by Jim White, FWA National Committee and Telegraph
From a record numbers of entries, the judges in this year’s three FWA Student Football Writer of The Year categories have made their choice of top three. Here are what they have judged to be the best three pieces in alphabetical order. The winning entries will be announced on 12 May.
FWA Vikki Orvice Student Football Writer of the Year Award 2025 shortlist
Isobel Gilligan, University of Durham
“We have something that is not football-related but is going to affect us… but for a really happy reason.”
With those words in a team meeting last March, then-Arsenal head coach Jonas Eidevall shared some unexpected but joyous news. A picture of Amanda Ilestedt holding her ultrasound scan appeared on the screen, and within seconds, the room erupted in cheers.
For Arsenal, a club known for breaking barriers in women’s football, this was a moment of celebration, but also the start of a new journey.
Ilestedt was Arsenal’s first pregnant player in over a decade, meaning both she and the club were stepping into largely unchartered territory. While The FA provides guidance on providing support during pregnancy, including maternity leave and wages, players choosing to have children and return to football remains rare. Many clubs have never navigated this process before, and those that do often learn as they go.
For Arsenal, one of the top clubs in the women’s game, handling this transition properly would not only impact Ilestedt’s future and their own players, but could also serve as a blueprint for others.
Arsenal’s Stories of the Season YouTube min-series dedicated an episode to Ilestedt’s journey, offering a behind-the-scenes look at how the club supported her throughout her pregnancy. It gave insight into her adapted training sessions and the performance team’s approach.
Physio Emma Saunders described the process as an exciting challenge and an opportunity to set new standards in women’s football. The goal was to ensure Ilestedt felt fully supported while maintaining the level of fitness she desired.
To achieve this, Arsenal brought in pelvic health specialist Emma Brockwell, a leader in her field, to create a tailored plan. Pregnancy places unique demands on the body, from core stability to cardiovascular endurance, and her programme had to balance safety with long-term performance.
According to Saunders, Ilestedt’s professionalism made a huge difference. “She was amazing to work with,” she said, noting that Ilestedt understood it was a new process for everyone and was incredibly receptive to changes along the way.
Rehabilitation Strength and Conditioning Coach Eoin Clarkin revealed the club had already been researching post-pregnancy athletic rehabilitation, they weren’t starting from scratch. Regular meetings between the medical team, external specialists, and Ilestedt helped develop a carefully structured return-to-play process.
Clarkin stressed the importance of understanding the body’s signals and not pushing too hard too soon. Arsenal employed a phased approach, adapting training across the trimesters, adjusting contact and intensity where needed to help Ilestedt rebuild strength, avoid injury, and regain match fitness at the highest level.
Speaking in Stories of the Season, Ilestedt expressed her gratitude:
“I feel like I have the support around me and feel happy I can continue to do the stuff I love.”
After months of careful preparation, Ilestedt made her return to the pitch against Bristol City, coming on as a substitute. Fans gave her a rapturous reception, chanting her name as she stepped back onto the field. After the match, her baby daughter joined in the team celebrations, a perfect image of the family atmosphere Arsenal has created.
Speaking to Slegers after the match, it became clear how much she valued Ilestedt’s journey and the club’s handling of it.
“I think showing that this can be the norm, that you can have a baby and then come back and be a footballer again, it’s very positive,” she said.
She acknowledged the lack of prior examples and research in this area: “There’s not much studies being done, there’s not many examples, so we had to figure it out.”
Slegers credited the club’s performance and medical staff for making the return process a success and praised Ilestedt’s own efforts: “Amanda has been very professional and engaged… and we are very happy for her.”
However, she was also realistic about the uncertainty of post-pregnancy recovery. “You can’t really predict the body after such a big happening,” she said, adding that it hasn’t always been so smooth for players she’s worked with in the past.
Beth Mead described Ilestedt’s return as “wholesome,” praising the normality it brings to life at the training ground, as well as the inspiring work ethic behind her successful return to the squad.
Ilestedt’s journey back to the pitch is more than a personal triumph, it’s a powerful statement about what’s possible in professional sport. It’s a celebration of resilience, support, and the strength of women’s bodies. Whether returning from injury, pregnancy or any life-changing event, Arsenal’s approach sets a new standard, not just for their players, but for the entire sport.
