think when I first got the ask I sort of had a think and realised that actually, the number of black players available to sign at the level we look for is fairly small from what I can tell (tell me if I’m wrong! I just had a think about other CL teams and National Teams and realised that they mostly have one or a few black players and that’s it.) Which - like you said - is wild considering the Male national teams are actually more diverse. That being said, if we could pry Oshoala back from Barca, I wouldn’t complain...

But Arsenal themselves could encourage more WOC through their academy and make a concerted effort, which would likely really help (and that might be something they’re already doing, I’m not super knowledgable about that aspect.) There’s not really an excuse for not doing so tbh, I know funding is an issue but their existing programs could be adjusted to ensure WOC are getting a fair chance and additional support where needed.

It’s a shame that even with the progress the game is making, this is still something that looks like it could take years (and some proper funding) to even begin to resolve. And I’m sorry we’re losing Dan and especially sorry you and other WOC are losing Dan, and I hope at some point the clubs get the funding needed to make the sport accessible for everyone.

[idk-loving-kpop]

FYI SUPER LONG POST!  You have be warn, but still show it some love. okay!

OKAY!!! Super excited!!! Cause 1 this is the LAST ONE I have before I open my ships again. 2 I LOVE doing my “triple threats” with BTS. Okay cause after Super Junior, BTS is my bias group (no thanks to my friend who ask me to go to their concert, literally I went to their concert & became a fan of them because I saw them live.)  

This person sent me the request via messaging ... She requested Selca, Written & Astrology.

When people request all 3 ships this is how I do them.

1st : Selca - To me easiest ones you can do. I base it on looks & vibe.

2nd: Written - How person describes his/herself looks & personalities.  The more details the better. JUST DON’T START WRITING YOUR AUTOBIOGRAPHY. *lol*

3rd: Astrology -  This take me the longest to do because especially if I have to compare DOB.  And I have to check astrology signs for the members, which at this point I have some memorized, but some I don’t. 

----------------------------- LET US BEGIN  -----------------------------

DOB: DAY/MONTH/YEAR

I'm 5'4, slim thick/hourglass figure (a uk size 8 but my breast are +DD and my waist is 24 inches so it gets hidden by my boobs a lot which is honestly kind of annoying), I have brown eyes, and naturally dark brown hair buts its bleached platinum blonde and its shoulder length.

I am a ambivert. I can be outgoing when a want but its usually around people i'm comfortable around or familiar surroundings. but I can also be quite withdrawn and shy especially around someone I like. I have social anxiety which makes me a lot more quiet around new people or in situations which involve public speaking (I even start shaking because my anxiety levels spike so high). I love music and am always singing. I can't dance but I really love dancing and at one point wanted to be a dancer but I never really got a chance to take any lessons or anything so...yeah. I'm a creative person so I enjoy art such as drawing and painting when I feel motivated to. I love love love reading my favourite book is probably The hobbit by Tolkien. tbh i'm interested in anything that tickles my fancy. I'm a huge nerd! Anime, memes, vines, manga, video games I love it all. My fave video games are interactive ones like Tomb Raider, Outlast, Uncharted, Dead Space, etc. I'm studying History and Archaeology at Uni and museums are my second home. Although I am quite soft spoken and kind hearted (I literally cry if something on tv is heart-warming or sad like if a dad and his son have a heart to heart and hug or something) BUT I am also outspoken. My BS meter is low so if someone is chatting shit about something i don't agree with such a racism. sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, men staring or harassing women or girl, etc I have to say something. I just can't sit there and let it be. I am quite outdoorsy I love working out, running, martial arts, football, etc. I grew up going football club and taking karate and MMA so I've always been pretty active. also lowkey i'm a huge tree-hugger (literally and mentally) I once bumped into a tree and hugged it and said sorry....I studied Geography in High school and sixth form so i'm very passionate about the environment, animals, etc. P.S. I LOOOVE ANIMALS mainly cats overall I am a huge sucker for animals. I'm also a older sibling so i'm quite protective of the ones I love and literally would do anything for them or to protect them. I have insomnia so i'm a night owl but I've always been like that I usually only sleep for about 4-5 hours and i'm good to go. I love having deep conversations late at night with my sister, thinking about trippy things like what the meaning of life is and if aliens exist or if planet of the apes actually happened and what would we do? I also really enjoy movies; mainly horror movies even though they scare the shit out of me, I still watch them. Also i'm all about girls supporting girls. Girl power all the way. I also south Asian so desi culture is also very important and very prominent in the way I behave. I usually speak a mixture of Urdu and English in my sentences as opposed to just speaking one language at a time. I really love languages so i'm also learning Korean and i'm studying latin at Uni. i think that's all.....i'm pretty sure i left something out but it feels like I've been typing for years so i'm going to stop now...soz if this is a lot. also i wrote this as fast as i can so i apologise for the spelling and grammar mistakes

Damn ... I didn’t know how much you wrote until I copied & pasted on the post . *lol* ... It didn’t seem that long when I was reading it.  Ok, so I put in bold stuff that stood out to me ok.  

FYI shout to all the girls w/ big boob problems ... I have the same issue it is really annoying.  I joke w/ my friend all the time that I would give her half of my boobs / body fat cause she is skinny a flat . *lmao*

I can’t help myself so I will make some comments ... I am the same way, I can’t sing or dance (even though I am Latina) but I do it anyways because ever sine I was little I love music & boy groups. So I will keep on doing me. I have a great work environment that we do that at work sometimes too. I’m not a talented in the arts what so ever. But I have always loved and appreciated them. 

That is so interesting that you are studying that in Uni. History has always been my favorite subject, quiet a nerd when it comes to almost got a perfect score on my state test when I was in school (fyi I hated school but I liked learning). Not many people study that in Uni/College. 

The tree incident made me laugh so much ... Again your not alone cause I sure do have a picture when I was on a high school trip of me hugging a tree. *lmao* 

The meaning of life, is different for everyone.  We can’t have functioning society without everyone doing their own part.  Everyone life means something, no life is great than another life. 

Aliens do exist.  Our universe is so big for just the human race to exist. Also I grew up watching Star Trek and I like watching Doctor Who. 

If planets of the apes happen I would die.

When I read “girl power” literally said it like Spice Girls with the peace sign & everything …

Okay I will shut up now & get to the ships …

Western Sign:  Pisces    Eastern Sign: Tiger “Ideal” Partners for Pisces: Cancer and Scorpio “Ideal” Partners for Tiger: Horse and Dog

BTS Selca – JHope (Aquarius / Dog)

BTS Written – RM (Virgo / Dog)

BTS Astrology – Suga (Pisces / Rooster)

Western – Suga

Eastern – RM & Jhope

 Comparing DOB Suga matched better, followed by Hobi a close second and then Namjoon.  

 Shout out to V who came in 2nd place on my Selca & Written.

