We all had a lovely weekend away in Sydney with Steve’s aunt and partner a few weeks ago, swapping our Australian Chamber Orchestra ticket for the Sydney performance and bringing the girls along to the city for the ride. We were unable to attend the concert in our little town because we would be skiing for a few days at the same time.
Our ski trip overlapped this time with the last week of matches of the women’s soccer world cup. How could we miss it, when Australia was up against France in the quarter finals? After a day of skiing, we decided that we’d get a drink at the Denman pub once the game had started and then return back to the ski club to watch the rest of the game with members, including Rosemary and Odèle who were back again this year. They were making the most of the winter interlude, despite a warm season. Both of their mothers had died since we’d seen them last, and Rosemary wasn’t able to ski due to recovering from a random dog attack that had left her in hospital with a piece gauged out of her leg, so she was enjoying the other pleasures of the snow: walks along the still-flowing river, reading and writing, catching up with old friends like us, and watching Odèle competing in the club championships.
The girls each had mocktails at the Denman, I enjoyed the second cocktail I have had in my life, investing $24 in the experience, and Steve had a beer. The atmosphere was jovial and everyone’s eyes were on the Matildas beamed from the big screen. After our drinks, we walked the 50m back to the ski club, where people were getting stuck into their drinks and snacks. There were almost as many people there – about thirty – but not much action with a score of 0-all.
The first penalty shootout was nerve-racking. Then there was another, and another, and another. The girls were completely engrossed, along with the rest of us. A crash course in soccer rules (I haven’t really watched the men’s game before). Australia’s winning goal had us walking on air, totally invested in the game against England coming up in a few days.
Back home after the sociable ski holiday, we watched that game at home after dinner. The after-dinner snacks were catered by Rhea with a selection of chocolate biscuits, popcorn and a fruit platter. That game had its moments, and there was great skill shown by both teams. During the game we decided we would book a table for dinner to see the finals at our own local pub. Steve cancelled it when we realized that Australia wouldn’t get there this year, but we re-booked for the Saturday night to watch the playoff for third place.
We had another outing of it, the girls dressed in their smart casual gear, and we sat in the outdoor area and enjoyed our pub meals. There were so many falls and accidents, including those involving Sam Kerr, but she kicked a magnificent goal. They did us proud again, and we had our third good evening as a family in their company.
While gardening today I listened to a Conversation podcast with Richard Fidler interviewing one of the original women’s soccer players, captain Julie Dolan, who played in the late 1970s with no opportunities, media coverage or funding for players. In their finals match, she played to a crowd of 200 people, mostly friends and family, contrasting with the 80,000 in the stadium for this world cup (reputedly more than double the attendance at an AFL or NRL Grand Final) and more than 7 million watching the game against England on TV. The podcast brought me back to the debates we had at school more than thirty years ago about why women’s sport didn’t receive more media coverage, and why the female players weren’t better paid: debates that seemed to stall unresolved until this year.
Hopefully now will be the turning point, not only for Australian women’s soccer, but for Rhea’s sport of Netball, Lara’s Oztag, and many other sports in which women have been on the sidelines. These weeks have shown us that women’s sport is as gripping, energising and exhilarating as men’s sport. For the benefit of all of us, I hope it continues on the path that so many have worked so hard for, for so long.
