The Women’s World Cup has turned me into a football fan. I wasn’t ready for the emotional turmoil

Sep 01, 2023

Following the ‘beautiful game’ is a little like falling in love – the hope, the adrenaline and the eventual heartbreak

I’m scrawling numbers on a piece of paper, doing more maths than I’ve done in months. “If Norway lose and New Zealand win,” I type in a frantic message full of typos, with the air of a scientist who has stumbled on an incredible discovery, “then we will definitely go through to the round of 16 for the first time in history.”

It’s one of many messages I send that night, touting my analysis to anyone who will listen.

Just a week earlier, none of my friends or family would have expected to get a message about football from me. I was the sort of person who struggled to tell AFL from NRL, someone you might let on to your social sport team only if everyone else you knew was sick or injured. When my brother saw me play football on the school playground when we were growing up in Wellington, he was temporarily embarrassed to be related to me.

Now, though, I am an expert on women’s football rankings. I know who the stars play for at club level, who their partners are, who their ex-partners are. I have a favourite match of the tournament (Jamaica v France, the tension!) and a prediction for overall winner (Brazil, sorry New Zealand and Australia). My Sunday plans revolve around the evening match between Switzerland and my homeland New Zealand, our last shot at getting through to the next round of the tournament.

In the middle of one of our now-daily text exchanges about the cup, Dad tells me he is “delighted” I’m so into this – he’s been trying with mixed success to get me into sport since I was in primary school.

Even I am shocked at how fast football fever has taken hold.

The first match of the World Cup was New Zealand v Norway, but as a sign of how tepid my interest was at the time, I forgot it was even on.

I tuned in to the second half, and was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. When it finished, I found myself watching the Ireland and Australia game. Oddly, I realised, I wasn’t watching to bond with Dad as part of my ongoing campaign to become the most beloved child. I was watching because I genuinely wanted to.

In the past, I had dismissed football as boring – they barely ever score! But I found – as football fans already know – that the end result only shows part of the picture, that a 0-0 game could be the most intensely engaging 90 minutes. I was struck by the narrative arc of the games, the joy of an improbable win and the anguish of losing after years of fighting to be there. And I connected with the way sportswomen have fought to be taken seriously in a world that still favours male stars, even though I never had a hope of being a professional athlete myself.

By the time New Zealand enters its second match against the Philippines, I’m starting to get cocky – an emotion unfamiliar to Kiwi football fans, as I understand it. “I’m betting 2-0,” I tell my desk mate as he tries to block out my incessant football commentary. “This is going to be the best day of my life.”

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I prop my iPhone on my desk. Hannah Wilkinson – by this point I know her home town and follow her on Instagram – seems strong. Then, the worst happens. The Philippines make an attempt on goal. And frustratingly, it goes in.

What follows is deeply unpleasant. I’m stressed. I can barely speak. I think briefly of my friend who supports the North Queensland Cowboys, who have had their fair share of woes. “How did he keep doing this?” I wonder.

We lose. I feel crushed.

Later, I send deflated voice messages to my friend, herself a former athlete. I tell her how group A is a riddle, how it makes no sense, how the rankings don’t reflect reality. I don’t tell her this, but it feels a little like falling in and out of love – the hopes, the optimism, the adrenaline, all for the heartbreak when reality deals a crushing blow.

When she replies, I can hear the glee in her voice.

“That’s the beauty of sport,” she says.

At first, I’m sad I can’t logic my way into New Zealand glory through maths and researching rankings. Slowly, I accept that she has a point – that the game’s joy is in its unpredictability, in the hope that this time, against all odds, things might go your team’s way.