Stray Kids Selca – Hyunjin (Pisces / Dragon)

Stray Kids Written – Lee Know (Scorpio / Tiger)

Stray Kids Astrology – Lee Know (Scorpio / Tiger)

Western – Lee Know & Hyunjin

Eastern – Lee Know

  And NO I didn’t plan it like this it sort of just happen.  And yea it is a lil freaky that Astrology ships kinda had the answers to Selca & Written … For Stray Kids couldn’t find much of their personality or ideal type so I kinda based it on hobbies more than anything. Probably has the years go by & they do more interviews and stuff, I can better match them with people.

Hope you like your results.

And let me know what y’all think! 

[eirabach]

Coming Home [1/1]

This is 7000 words of love letter to the England football team, and specifically their manager, thinly disguised as CS fic. Gorgeous aesthetic by the incredible @katie-dub who joins me as an inaugural member of the Inappropriate Gareth Southgate Crush fan club.

No matter what happens tomorrow, lads. No matter what.

They’d all laughed when they’d given him the job.

 Years of the finest tacticians the continent could offer - though admittedly there’d been a few turkeys along the way - and the British press had torn each of them to shreds. Failure after failure dropped at their feet, their careers blighted by the inevitable English Curse while their players sold razor blades and fucked pop stars and pocketed their millions and all the time being watched by a nation of children who grew into adults, grew into old men and women who’d never seen an English success story.

 No one wanted to sip from that poisoned chalice. No one dared face the fury of a nation denied again and again and again.

 Luckily, Killian Jones was used to it.

 The Sun, The Mirror, the broadsheets. They’d all sneered at his appointment in their own indomitable ways.

 England Expects… Second Time Lucky For Jones?

 FA Appoint Jones: England’s Sacrificial Lamb

 The Curse Continues for England’s Lost Boys

 Need a Hand There Mate?

 This last accompanied by a pap’s photo of him struggling into training one morning, hair askew, prosthetic unattached.

 (It had been Milah’s birthday the night before, his dreams full of fire and fuelled by rum, and Will had sent him up to the boardroom twenty minutes in when he’d threatened to have the bickering midfield strung up by their ankles and used for penalty practice.)

 He knows there’s no point complaining, nonetheless. It’s not the worst headline they’ve run about England’s manager.

 It’s certainly not the worst headline they’ve run about him.

There is one difference in his appointment to this supposedly sainted position:

 They all agree. Left wing, right wing. Man in the street and professional pundit.

 He’s doomed.

 “You’re doomed, little brother,,” Liam tells him cheerfully as he eats his breakfast propped up against the quartz worktop that Killian knows the Navy didn’t pay for. “Sorry.”

 “Your confidence astounds me.”

 “Your idiocy astounds me! What was the matter with punditry? I thought you enjoyed it! It paid the bills -“

 “I don’t care about the bills.”

 “Spoken like a man who doesn’t worry about next months nursery fees - Killian listen -“ Liam puts down his bowl and leans forward, pleading. “they’ll tear you apart. Don’t - I don’t want to watch that again.”

 “I won’t do any more pizza adverts if that’s what you’re worried about,” Killian grumbles, snatching the bowl and rinsing it immediately.

 “Have you forgotten what it was like?” Liam asks, aghast. “They crucified you, little brother, the shame -“

 “You don’t need to tell me about shame,” Killian snaps. “As for forgetting - I’ve spent twenty years -“

 “Pretending! Pretending that you’re a drunk and a womaniser and that you didn’t - don’t - care but Killian -“

 “Get out.” The words are ice, the warm kitchen physically cooling in their wake. Liam looks briefly shocked.

 “Pardon?”

 “You heard me,” Killian grits out. “I’ve enough to deal with from the press I don’t need my own brother -“

 “I’m trying to protect you!”

 Oh, he knows. He’s always known.

 Six years old, newly motherless and utterly rudderless, ferried to practice on the cross bar of Liam’s bike.

 Eighteen and capped for his country, hyperventilating in a public toilet while Liam guarded the door.

 Twenty and certain, oh so certain, standing at the spot and Liam watching from the touchline.

 Oh so certain and oh so wrong.

 And he knows, but he has to because this - this is his chance. His last, only chance.

 He has to lay the ghosts to rest. He has to.

 And he can’t let anything, not even Liam, not even his own inability to believe - to dream - stop him.

 “I don’t need your protection!” Killian spits. “I’m done, Liam! I’m not that little kid you scolded for risky tackling anymore! I’ve lived under this shadow half my life! I need to move on. I need -“

 I need to believe. I need you to believe in me.

 “You need a better team,” Liam says, “tell me you’ve that, at least.”

 “Oh aye.” Killian calms, smug satisfaction slipping into his voice. “That, I can promise you.”

 —-

 Qualifying, and judging by Liam’s expletive strewn text when the teamsheet is announced he’s starting as the tabloids expect.

 Badly.

 I know several promising four year olds, brother, should I send them over?

 Mills?! He’s a fetus, Killian.

 A fetus who can play.

 You’d better hope so, brother. The whole bloody country hopes so.

 Mills might be the youngest player on the pitch - 18 and a pale but determined figure in the goal mouth - but the whole team is Killian’s own creation.

 Gone are the men who’d bickered and sneered at each other. Gone are those who saw playing for their country as a chore - one they’d rather avoid when the off season is full of better financial offers - and those too exhausted by failure to dare to dream of success.

 Killian has been one of them, once. Late at night, the back pages spread out around him in his empty house and the rum bottle far too close by, he thinks he still might be. But then he sees the gleam in the eyes of a player like Mills and he thinks enough.

 Enough.

 It’s time.

 Shame no one told the opposition. Or the ref.

 It’s another high tackle, studs up as England make a break for goal, and once again the ref waves it off with an indirect free kick.

 The crowd bellow their displeasure but they’ve nothing on Will, whose furious gesticulating at the touchline makes him look like some sort of tracksuit clad dervish.

 “That’s a red!” he bellows. “A RED!”

 Except it isn’t. It’s a free kick that the opposition defence clear from danger a little too easily. Again.

 A nasty, creeping sense of foreboding tickles at the back of Killian’s neck as the cameras focus on his face and the hacks start writing.

 He doesn’t believe in curses.

 He doesn’t.

 “Sit down, Will. You’ll rupture and the Sun will have your innards. Literally.”

 “You’re not serious, gaffer? Didn’t you see -“

 Killian grits his teeth.

 “Sit down. They’re watching.”

 Will stamps back to his seat, face creased in fury.

 “They’re always bloody watching, gaffer. That’s their bloody job. Ref need to do his.”

 “Don’t you worry about the ref’s job,” Killian says grimly, eyes on the way midfield can’t quite connect their passes, mind already on the talk he’ll have to give at half time.

 Calm. Collected. Everything he hasn’t been for longer than he likes to think.

 (Once he had been. Before the penalty spot. Before Milah and the drink and the accident. Once. He’s sure he was.)

 “Worry about ours.”

 —-

 They’d all laughed when they’d given her the job.

 Laughed and crowed and cat called their way through her first press conference that absolutely had to be held because she’s the first and she’s important.

 She’d always imagined it would feel better than this.

 David sits on the end of her futon, half a pizza balanced precariously on his knee as he bounces his leg. A nervous tick he’s had since childhood, and he’s never more nervous than when he risks Emma’s wrath.

 “I’m just not sure this is a good idea, Emma.”

