Forget Messi and Ronaldo, Chloe is the reason we call it the beautiful game

I take sport very seriously. Far too seriously according to some. It’s not intentional, just the way that I am hard wired.

Watching people casually enjoy leisure activities without any sense of the score, devoid of any competitive spirit or killer instinct confused the heck out of me.

Sport was always an outlet for me, a chance to win, demoralise an opponent and feel better about myself. It’s only now, later in life that I see the misguided motivations that were at the heart of my competitive sporting life.

Something clicked a decade ago, perhaps it was parenthood, success in professional life or perhaps a realisation of my own limitations as an athlete.

Whatever the source, sport became more romantic and meaningful. Less about punching the air and claiming superiority when your team won and more about cherishing the moment for yourself and internalising the memory.

Football is a wonderful backdrop to these different approaches. Historically, football fans have tended to express passion and dedication well, on occasion, this has turned ugly.

The images of violence in the street and the need to separate opposition fans, clearly points to a significant number of people losing perspective as to the real magic of the game and their role in it.

Discussing the game with opposition fans post A-League clashes fills my heart with hope.

Chatting with Wanderers or Victory fans after epic encounters in Sydney, proves that not all footballing battles need to be fought both on the pitch and in the stands.

In much the same way, while it might be satisfying to see your team compete in the Champions League, win a domestic title or a league cup, the bragging rights are short lived and within months the new season rolls around.

Your lawn still needs mowing, the youngest must get those braces shortly and printer ink is still the most valuable commodity in the universe.

Last Sunday saw a wonderful footballing moment that further enunciated the sense of perspective required to be a true sports person and sports fan.

Those of you kind enough to read my musings each week know that I often write about football through a very human lens. Sure, qualifiers, selections and a staunch defence of the A-League are also consistently present, but the people in the game and the stories around them interest me more.

This particular event spoke volumes about the humanity of football, its inclusiveness and accessibility.

(AAP Image/Dean Lewins)

The under 14 girls’ team that I manage each week were essentially a team of absolute beginners when they began their journey just over a year ago. Aside from two or three girls who had footballing experience, the rest were novices in the true sense of the word.

One of the first exercises I ran was to position eleven girls in a 4-4-2 formation inside a ten metre grid in an attempt to establish some basic understanding of the positions available to a manager.

We started with basic dribbling, kicking to a partner about three metres away and trying to stop the ball with a soft foot to achieve some sort of control. To say that any control was achieved would be a lie and a running gag developed.

I coined the phrase ‘floppy foot syndrome’ or FFS. Most of the girls suffered from this, some still do despite improvements and it refers to the tendency of players to throw a foot towards the ball, irrespective of the angle at which it approaches.

No attempt is made to take small steps and get in behind the ball, more like a violent extension of the leg towards the sphere causing it to ricochet at unpredictable angles and heights.

To watch young players do this week after week is a coaches nightmare, despite being realistic about their abilities and chances of success in what is a strong local women’s league.

Fifteen to nil became eleven to nil which subsequently become seven nil. I stacked the back four with the stronger feet and we began to defend our goal reasonably well.

During the second round of the home-and-away fixtures we secured two wins, another win by default and three admirable draws. To say I was proud is an understatement.

Feeling rather Jose Mourinho-ish, I was pleased that the girls wanted to back up for a second season. News of the great spirit in the squad spread and brought new acquisitions. A centre-back of immense talent and another group of beginners dipping their toes into the game for the first time.

Cue Chloe. Short of stature with a beaming smile, we have known her for years. A handy netballer, entertainer and storyteller – but a footballer not.

The early stages were tough and working with her football loving dad, we devised a plan to gradually build her confidence and game time. Where to play her was my greatest mental challenge.

Chloe could end up as a terrific midfielder, light on her feet, nimble and aggressive but she was not up to that challenge just yet.

I played her up front and told her to ‘sniff around like a terrier’. I filled her head with positivity. ‘Be in the box waiting’, ‘you might only get one chance but you have to be there’, ‘one goal is all it takes’.

Chloe battled away for eight weeks. Got a single kick in her third game and frequently came off the pitch exhausted, stunned at the aerobic requirements of the game.

In game five or six it started to click and she chased down through balls with vigour.

On Sunday a ball was hacked in from the right, somehow alluding a defender and trickling into the box with Chloe hot on its heels. Trailing one-nil and deep in the second half, we needed a goal.

She stood face to face with the ‘keeper and swung with the right. I’d like to say that it cannoned into the top corner, unfortunately, it didn’t.

It did, however, run end over end after a poorly timed strike into the bottom right corner and barely moved the netting. The roar was enormous and without any disrespect intended, Chloe was probably one of the last members of the team expected to provide the fireworks.

It made me think a lot about life, football and sport. Twenty five years ago it meant nothing to me. Now, with a few more smarts and a real love of the game, it meant so much more.

Ps. It finished 1-1.