𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑 is continuously climbing the ranks as a footballer. She only made her professional debut for Manchester United women the season prior, and already she's arguably the world's best youngster on the scene.
Nobody sane can...
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"WE'VE JUST RECEIVED WORD from the referees that officiated yesterday's one-one draw between Chelsea and Manchester United Women. After reviewing the footage, they confirm that the decision to disallow Kalani Sinclair's goal was wrong as there was no foul on Erin Cuthbert in the build-up. Unfortunately, in football there's no way to change the outcome of a game, and they keep their second position on the table, two points off Chelsea at the top, level on points with Arsenal in third but edging it by goal difference, and two points clear of Manchester City in fourth—"
My Dad kisses his teeth as he momentarily shifts his focus from his breakfast to the television, switching it off and adding, "Shut the fuck up," for dramatic effect.
Lorenzo and I laugh in tandem with each other, throwing our heads back. He even slams his fists onto the dinning table as if it's the funniest thing in the world, and it'd make a good argument. Leonardo Sinclair rarely swears, so the words sound foreign coming from his mouth.
He keeps a straight face as he reconnects his phone to his large bluetooth speaker, trading the Sky Sports reporter's voice for Erykah Badu's On and On, trying to bring back the vibe we had going on, but it's a futile attempt. No one's singing along anymore.
"Tu entends ça, Vanessa? Je t'ai dit qu'il ne se passerait rien," he tells my Mom over the phone, swiftly transitioning to French. Did you hear that, Vanessa? I told you nothing would happen, he'd said. She'd been the one who urged us to listen to the apparent breaking news,so the three of us halted our morning jam session to do just that.
I didn't want to have yesterday's events relayed to us. In fact, I wanted to forget all about it. But she'd been so sure that the referees would review their decisions after the game, see that they'd been wrong and hand my team our win. Lorenzo scoffed and told her it didn't work like that, but you know what Mom's are like— they never take no for an answer.
We'd known from the moment the final whistle blew that the result was just that: final.
Above all, her hope was pure. She hadn't always been this passionate about women's football, so it feels nice to be the vessel for change. It wasn't a quick change, but it was a change nonetheless. I can't find it in my heart to resent her for the misogynistic things she used to say because I understand that she was raised in a different generation to me. And breaking generational curses? It's easier said than done.
"So these imbéciles know it's not a foul, but they're not changing anything... Pourquoi?" She seethes, alternating between the two languages. Unlike my Dad, my Mom had a strong French accent when she spoke English.
"Because it was an in-game decision," I start to explain. "I said this, remember? So did Renzo. The result was never going to change. It isn't possible to do that when the game's already over. Wrong decisions happen all the time in football."