 “Really? Money is a bad idea now?” Emma chews on her own piece of pizza and shrugs. “Could have fooled me.”

 “It’s not about the money. You know what soccer fans are like!”

 “Well I should,” Emma agrees, “I’ve been one all my life.”

 “Yeah, and look at the grief you got even then! And Russia. It’s a different world, Emma.”

 “I’m pretty sure it isn't. And I can handle myself. I’ve done it long enough.”

 David’s face falls and she regrets the sharpness almost immediately, but she can’t quite bring herself to apologise, or to admit the truth.

 Frankly, she’s terrified.

 Emma is used to being on her own, abandoned at birth and bounced around the foster system until she’d finally ended up with David and his mother and had to learn how to function as part of a family.

 It’d been hard, even now she’s sure she isn’t as good a sister - as good a person - as she ought to be, but soccer had helped.

 Soccer had always helped. Soccer was all she’d had.

 Playing, supporting, being a part of something, no matter how small and shitty the team or how little time she spent there it had taught her how to work with others, relate to them, when the temptation had been to run away and rely on her own wits.

 Not that there hadn’t been moments, bad homes and tempting offers from worse boys, but soccer had kept her feet on the ground.

 Now her playing days are over - the disadvantage of her permanent home had been that the women’s game was not wildly popular in Podunk Storybrooke, Maine - and yet.

 And yet.

 She’d taken her refereeing qualifications to keep her eye in, starting with the kids matches and then moving up, up to college level, up to the leagues.

 Up to the World Cup.

 The first woman referee in the history of the competition.

 The American papers hadn’t taken too much notice, the USA had failed to qualify and the country as a whole preferred their football to contain more brute force than finesse, but Europe -

 She wishes David hadn’t read the comments.

 She wishes she hadn’t read the comments.

 But he did and she has and still. She’s going. She has to.

 “I have to,” she tells him, trying for reassuring and catching his pizza slice as it makes a bid for freedom. “You know I have to.”

 David smiles.

 “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know. But don’t let them mess you about. You’re the best. Don’t forget that.”

 Emma smiles. Small and a little sly.

 “Oh I promise. They won’t know what hit them.”

 —-

 They’re through by the skin of their teeth, paparazzi nipping at their heels as they arrive in Russia in neatly tailored suits that don’t show the sweat stains. Mills�� suit trousers are two inches too short and the team surround him as they scurry through the airport to the waiting team bus like so many elephants protecting the baby of the herd from the gathering hyenas.

 Which, Killian supposed, they more or less were.

 Qualifying hadn’t made the press back off. Qualifying had made the press hungry.

 “Jones! Jones! How are you feeling?”

 “Any regrets?”

 “Is this England’s year?”

 “Are you worried about penalties?”

 “What about the curse?”

 Killian lifts his chin, marching onward to the bus without giving the press anything but the small, polite wave that he knows is obligatory and keeping his glare for the moment their out of sight.

 “Bunch of tossers,” says Will cheerfully, his arm slung over Mills’ shoulder. “Better keep ‘em sweet eh lads?”

 The lads cheer, and Will guffaws in approval, but Killian is miles away. Decades away.

 Wearing his own suit and the weight of expectation hanging round his neck and -

 It’s coming home, it’s coming…

 “Gaffer?”

 They’re at the bus and Will is looking at him through too shrewd eyes. There’s a reason Killian picked him as his number two, after all. Liam worries and the papers speculate, but Will? Will knows.

 “All right?”

 “Ask me in a month,” Killian mutters grimly, then boards the bus with a studied grin and a bellow of “Here we go, lads! Here we go!”

 —-

 Here we go, Emma thinks, handing in her credentials to an incredulous Russian official. Here we goddamn go.

 The official calls over a couple of his pals who all mutter uncertainly amongst themselves, before finally stamping card and handing over her ID with a suspicious glare and minimal manners.

 That the officials are confused by her presence is surprising in that they invited her - and it isn’t like Emma Swan is a particularly gender neutral name - but the teams, well.

 Confusion would be a blessing.

 Her language skills are pretty basic - she barely scraped her GED and most of her high school Spanish lessons were spent searching the dictionaries for words to keep an amorous temporary sibling at bay - but she doesn’t need google translate to get the jist of their opinions.

 And they do seem to have a lot of them. And none of them are good.

 “I just don’t see what you being a woman has to do with…” Mary Margaret gesticulates weakly to the pocket of Emma’s uniform when she returns to the hotel room “that.”

 “When I pull a card, it’s touched my boob,” Emma says, eyes already scanning the fixture list she’s been given. “Apparently that excites them.”

 “But they have to respect you, surely?” Mary Margaret is wide eyed on the bed, and Emma feels a rush of affection for her sweet natured sister in law. Affection, and a touch of pity. “You’re the referee!”

 “Because soccer players are so famous for their respect for the laws of the game? Didn’t you see Neymar in qualifying? He spent so much of the match on the floor Gaston went to make a cup of coffee before resuming play.”

 “You know I don’t understand anything you just said, right?” Mary Margaret leans forward and squeezes Emma’s leg. “But I have faith. You’re brilliant, Emma. I believe in you.”

 “Thanks.” Emma smiles at her. “But it’s fine. They’ll get used to me I guess.”

 Mary Margaret raises her eyebrows.

 “You’re a trailblazer Emma, you know that? I’m so proud of you.”

 Emma shrugs, picking at the edge of her shirt. It’s too big, but that’s not unusual. At least she hasn’t had to fashion a belt from her whistle strap this time.

 “It’s just a job, Mary Margaret.”

 “Is it?”

 Emma bites her lip.

 “All right,” she admits. “It’s a big deal. The biggest. What if I fuck up? Make the wrong call? I could fuck the whole thing over - the cup, myself, fucking feminism, the lot - I-“

 “Who’s fucking what up now?”

 David sticks his head around the door, eyes narrowed and full cop-face on display. Emma licks her suddenly dry lips and shrugs again. Mary Margaret sighs.

 “Emma’s having a crisis of confidence.”

 “Am not.”

 “Emma -“

 “Hey.” He pulls her into his arms, cradling her head in his hand and she burrows her chin into his shoulder without even meaning to. “It’s ok to be nervous. If you weren’t nervous you wouldn’t care. And you care so much Emma. You love this game. You were made for this.”

 “Tell the papers that.”

 “Oh screw the papers!” David snaps, “what the fuck do they know!”

 Mary Margaret gasps. “David!”

 David pulls back from the hug and grips Emma’s shoulders.

 “They’ll write whatever they want,” he says fiercely. “You should see the shit they write about their own countries! Forget them. You can do this. You’re good - no, you’re the best. They’ll be clammering to have you in charge of their games you’ll see.”

 “That’s not really how it works.”

 “That’s not really my point.”

 Emma laughs, a little softly but genuinely enough, and shakes her head.

 “Do you give these pep talks to everyone or?”

 David grins.

 “Just my favourites.”

 —-

 Watching the competition might be necessary, but Killian’s never found it very relaxing.

 It’s a constant stream of analysis, of tactics, of how do we and what if they, and it’s exhausting. Especially scrappy, messy games like this where the players seem to spend more time arguing than concentrating on the play.

