Not a Football Widow

After a star performance during a Coleman Had A Dream twitter takeover, Dai’s wife Joy joins our writing team. Here she argues for the freedom that arrives as a supposed football widow.

I was on a third or fourth date with a man once when he asked me if I saw a future for us. 

“Absolutely not,” I laughed.

“Why?” he asked, incredulous.

“Simple. You like football, I hate it. This will never work out.”

Nine and a half years later, that man is my husband and he’s packing his bags and leaving, all because of football. But he’s only packing one bag and all he’s taking is a few shirts, a daft hat and a cuddly dragon, and I know he’ll be back. It’s only a long weekend. That’s right, if you’ve been under a rock and haven’t heard, my husband – Dai – is going to Qatar. Waka Waka.

Embed from Getty Images

After my successful Twitter takeover earlier this year (hi to my fan base), he asked me to write an article about the World Cup. We joked about my depleted football knowledge and I argued I have nothing to say. “Write about being a World Cup widow then,” he said. I snapped back and he looked smug; I had my article.

Football Widow, Rugby Widow, Golf Widow…I can’t stand any of these terms. Why?

Embed from Getty Images

To begin with, my husband is not dead. He’s going to Qatar, remember? I think it’s pretty insulting to anyone who lost a partner to use this term. The word ‘widow’ conjures up images of grief, of a sombre, helpless and lonely time. This is the opposite of how I picture myself during the World Cup. I see hours of time for me and my interests. My TV shows, my favourite meals and catch-ups with my friends. 

Also, this belief is so sexist. We don’t hear of ‘widowers’ linked to any sport, so why are women cast as the bereaved, lamenting souls waiting for it all to be over? Whether it’s a male or female team on the field, a picture is painted of the man, either in the cheering crowd or watching from the armchair, beer in hand, while the passive woman waits for it all to be over, most likely by the kitchen sink. I know plenty of women who enjoy spectating, and in case you missed the Euros or the Rugby World Cup, we know a thing or two about playing as well.

Embed from Getty Images

Over the coming weeks, there’ll be plenty of TV segments and magazine articles offering us advice on ‘how to cope’ while the World Cup is on, or explaining the rules so that we can get on board and ‘show an interest’. The thing is, I’m not interested. I don’t want to learn the offside rule or understand the ifs and buts about who might qualify. Dai knows that the only thing that might pique my interest is when a game goes to penalties, and I know that if this happens in a Wales game I don’t want to be anywhere near him, thank you very much. 

It’s so healthy in a relationship to care about different things. I understand how wrong I was to believe that we had to like all of the same things and do everything together. That sounds so boring! My husband doesn’t read the same books as me or feel sad like I do when someone in Grey’s Anatomy dies. He doesn’t come swimming or do yoga with me, and I don’t go running with him. We go away together, and sometimes we go away separately, and there’s no need for concern or sympathy for either of us. 

Embed from Getty Images

Osmosis means I know far more than I wish I did about the Welsh team and how significant the next month is. I can name a few players and I even have a favourite (hi, Wayne). I find myself engaging with colleagues when they talk about the World Cup, and sticking up for supporters who are traveling to Qatar. It’s inescapable and it’s exciting, and I’m excited for the people who are excited. 

Embed from Getty Images

Of course, if Wales do well, I’ll be happy, because I’m always delighted when Wales succeed at anything. If my friends gather in the pub for a game and I don’t have other plans, I’ll join them. I’ll sing along to the anthem and Waka Waka, and I’ll fly the Welsh flag out of the window because I’m patriotic and I am a supporter’s supporter. It’s not always easy, and I roll my eyes at how much time is dominated by this game, but in truth I admire people who have passions and I want them to be happy. I understand what being in this competition means to Welsh women and men and I’m not heartless, but I’m also not heartbroken. 

Embed from Getty Images

It is important to give a shout out to anyone who is a supporter’s supporter over the next few weeks (this means you, Alan). Whatever your nationality, living with the anxiety, the anticipation and the ‘what ifs’ is exhausting. But the tournament is a gift of time and space for doing your own thing, so don’t wish it away just yet. 

Embed from Getty Images

Finally, I couldn’t write an article about gender and football without being serious for a moment. I’m in no way qualified to comment on domestic abuse, but I urge each of you to read Lucy Morgan’s article and not to shy away from conversations about the topic with your friends. Yes, the statistics are based largely in England but guess what? Wales haven’t been here for a very long time. You may be concerned about turning a blind eye to other controversies surrounding the tournament, but please don’t turn a blind eye to this.