Carly Lyes, News Associates, Manchester
A tragic drunk who threw his talent away. A violent womaniser. An ungrateful alcoholic who selfishly ruined a liver transplant. These were the unflattering accusations George Best was referring to when he asserted: “They’ll forget all the rubbish when I’m gone and remember the football.”
The George I idolise is a different George. A footballing genius who set English football alight with mesmerising runs and breathtaking agility; a cultural icon, the pinnacle of 1960s cool. The George who, whether it was football or fashion, did everything with panache and flair.
In 1969, when British football’s first megastar decided to build a home, not just any old house would do. It had to be like George himself – spectacular. George needed a home which reflected the unique creative expression he demonstrated off the pitch as well as on it, befitting of a man who absorbed influences that put him at the cutting edge of 1960s culture.
George’s man-about-town lifestyle exposed him to a world of late-night deals brokered over whisky and cigars in Deansgate drinking dens. Here he came across Frazer Crane, an enigmatic local architect who built Modernist-style mansions for wealthy clients desperate to appear at the forefront of cutting-edge design.
Eddy Rhead of The Manchester Modernist Society, a creative project dedicated to celebrating twentieth century architecture, told me: “Crane was the architect to Manchester’s glitterati, which George was at the head of. His houses were very “groovy” in a late ‘60s/early ‘70s way. George’s only specifications for the house were “Give me a house big enough for a sunken bath and a full-sized snooker table”, which Crane certainly delivered.”
The completed house featured in a 1971 edition of House and Garden magazine. Sleek tiled walls, huge floor-to-ceiling windows, and a TV and record player that disappear into the chimney stack at the touch of a button make it feel more Bond Villain lair than Bramhall bolthole.
It soon became apparent that life in the house George named “Que Sera” wasn’t going to be the relaxing idyll he had envisaged. The house was supposed to be a retreat from an increasingly chaotic world; situated out of the hubbub of Manchester, and close to the airport for quick getaways to Majorca.
Crane decided to build a living room with enormous windows on the first floor to take advantage of views across the Pennines and create a sense of peace and nature. The chaos of George’s world meant the result was anything but peaceful.
The house soon became a tourist hotspot. Sunday coach parties turned up for picnics in the garden; visitors stole pieces of the lawn and fish from the ornamental pond. The quirky, futuristic design was plagued with drawbacks. George complained: “The controls were all well and good until I discovered that when an aeroplane went overhead it set off the whole system. It was like a madhouse.”
The house has been positioned by some as an exacerbating factor of George’s decline; a visual emblem of George’s poor decision making that prioritised hedonism over professionalism.
Eddy Rhead thinks the house’s role in George’s downfall has been exaggerated. “George made a lot of bad decisions in his life, but building a posh house in Cheshire is very low down on the list of his worst ones. It didn’t give him the privacy that he needed and the ‘party’ feel probably only compounded his slide down the slippery slope, but you can’t blame the poor house itself for his demise.”
Although Best once described the house as a “monstrosity”, he eventually admitted it was “A stroke of genius, but in the wrong place at the wrong time”. It probably should have been situated on a hilltop outside LA rather than a semi-rural through road outside Stockport.
George lasted barely two years in the house, moving back to his old landlady Mrs Fullaway’s suburban semi in 1972. The design quirks could be lived with, but the real failing of the house was the lack of things which couldn’t be provided by even the most perfect architect: People. Life. The warmth that came from being within a family.
There is another overlooked George beyond the weathered tropes of the international playboy and the tragic drunk; the George who just wanted to go home and be around those he loved, and who loved him. “When I get home, I want somewhere restful and soothing. I suppose it’s because my life is frantic and noisy. I want a home which is a complete contrast.”
For all the gimmicks, sunken baths and built-in bars, British football’s first global icon learnt that it’s the simple things a home offers that matter most – comfort, familiarity, and family. Young footballers today would do well to remember George’s lesson when the trappings of fame and the estate agents of Cheshire come calling.
Tahmina Rahmen, Queen Mary College, University of London
It started with lights.