 Both sides are particularly keen to share their sob stories with the ref, arms flailing and spittle flying, and that’s not usual, nor at all, but the ref -

 The ref is.

 He’d known she was here, of course. Even in avoiding the press as much as he tries to, things like the first woman to referee a World Cup game do tend to sneak through, and he can’t help but feel a frisson of pride when he sees her step up to call the coin toss. A sense that the game that he’s dedicated his life to might - just might - be beginning to move towards something better and brighter.

 “At least we’re group favourites,” mumbles Will as Portugal create a chance from nothing (how do you defend nothing? Where do you even begin?) “Or second favourites.”

 Killian rolls his eyes. He’s long since stopped relying on betting shops for his predictions.

 “We went out last time to a dentist and a guy who runs a doggy day care, or did you forget?”

 Will winces. “That was different.”

 “That was the Euros. This is bigger.”

 Will gives him a sideways look.

 “All right, spill,” he asks. “What’s got your goat? You’re a miserable fuck right enough but you’re even worse than usual.”

 Killian doesn’t even look at him. “And you’re charming as ever.”

 “Jones.”

 “Scarlet.”

 “I've got a feeling,” Will says, and Killian closes his eyes briefly. Scarlet once he gets going is like a dog with a bone, and it’s useful in training certainly but rather less helpful when directed at Killian personally.

 “Just the one?”

 “Oi. Listen.” The sideways look becomes a full on glare. “Have you been on twitter again?”

 Killian shakes his head.

 “I don’t -“

 “Because Liam says -“

 Liam says a lot of things. Says them on phones calls and on WhatsApp and in Killian’s head at the side of the training pitch and in the dead of night.

 None of which he wants to think about when he’s watching Ronaldo systematically destroy a defence.

 “Oh you’ve been gossiping about me with my brother? Very loyal of you Scarlet. I’ll remember that next time I find you with your head in the toilet.”

 “No we was just -“

 There’s a roar from the crowd, a huddle of players surrounding the ref who’s barely even visible among the sea of waving arms gesturing in her direction.

 “Christ! Look at that!”

 It happens in less time than it takes Will to point, one moment the referee is standing in the centre of what’s become a mob, the next she’s on the ground, struggling to her feet.

 A flash of red and there’s a man off and a spreading mark on the side of the ref’s face.

 “He’s banned,” Will states grimly. “Won’t see him again this year. Stupid mistake.”

 “Mistake?” Killian scowls. “Bringing the game into disrepute!”

 “Yeah, well.” The ref blows her whistle. Play resumes with several players looking rather shamefaced. “Let’s see how that works out for them.”

 —-

 It doesn’t.

 The final whistle sees the ten men traipse miserably from the field while their opponents celebrate with a lap of honour.

 The ref follows them off. The mark on her face has faded but even from where Killian sits in the box he can see the set of her shoulders, the anger in her gait.

 He’s walked off like that. Worse than that. He’d had Liam and Rob - poor long suffering Rob who’d held this job longer than any other man had managed - but the ref…

 He hopes she has someone waiting for her in the tunnel.

 He hopes.

 He gets to his feet.

 Hope isn’t enough. It never is.

 “Where are you going?!” Will calls after him as he heads for the staircase. “You promised me a drink!”

 “I need to go check on something.”

 Will laughs, wagging his finger after Killian as though he’s a naughty schoolboy.

 “Something. Sure. Have fun with something. Don’t get us disqualified, yeah?”

 Killian doesn’t turn back.

 “Don’t be crass, Scarlet.”

 “Don’t be changing the habits of a lifetime, Jones,” Will trills. “Tell her she made the right call on that penalty, yeah?”

 “Yeah yeah,” Killian mutters. No point in denial. “I will.”

 —-

 He means to.

 But then he finds her at the end of the tunnel, leaning against the wall next to what appear to be a storage cupboard with a poorly scrawled female figure sellotaped to it. Her fists are clenched and her breathing laboured, and for the first time in his whole life he can’t quite bring himself to talk about football.

 She’s beautiful. He really tries not to notice, but he’s not blind. Furious green eyes and a wild halo of blonde hair from where it’s escaped from it’s ponytail, a sharp chin that juts in his direction as she snaps, “What?”

 His heart jumps in a way it hasn’t for decades - not since his playing days, not since Milah - and it’s stupid because he’s forty and he has a reputation but his tongue feels too big for his mouth, his legs unsteady in the face of her flushed cheeks and steely glare.

 He came to say something, didn’t he? He’s sure he was meant to say something.

 “You ok pal?” She pushes back from the wall, hands on her hips. “You lost?”

 Something like that, he thinks. Something very like that.

 “He shouldn’t have done that,” he manages. “It was disrespectful.”

 She scoffs. “What, cause I’m a woman?”

 “No. Because you’re the ref.”

 “Don’t condone dissent huh?” She narrows her eyes. “You’re Jones.”

 “I see you’ve heard of me.” He grins, and it pulls a little at the corner of his mouth as though it’s wider than usual. “You can look up my discipline record if you like, I was a fairly good boy.”

 She lifts one eyebrow and scoffs again, but there’s a smile threatening at the edge of her mouth.

 “On the pitch maybe.”

 “Maybe.” Mostly. But he knows what she’s referring to. There’d been a lot of rum, after. A lot of regrets. He’s never regretted them quite as much as he does now though. “Are you quite all right, though? Truly?”

 “I’m fine.” She shrugs. “I mean - I’ve had worse.”

 He bets she has. The thought doesn’t comfort him any more than he expects it comforts her.

 “Not quite what I asked, Swan.”

 “How do you know my name?”

 Smooth, Jones. Very smooth. Follow a woman into a dark corridor and then act like a stalker.

 “I read,” he says in an attempt at justification. “There aren’t many refs who go by “Emma””

 “Not here there aren’t. I uh -“ she waves in the direction of the cupboard. “Ought to get to my locker room.”

 It’s his turn to scoff now.

 He loves this game, he does, but by god does it have a long way to go.

 “A generous term, but as it’s yours I’ll allow it. See you around, Swan.”

 “Belgium,” she says, and her expression turns surprised as though the word has escaped without her permission.

 “Pardon?”

 “I’m assisting. At the Belgium game. So I’ll see you there. At Belgium.”

 Oh yes. Football. The most important thing in his life. The only thing.

 She smiles, and something in his chest roars to life.

 Belgium. He’ll see her at Belgium.

 “I look forward to it.”

 —-

 The canteen is a riot of colour and languages, hundreds of people swarming through with plates of food Emma couldn’t name with a gun to her head and jostling for space at long tables.

 The three of them pause in the doorway, all looking for a spot where they can sit together. Emma sees it first.

 “Dibs!” she calls. “Mary Margaret?”

 “On it!” She calls in return, heading for the snaking line at the food counters as Emma and David bolt for the free seats.

 It’s only when she gets closer that Emma realises who’s sitting opposite, handsome profile partially obscured by a tactical notebook.

 David’s eyes narrow then grow large and round as saucers.

 “Isn’t that..?”

