The 12th woman

The book contains 7 chapters. Below you can find short extracts from some but not all of them (due to the page restrictions).

Chapter 1: In never-letting-go bounds

When I used to play on the streets, it was easier, we didn’t care if we won or lost. We would forget the score. Our biggest concern would be not to corner the ball under the parked cars and not to get hit by the passing ones. Instead of a grassy playground, we had a cracked surface of an asphalt road to play on. The road was usually covered with sand, which often made it very hard to see the players or even the ball after a car drove by. But in my world, the aroused block of dust and sand would only add to the atmosphere of our street match: it would be the smoke that the fans’ petards leave in the air blocking any vision on the pitch. The honks of the cars and the screams of the shop owners on the street were all part of the ambiance of the football match I was playing in. We didn’t have much, but we had enough. 

Chapter 2: The midfield anchor

“Unfair” is something that happened to me again that year. During the same summer of 2006 in which Zidane headbutted Materazzi, a couple of weeks before the final match my dad got into a car accident and passed away. I was seven and received the news very badly. It felt as if I was headbutted. But with no chance to recover. The hit was strong, leaving a big trace in my heart. It is still beating yet at a different speed and pace. It beats with grief and regret of not being old enough to remember every hour spent with him. The memory that could not be relived but only gently remembered with a hope that with years these moments would never leave. I live remembering him and he lives while remembered. At the age of seven, I never questioned what fate was. When I grew up I started asking myself why it had decided to steal from me twice that summer. It wasn’t fair play.THE fate vs A child. It wasn’t just a slap or a kick in the stomach. It was carnage, a merciless one.

Chapter 4: Under the cosh

 To have equal opportunities, let’s not learn from the past on how to do that, let’s not show the men the red card that we possessed for almost half a century. If we do that, the cycle would be repeated. Football requires love. Love for the game and love for those who play on your team. Let it be inclusive. Let the experience of men coaches and players help women to see themselves stepping out to leadership positions on and off the pitch. Let the male footballer treat and support female footballers equally. We might differ in our styles of playing, but we all share one passion. Let’s just play the rooftop way.