In a quiet village in Bangladesh, whole streets shimmered with celebration. Banners fluttered above shops. A sign read: Welcome Home, Hamza. Thousands of miles away, Hamza Choudhury had just made his debut for Bangladesh — the country of his mother’s birth — and lit a beacon in the hearts of a nation that had never seen one of their own from the Premier League wear their colours. “In Bangladesh, it was impossible [to walk around],” he said. “It was difficult even to leave the lift.”
It wasn’t just football. It never is.
In Georgia, when Khvicha Kvaratskhelia dances with the ball at his feet, he carries the weight of a people often forgotten in the glitz of European football. For a country that has never qualified for a major tournament, his success is almost mythical — a reminder that greatness can bloom from small, scarred places.
These are more than homecomings. They are quiet revolutions — players returning not just with talent, but visibility. For those watching, it feels like they made it too.
Football, at its purest, belongs to the individual. In elite systems like the Premier League or Champions League, it’s easy to forget that. But when Choudhury steps onto the pitch with Bangladesh stitched across his chest, or Kvaratskhelia drapes himself in a Georgian flag, it becomes clear again — the ball doesn’t care where you’re from. It only asks if you love it back.
Even when the world crumbles, football remains.
In cities hollowed by war and towns hushed by grief, the game persists. A scuffed ball. A dirt pitch. Two goalposts made of rubble and imagination. For those caught in the crossfire, football becomes more than a game. It becomes proof — that joy can be rebuilt from ruin.
In Gaza, where grief hangs heavier than air, football still finds a way. Despite occupation and five wars, Palestine’s national team has qualified for three straight Asian Cups. Their “home” fixtures are played thousands of miles away — because they must. Because the game must go on.
In Ukraine, the 2022–23 Premier League season resumed under air raid sirens. Matches were moved to early afternoons to avoid blackouts. Teams like Shakhtar Donetsk and Zorya Luhansk now play outside their home cities. Their clubs are displaced — but their identity isn’t.
In Afghanistan, the women’s national team was forced into exile. When the Taliban returned to power, stadiums fell silent. Futures did, too. Mursal Sadat, now living in Australia, visited the 2023 Women’s World Cup. “It just felt like everything was stolen from us,” she said. “We don’t want to play for another team. That’s our country.”
When home is no longer safe, football travels too. It crosses oceans in memory and in duffel bags. In refugee camps and makeshift pitches, it becomes a link to identity — a vessel for hope.
For Nadia Nadim, football was a second language before she spoke her first words in Danish. Born in Afghanistan and raised in a refugee camp, she described seeing a group of girls playing football as “love at first sight.” That love carried her from displacement to Manchester City, PSG, the Danish national team — and even medical school.
In Tanzania’s refugee camps, Bernard Kumango kicked plastic-bag balls between dusty goalposts. Now, he plays for FC Dallas and the U.S. U23 team. Football wasn’t just his dream — it was the bridge that carried him there.
Across continents, the game is wielded as a tool of healing. The Ishami Foundation’s Play2Remember brings together genocide survivors in Rwanda. In Colombia, UEFA’s Football for Peace project unites children of ex-FARC fighters and those displaced by war, teaching more than tactics — it teaches coexistence.
Football doesn’t fix everything. It can’t stop bombs or erase borders. But in the hands of those who’ve lost so much, it becomes quietly radical. A shared pitch can be the beginning of peace.
“When young people play together, they create friendships and learn about each other’s cultures,” says Deng Dak, a South Sudanese refugee in Kenya’s Kakuma camp. “This understanding extends beyond the field.”
In the chaos of conflict, football builds bridges. It creates belonging. And it reminds us — no matter the flags, the frontlines, or the fences — that this game has always been more than just a game. It’s a heartbeat. A home. A future.
Because in the end, football doesn’t belong to stadiums or sponsors or the world’s richest leagues. It belongs to the players with dust on their boots and dreams in their chest. The ones who keep kicking, even when the world gives them every reason not to.
It lives in the crackle of a radio in a refugee tent. In the roar of a crowd in a war-torn city. In the silence before a penalty, thousands of miles from home.
And in that moment — no matter what you’ve endured — you are whole.
When the ball is at your feet, you are football.