 “Swan!” Killian Jones beams at her and her traitorous heart skips a beat. “Excellent job in the Croatia game last night!”

 “Thanks,” she mumbles, and god if she’s blushing David will never let her live it down. “It was a good game.”

 “The best,” Killian agrees, then his eyes flick from hers to David and the megawatt smile dims ever so slightly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

 “Oh!” Emma gestures between them. “This is my brother, David. This is -“

 “Killian Jones,” David says, and Emma does a double take at the breathiness of his tone. “I know who you are.”

 “My reputation precedes me,” says Killian. “I’d ask if it were all good but, alas -“

 “You were the best left winger of your generation! Your pace! There was nothing you couldn’t outrun!”

 Emma watches with interest as Killian’s cheeks flush pink.

 “Nothing but time and bad choices, at least.”

 David shuffles on the spot, “I guess, but -“

 “Meatballs!” Mary Margaret drops the tray in the table with a cheerful smile. “Everyone loves meatballs, right?”

 “Works for me,” says Emma. “Killian?”

 “Metabolism isn’t up to it these days,” he says, patting the leather waistcoat that’s his calling card in the technical area.

 Emma shrugs. “Suit yourself. Doesn’t look like there’s much wrong with you to me.”

 The words are out before she can stop them, fucking so smooth, Emma, Jesus, but Killian Jones just looks a little bit sad.

 She’d expected an innuendo.

 She’d have preferred an innuendo.

 “I assure you, there’s nothing at all wrong with me. Well.” He lifts his left hand and smiles wearily.  “Apart from the obvious.”

 “Oh dear!” Mary Margaret leans over the table and rests her hand over the metal contraption at the end of his wrist. “I’m so sorry.”

 “Don’t be,” says Killian, but there’s a furtive look in his eyes that Emma is familiar with. She gets the same look in hers when someone asks about her family. The look that means you’re preparing a lie. “An old wound.”

 And doesn’t she know how they never quite heal.

 “David,” she says, a little too sharply, “Have you sorted the flights to Sochi yet?”

 “No I was going to -“

 “The agent is holding a meeting this afternoon - if you get there early enough maybe they can get you priority seats?”

 “But -“

 Mary Margaret is looking between Emma and Killian with a look of gradually dawning comprehension.

 “Good idea,” she says, “come on David.”

 “But -“

 “We can get a doggy bag, I don’t want to risk missing the flight -“

 She grins at Emma over David’s shoulder as she leads him away, two plates of meatballs balanced in her arms, and wriggles her eyebrows.

 Subtle, thinks Emma. But then Killian Jones is sitting opposite her at the canteen table, lips curled into a smile and eyes fixed on hers, and she thinks.

 Maybe subtlety is overrated.

 —-

 He appreciates that Emma is not staring at his left hand, in fact she barely seems to have acknowledged it, but then it is common knowledge.

 Greatest player of his generation fails spectacularly on the world stage. Goes utterly off the rails. Loses his form. Loses his hand.

 It’s hardly a secret.

 He doesn’t know why he has the urge to tell her about the few things that are.

 “It was an accident.” He taps his prosthetic on the table. “I was -“

 Emma lifts an eyebrow. “I know. Everyone knows. You don’t need to tell me.”

 “Most people want the gory details.”

 “You’re good.” Emma waves her fork over the meatballs. “Must have been hard, losing your career like that.”

 “It wasn’t the worst thing I lost,” says Killian. “Not by far.”

 “I’m sorry,” she says, and she sounds like she actually means it, a little furrow firming between her eyes. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. About your wife.”

 There had been a time not so very long ago when even the word had been enough to send him into a spiral of furious misery. Wife. Always said in that same odd tone of pity with a frisson of thrill, as though their genuine sympathy for his loss is merely a veneer to disguise their prying.

 It doesn’t sound like that when Emma says it.

 It sounds like she means it.

 He isn’t sure quite what to make of that.

 “You have done your research. There are laws against stalking you know.”

 She smiles, and her whole face lights up and he’s screwed.

 “Says you.”

 “Fair point.”

 So screwed.

 “So,” she leans forward, eyes flicking left and right. “Tell me. Is it true?”

 God. What a question. Which part? The drink? The drugs? The women and the days that he can’t remember.

 The years he can’t remember.

 “What?”

 “You know.” Her smile turns conspiratorial. “About the team.”

 “What?” he says again, dumbly.

 “I heard a rumour. Something about blow up unicorns on the swimming pool roof?”

 Killian releases a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

 “Tell me,” he says, leaning in himself until their noses are only inches apart. “What do you know about Will Scarlet?”

 —-

 They’re losing. Losing to the flies, to the heat, to a Belgian team that - deep in his heart of hearts - he knows have a much more substantial chance of carrying the trophy home than they do.

 He ought to care, and he does, he does, but it’s difficult to give the pitch his full attention when Swan is four feet away, her own laser focus on the game putting him to shame.

 They’re through anyway, he tells himself to assuage his guilt. They’re through anyway, and he’s only human after all.

 He spends half time buoying up the boys as best he can. They, at least, are gutted by the scoreline. Young Mills is grey-faced in his neon green shirt, muttering apologies for a goal that Killian knows, knows, the Sun will lay the blame for at his inexperienced feet.

 “There’s no need, lad,” he tells him after the fifth I’m so sorry. “You show me a keeper who says kept a clean sheet in every game and I’ll show you a liar. What’s done is done. It’s over. The next forty five minutes. The next game. That’s what I want you to concentrate on. That’s what matters. You can beat yourself up, or you can beat the rest, which is it?”

 Mills nods, hands clenching and unclenching as he works out the nervous cramps, and the whole tea return to the field with a determination that hadn’t been there before the break.

 “Nice speech,” mutters Will. “Taking your own advice?”

 Kilian quirks an eyebrow and waits for the television cameras to sweep over them before he answers.

 “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “If you don’t know what I mean, why’d you wait for the tv to bugger off?”

 “I had to make sure they got my best side.”

 “Sure you -”

 The crowd roars, a chance for England, and Killian’s half to his feet before the whistle goes. Emma’s flag is up. Offside.

 He hopes that’s not a metaphor.

 “Least she’s being careful not to play favourites,” Will grumbles.

 Killian glares at him. “She’s doing her job.”

 “Aye, and I’m doing mine.”

 Will and Killian lock eyes.

 “I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating, Scarlett.”

 “And I ain’t sure I like this scoreline. But hey.” Will smiles, and shows a few too many teeth. “Could be worse. Let’s avoid Brazil, yeah?”

 “Yeah,” Killian mutters.

 There’s another English miss that they really should have buried and the crowd jeer and hoot their disapproval.

 “Could be worse.”

 —-

 Emma leaves the pitch sweaty and with at least half a dozen midges having met their end on her face, but she doesn’t head straight to the showers. Killian Jones is on the pitch surrounded by tv cameras and well made-up journalists, and she can’t help but watch, fascinated, from the edge of the now empty stands as they round on him like a pack of smiling hyenas.

 “Is this the end for England’s run, Killian?”

 “Do you regret the choice to bring Mills?”

 “What went wrong out there today, Killian?”

