I’m penning these words in the tongue of Shakespeare, not because I’ve got some lofty aspirations, but because there’s only one person who matters here: Zoee. She’s the Aussie lass who sports the black and green on the futsal pitches of Italy’s top women’s league.
This isn’t a tale about scoring a goal. No, it’s about what goes down before and after the big moment. And why is that important, you ask? Because I know what it’s like to feel lost in a strange land, as though you’re in a giant fishbowl and the street signs are scribbles from another world.
Back when you were just a wee one, all you had was your feet, and even that didn’t feel like enough when the mad journey began. I’ve been there, done that. Football was the only language I knew, and before long, I was cussing like a Flemish sailor.
But you know what, kid? You just had to hang on. Keep the tears at bay, get on the pitch, and do your thing. Look at you now. It was a pipe dream to imagine yourself scoring in the big leagues, wasn’t it?
Then, there you are, ball at your right foot, trying to get a grip on it, and then bam! You’ve shot it past the keeper, and happiness floods over you like a tidal wave. It’s that place inside you where all the dreams and the fears reside, that’s where it comes from.
And then, just when you think the world can’t get any crazier, Gaby jumps on your back, and you both tumble to the ground. That’s what pure joy looks like, kid. Everything goes topsy-turvy, and that’s how it should be.