 You’d think they’d gone out, such were the accusations, the sharp disapproval in their faces, but they haven’t. Emma has carefully filled in the wallchart David has hung up in their hotel room. She knows this is the better side of the draw. The luckier side.

 She wants to tell Killian, even though it’s ridiculous because he knows, he knows, but he’s standing under the floodlights, dark brows furrowed as he tries to answer the questions that are barked at him, and somehow it seems very important that she makes sure.

 It’s an age until he leaves. Her uniform is sticking to her, her hair is standing on end. She needs a shower, desperately.

 But his expression is still dark and yeah. Yeah.

 This is a guy who knows what desperation really looks like.

 “You played well.”

 She follows him into the tunnel, checking briefly over her shoulder for paps as she does so. He doesn’t look at her, but he slows his pace so that she can catch up.

 It’s a start.

 “I’m afraid you much have me confused with someone half my age, Swan. I sat on my arse.”

 “You know what I mean.”

 He sighs. “Do I?”

 “Hey!” She grabs his elbow, forcing him to turn and look at her. “You’re not angry at them, are you?”

 Killian gapes at her. “Angry at them? Christ, no. I’m angry at myself.”

 “Why? You’re not responsible for what the press - “

 “Oh aren’t I? Aren’t I? If I’d scored -“

 He’s moved closer, and it’s her turn to stare at him blankly. Her hand is still on his elbow, fingers wound tight into the fabric of his shirt, and it suddenly feels very important that she not let go.

 “Wait, what?”

 He closes his eyes.

 “We were so close, Swan!”

 It takes her a moment. Of course it does, she was just a kid back then, 15 and with a family for the first time in her life. A family and her beloved soccer, and hadn’t that been the best summer of her life? So yeah, it takes her a moment to remember it must have seemed like the worst of his.

 “This is about that penalty?” She releases her death grip on his shirt and runs her hand up his arm. “Killian it’s been twenty years -“

 He shrugs off her attempt at comfort, jabbing his finger bitterly towards where the press had gathered.

 “And every year that passes they get worse. I know what they’ll be saying about Henry Mills tonight, and I’m sick of it. Sick of it.”

 “Killian! Killian -“

 There’s movement at the entrance to the tunnel and they shrink back into the shadows as one.

 “Don’t let them get to you like this,” Emma hisses. “They can’t play. They can’t do what you do.”

 “Any idiot can do what I do and several do. Ask the German press.”

 “I don’t believe that.” Emma folds her arms and looks at him critically: “you’ve stood on this stage before. You know how it feels. The love. The fear. That matters you know. You know how to be part of something.”

 He shakes his head.

 “All I know is how to fail at the last hurdle.”

 “If you say so, but I read, Jones. I know what you’ve overcome to get here.” She looks him up and down, gaze lingering for just a second on his prosthetic before flicking to his face. His mouth. She swallows.  “Doesn’t look like failure to me.”

——

 The lads are ready, or at least they think they are, but Killian has been here before (albeit only on the European stage), and he knows nothing - nothing - can prepare you for the moment you walk out into a pitch for a game like this.

 The quarter finals. The knockout stages of a World Cup.

 Not that there’s any pressure of course. The English are infamously restrained when it comes to sporting success, and if Killian is having to grit his teeth every time someone asks him if it’s coming home then at least it’s better than being asked when their flight is. He’s hidden himself away in the corridor between the boxes and the dressing room staircase,trying to take a moment to breath in between greeting passing dignitaries.

 Amazingly he’s managed not to be sick, but the night is young yet.

 “Hey.”

 Her voice is so soft he first thinks he’s hallucinating from nervous exhaustion, but she’s there, scuffing the toe of her sneaker along the concrete floor and wringing her fingers together.

 “I wanted to see if you were ok.”

 Killian stares at her. No, he isn’t. He’s not at all okay and yet…

 “Of course, Swan. All the better for seeing you.”

 Emma rolls her eyes, but she smiles all the same.

 “Yeah, well.” She looks him up and down. “Didn’t want you freaking out. Again.”

 “I don’t freak out, Swan.”

 “If you say so.”

 She steps a little closer then hesitates, checking the corridor for eavesdroppers before admitting, “I shouldn’t really be here.”

 “No I suppose not. I didn’t think you were allowed to play favourites?”

 “Please. Who says I’m supporting you?”

 He lifts an eyebrow.

 “Did I insinuate such a thing?”

 “Hmm.” She tilts her head to one side and considers him. “You didn’t have to.”

 “Dangerous ground that, Swan. Very dangerous.”

 They stare at each other for a moment, and Killian feels himself swaying toward her unintentionally, captivated by the glint in her eye and the way she worries her lip between her teeth.

 This is dangerous ground, all right.

 “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” she says, “I can support you now. That is if I want to, which I’m not saying I do.”

 “What?”

 She gestures to her outfit and he realises belatedly she’s not in her kit. “My matches are done. I should be flying home today.”

 “Forgive me but you’re a long way from the airport.”

 “Yeah well,” she grins, then points into the crowd. “Somebody insisted on staying a little while longer.”

 She holds out her phone to show him a picture.

 David is standing, draped in red and white, his arms outstretched as he bellows along to a song. Beside him Mary Margaret is engrossed in a programme.

 “I think he’s become quite the fan,” Emma says with a wink. “He’s started drinking lager.”

 “Heaven forfend,”says Killian. “And what about you, can I count on you for a little flag waving? Since you’re free of your obligations?”

 Emma snorts.

 “That might be pushing it. David’s far more partisan than me.”

 Speaking of pushing it. He can hear people approaching from the far end of the corridor and his ears are burning from the dressing down Will is bound to give him if he’s late to the dressing room and he shouldn’t and yet -

 “Then how will I know you’re on my side?”

 She looks at him. Wide, shrewd, knowing green eyes, and takes another step closer.

 “Guess you won’t. But just in case -“

 Will’s going to kill him, the press will have his guts, but Emma Swan’s lips are warm and a little bit chapped, and the whistle can wait.

 —-

 The equalise against the run of play with thirty seconds left on the clock.

 He can’t believe it. No one can believe it. It’s been a hideous, scrappy game full of gamesmanship and frustrated revenge, and they don;t deserve to lose lie this, They don’t.

 In football, as in life, you so rarely get what you deserve.

 The team spend the first fifteen minutes of extra time in a fog of disbelief, the second in a haze of desperation, but it’s no good.

 Penalties.

 Bloody hell, penalties.

 They’ve practiced, they’ve all practiced, hour after hour on the training pitch, their tactics and takers agreed weeks in advance, but nothing can prepare them for the reality.

 Nothing could have prepared him for the reality.

 (I’ll take it, Rob. I’ll do it.

 Are you sure?

 Certain.)

 He’s never been less certain than he is now, but there’s no time for worrying about his nerves.

 “Gaffer?”

 Mills is pale but determined, water bottle clutched tight in his hand.

 “You’ll be okay, lad,” Killian assures him. “Just as we’ve practiced, aye?”

 “Yeah, of course,” Mills nods as though he’s never considered any other possibility. “I’m fine - are you okay?”

 He almost brushes it off, but his spine is still tingling from Emma’s kiss, his knees still unsteady after twenty years of regret, and Mills is so sincere, so brave, so very, very young.

“Shitting myself, mate.” Will slaps them both on the shoulders, and the moment is gone. “Let’s do it.”

 “Yeah,” Mills lets out a deep breath.

 Killian may never breathe again. “Lets.”

 ---

 The only sounds worse than the ball thudding off the crossbar are the squealing of tyres and the crunch of bone. He knows this, knows it intimately, but he winces all the same, his heart shrivelling in his chest.

 We'll go on getting bad results… getting bad results….

 That fucking song. That fucking song.

 Mills is up again and Killian can see the pressure hanging over him, hanging over the rest of the team as they gather in a huddle at the halfway line, can feel it like a physical barrier as he toes at the edge of the area.

 The ball is on the spot. In the air.

 In Mill’s hands.

 There’s a high pitched squealing sound as though someone is letting down an enormous balloon, and Killian just catches sight of Will falling to his knees as England step back up to the spot.

 And win.

 And win.

 ---

 He eats grass while lying flat on his face beneath a mound of grown men who’ve suddenly become puppies. He mops up the tears of the devastated lad who missed because that sort of pain, that hurt, transcends all boundaries of time and language. He applauds and dances in front of a stand of sobbing fans who scrub their faces with their flags and sing that song, that fucking song, until his ears are ringing.

 And then it’s dark, and quiet. And he’s alone in a stadium that reaches up to a cloudless, star-filled sky.

 Well, almost alone.

 Emma curls her fingers around his as she gazes up at the heavens and he in turn studies her profile, the curve of her cheek standing out against the distant chalk white of the goalposts.

 And for the first time in twenty years, he dares to believe.

[wosoindepth]

Hinnigan’s Balancing Act | 23.03.2017

Everton Ladies captain tells the Everton magazine how she combines her football and teaching career.

The Everton Ladies midfielder, still only 26, has played in FA Women’s Cup finals, a European Championship final with her country, in the Champions League and in vital league games.

She is the captain of a Club that the women’s footballing world still can’t quite understand why it is in the second division of English football, a scenario it is hoped will change this year with promotion.

And she is also a teacher.

While the likes of Phil Jagielka, Ross Barkley and Leighton Baines have forged Everton careers solely focused on establishing themselves as key first-team players, Hinnigan has done so against the backdrop of becoming a fully- qualified PE teacher.

Watching friends like Toni Duggan and Brooke Chaplen leave the Toffees and become full-time professional footballers has been hard for Hinnigan, but it has been worth it to be able to balance two passions in her life, however hard that can sometimes be.

“I want to be playing football for as long as I can, but everyone has to have goals they want to achieve afterwards,” she reasons. “I’m lucky in that I have my teaching degree and that I am fully qualified. I could go full-time tomorrow in football, but I have to think of the teaching side of my career. I have grown a real love for that.

“It is crazy what you can do and achieve as a teacher. You don’t realise until you are in it and doing it. The feeling when you have young girls come up to you and say that they had never played football but now they love it is incredible. It is the same feeling as when you have won a game.

“If I moved to a club that is completely professional and full-time, then I would have to give up my teaching. But I have put in that much hard work – getting my education, going to university, the late nights studying, not having a social life because I had both that and football on. I like things as they are now.

“I have got something to fall back on after my football. I could be one injury away from hanging my boots up. It’s great knowing I have that degree under my belt. At the moment, everything feels perfect with my teaching and with Everton.

“I am in a local school – St John Bosco - and girls football is on the map there. They have brand new facilities and I have been trying to get Everton involved as well. I’m trying to link my job with my football and allowing the girls to see what we do here.”

By her own admission, in order to balance the two, Hinnigan lives her life on the clock. “I’ve been doing it for so long it has just become a ritual,” she continues. “My whole life, I have lived and worked by literally scheduling things in hour by hour in order to be able to time my day properly. Wake up, go to school, come home, go to training, have an hour or two at home.

“It is hard and you do make a lot of sacrifices. It is difficult to keep up with your mates and your social life goes out the window. You can’t go out on a Saturday night like the rest of them. I’ve missed family holidays, birthdays and things like that because of football. But I think everyone who knows me knows that my football is not just a little Sunday league side �� it’s Everton Ladies and they know how important that is in my life. If they know I can’t make something it’s just a ‘good luck with your game’ and they get on with it. More often than not they come along to watch anyway.”

This season, however, the pressure is really on and Hinnigan will welcome all the support both she and Everton can get. It is high time they returned themselves to the top tier of women’s football in England. Like the skipper, the players know it, and are bullish about their intent on doing so.

“I look at it ahead of every year and my aim going into every WSL 2 season is getting promoted,” explains Hinnigan. “So far we haven’t achieved that but I always look at myself and ask myself what I can do better in the season to come.

“There is pressure and it only builds every season we are in this division, with people asking how a club our size is still in it. I’m no stranger to pressure and big games, and it is about trying to give my experience over to some of the younger girls.

“Last season we missed out on promotion by the skin of our teeth. This year is important for us and we need to know that we can’t afford to be in this league any longer. We have had two seasons in it now and it was gutting for all of us to just miss out last year. We believe we should be up in WSL 1 but its now about us putting it right and getting the job done.”

[megadarkbouquettidalwavethings]

Drugs testing in football: The lottery, stage-fright and ‘no pill for skill’

Ukad took 1,494 samples from the 2,047 players to appear in the EFL in 2016-17, while 1,171 samples were taken from 524 players who made at least one appearance in the Premier League

Urinating in a cup in front of strangers is an “embarrassing” but necessary and increasingly more frequent occurrence in English professional football.

As drugs-testing rates in the game continue to increase, BBC Sport speaks to players about what the process is like, and looks at what football is up against in the fight against drugs cheats.

‘Tested just once as a Premier League player’

Recently retired striker Matty Fryatt – who played in the Premier League for Hull City, and in all three divisions below the top flight – recalls being drugs tested just five times during his 15-year career.

In his one season in the Premier League, a campaign during which he helped the Tigers reach the 2014 FA Cup final, he was tested just once.

“When I was in the Premier League, I could easily have gone the entire season without being tested at all,” the 31-year-old, who also played for Nottingham Forest, Leicester City and Walsall, told BBC Sport.

It was not until joining Leicester City in 2006, almost four years after signing his first professional deal, that he recalls seeing a drugs tester.

Those, he said, were the “dark ages” as he saw an increase in drugs testing as his career progressed.

In the Premier League last season, testing rose by 47% compared to the 2015-16 campaign, with 1,171 samples taken by UK Anti-Doping (Ukad) from 524 players who made at least one appearance.

However, at least 553 players – about a quarter of those appearing in the English Football League – were not drugs tested, despite the number of tests being up 24% compared to the previous campaign.

Fryatt (centre) celebrates Hull City’s second goal in their FA Cup defeat by Arsenal in 2014

“A couple of years back you could go the whole season without being tested,” said Fryatt.

“As time went on in the Championship, there was more testing at Leicester and Hull. Then in the Premier League with Hull there was more testing again.

“When I went back to the Championship, testing seemed to have built up for that level. But it’s all random, which means you could still go an entire season without being tested, while someone else could be tested a number of times. It’s a lottery.”

Following BBC Sport’s 2015-16 study into drugs testing in English football, Ipswich boss Mick McCarthy said doping control officers were frequently at the club, while then Birmingham City boss Gianfranco Zola said they had been visited five times in just over half a season.

Sue Smith, who won 93 caps in 14 years as an England international, recalls being tested four times during her career – twice in club football and twice on international duty.

Lindsay Johnson, a former England team-mate of Smith’s who won the Women’s FA Cup and League Cup with Everton, said her “number seemed to come up a lot” for random tests for club and country.

“It would happen more frequently at the bigger events, so when I was playing for England at the World Cup – not necessarily the qualifiers, but at the World Cup itself,” said Johnson.

“As a player, you’d come to expect it more there than in our domestic games.”

How are samples collected?

How are athletes tested for drugs?

In the majority of cases, a ‘test sample’ in football means urine in a cup.

The Football Association tests both in competition (post-match) and out of competition, which can take place at training sessions or a player’s home. Both performance-enhancing and social drugs are tested for.

Players, who are chosen either at random or on a targeted basis, report “immediately” to the doping control station, where the doping control officer or “witnessing chaperone” stays with a player until they produce a urine sample of at least 90 millilitres.

Once nature calls, they have to be “directly observed” as they relieve themselves.

Blood samples, if required, are collected by a blood collection officer.

Samples are divided into two different bottles (A and B sample) and sealed and sent to a World Anti-Doping Agency-accredited laboratory for analysis.

Players are also subject to “an athlete biological passport programme and urine steroid profiling”, according to the FA.

‘I tucked my shirt into my sports bra to pee’

Fryatt and Johnson agree drug tests are “part of the job”.

Smith says “stage-fright” and feeling “embarrassed” are also very much part of the procedure, which she admits has left team-mates stranded for “three or four hours” waiting for a player to produce a sample so they could return home on the team bus.

“One time I had to tuck my T-shirt into my sports bra so they could literally see me pee from inside the cubicle. It’s got to be strict so they can see it’s actually your urine,” said Smith, who now works as a pundit for BBC Sport.

Johnson was afforded a brief moment to kiss the Women’s FA Cup trophy, before going off for a drugs test and missing part of the celebrations

Then there are the tests that can mean players spend what should be their happiest hours after victory in doping control, drinking water and waiting.

As Johnson recalls of her 2010 Women’s FA Cup triumph with Everton over Arsenal: “I got picked after we won and I knew all the squad, my family and friends were all celebrating – and I was sat there getting drugs tested.

“It takes the wind out of winning the FA Cup.”

Football is clean… right?

In the National League – the top tier of non-league football – only four samples were taken from the 768 players who made an appearance last season.

Global testing figures collated by Wada show that, from 33,227 test samples collected in 2016, 168 returned an adverse analytical finding and a further 115 were atypical findings, which means a sample needed further investigation.

Of those 33,227 tests, 1,729 were on blood samples. None returned adverse or atypical findings.

During the 2016-17 season in England there were just two anti-doping violations, plus eight breaches of the FA’s social drugs regulations, while three clubs were charged over failures to meet whereabouts regulations.

Fryatt says he never got the sense he played with or against a drugs cheat, and insists the subject was never spoken about by players.

“I’ve never thought anyone has been taking drugs to benefit their football,” he said. “I’ve thought, ‘wow you are a good player’, but never thought ‘I wonder what he is on?’

“I’m not saying that there are drugs in football or that there aren’t drugs in football, but I just don’t see how it can possibly benefit a footballer.”

Asked if he thought the frequency of drugs testing would be a sufficient deterrent, Fryatt said: “Yes, because next week it could be you. If someone chooses to do drugs, they are gambling.”

Johnson, who was capped 43 times for England, added she never felt the presence of doping in football.

“I’ve never been in a situation where any player I’ve played with – whether internationally or domestically – has been worried about being picked because something abnormal is going to come back from their urine sample,” said the 37-year-old.

Ukad carries out testing on behalf of the FA, which commits more funding than any sport in the UK to supporting the Ukad athlete testing programme

However, Professor Ivan Waddington – an expert in drugs in sport – says there is “clear evidence” both performance-enhancing and recreational drugs are used in the English game.

Waddington, co-author of the academic paper ‘Drug use in English professional football’ – published by the British Journal of Sports Medicine, was involved in a study carried out by the BBC in 2003 which indicated more than 150 players were likely to be using performance-enhancing drugs.

Almost half of the 706 players involved in the survey, which was distributed by the Professional Footballers’ Association (PFA), admitted they knew of a team-mate or opponent in English football taking recreational drugs.

Waddington undertook a restudy, again with the co-operation of the PFA, in 2011 – with 394 footballers responding. Again, players indicated there was knowledge of banned substances being used in the game, and 27% said they knew of a fellow professional footballer in England taking recreational drugs.

Waddington says his research shows “beyond a shadow of a doubt” that players have used performance-enhancing drugs.

“Players told us that in our two surveys,” said Waddington, a visiting professor at the Norwegian School of Sport Sciences.

Consequences of doping in football

There were only two anti-doping violations in English football during the 2016-17 season

Offenders can face bans from competition and organised training for anything from several months to life, if they reoffend.

Football’s world governing body Fifa says a “whole team can be banned if several players test positive”.

An anti-doping rule violation not only relates to testing positive for banned substances, but includes breaches such as missing tests (a maximum of three), tampering or attempting to tamper with “any part of doping control” and failure to provide adequate whereabouts information, for which West Ham were charged last week.

‘There is no pill for skill’

“In the Premier League the level of testing is acceptable now,” said Professor Waddington, following the increased frequency of testing in the top flight

Fifa’s take on the reasons for doping in football includes pressure to perform, injury recovery, ignorance, fear of failure and even that some athletes “cannot or will not accept their natural limits”.

Fryatt, however, notes there are no drugs capable of improving football skills.

“I cannot see how a top player, or any player, would use drugs to acquire the skill to create a goalscoring situation, twist and chop a player, bring it onto his right foot from his left then bend it into the far corner,” he said.

“How could drugs do that and why would anyone think they need drugs to produce that? None of that is drug-related.

“I don’t see how it would benefit anyone in football because there are just so many elements to a game of football. It is not just a specific thing, speed, endurance or strength, that you are after.”

Waddington agrees there “is no pill that will make you more skilful” but argues football has evolved to become more “vulnerable” to doping.

“Sports that are primarily skill-based, like football, tend to have lower levels of drug use than sports like cycling, sprinting or swimming, which are all about power and speed and endurance,” he said.

“But, in recent years, changes in the game have significantly improved the risk that players will be tempted to use drugs.

“The game is much faster than it was 10 or 20 years ago, players are playing mores games, there are shorter recovery times and rewards for success are much greater. It is likely to lead to increased pressure on players to use drugs, rather than decrease pressure to use them.”

Additional reporting by BBC Sport’s Tom Garry.

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