FWA Hugh Mclvanney Student Football Writer of the Year Award 2025 shortlist
Dylan McLaren, University of Durham
“That’s not today’s team” jokes Graeme Lee, while rapidly rubbing out the whiteboard on his office wall. His Spennymoor Town side face Buxton in less than three hours, though his calm demeanour would tell you otherwise.
In his year in charge, Lee has developed a passionate brand of football. A lot of the players at his disposal are local, and know what football means to people here. “I always think it’s us,” he says in regard to his tactical approach. “I think about the way we play, the shape and the intensity. If we tick all those boxes, we should be beating teams.”
Twenty years before becoming manager, Graeme’s father Tony did the same. “It was a big [reason why I chose Spennymoor],” he admits. “I had options before coming here, but one of the big pulls was my dad.” Tony was a true legend of non-league football, and it is beautiful to see his passion has been passed on. “I think James Curtis played under my dad, and he played some minutes for me. He’s the only player to ever do that,” Lee says proudly.
This connection is something unique to the North East. Football is pivotal to the lives of the people here, with every Saturday dedicated to the club. “To be at this level for the town size we are is amazing,” he says. The Brewery Field is the heart of the community. I’ve been to much larger grounds that don’t have the same feel to it.
As you enter the ground, there is a large ironwork frame to the main gate, with an inscription reading just ‘Spennymoor’. No mention of football. Lee says: “there are people within this club who work tirelessly behind the scenes. It’s an amazing club ran in such a fantastic way, that’s why we are where we are.” They would not be competing against teams from much larger and richer areas if not for the dedication of the local community.
Does this tradition and emotion make the North East the best place in the world for football? Lee certainly thinks so. “Oh yeah, I’d be biased as anything, yeah,” he says with a grin. “Of course I do. Look at the amount of local talent we brought into the first team, look through at the lads I’ve worked with who are playing professional football all around. It’s a wonderful place at how we develop players,” he says proudly. “My son plays on a Saturday, so I get to travel and see the next generation as well, and it’s some fantastic talent out there.”
It was at this point a gentlemen entered Lee’s office to give him a chocolate bar. If I was taking charge of a team in front of 1,500 people in a few hours, I would struggle to stomach anything. However, as he had been throughout the interview, Lee was relaxed, collected and talkative.
Students are often hesitant to leave the city and rarely do so unless it’s a trip to Newcastle or the beach. Yet Spennymoor is only a short bus ride away — not even 20 minutes. “I feel as though we are probably the closest club in the in the area for students to come and watch,” he says. “I think just getting people here, they’ll realise what an entertaining and well ran club it is. They might support their own hometown team, but it could be they adopt us as their second team. I think anyone coming here will enjoy it.”
Of everything Lee told me on the day, it was this closing remark that stuck most. Over my few years in Durham, I had adopted Spennymoor Town as my second team. That nervous fresher who went to a game with his JCR president was now interviewing the manager. My friends and I always eagerly anticipate a trip to Spennymoor on a Saturday. I have taken my mum to see the Moors play away, and she doesn’t even watch football. I now get messages from her every Saturday about the team. This club has come to mean a great deal to me, and I feel every student would be missing out if they didn’t visit.
As I thanked Lee for his time, he took us down the players tunnel and onto the pitch to take photos. I doubt I’ll ever again have a football manager taking pictures of me on the pitch hours before kick-off. It speaks volumes about Lee’s character—a perfect reflection of this wonderful, well-run club that embodies the unique football culture of the North East. It is passionate, resilient, and deeply connected to its community. Falling in love with Spennymoor Town has been a privilege, and I urge everyone to experience the magic of this team and this town for themselves.
Alex Oakhill, Bournemouth University
In the Cambridge dictionary, a ‘hero’ is defined as a person who is admired for having done something very brave or having achieved something great. Of course, Mark Crowther is far too humble and modest to ever label himself a hero.
“Naturally I’ve got low self-esteem, low self-confidence, so I find it very difficult to embrace all the publicity and compliments,” he explains.
Despite his own reticence, the admiration Mark receives is wholly merited. Since 2021, he has completed three superhuman challenges, raising over £38,000 for charity in the process.
It all started during lockdown, with an unexpected knock on the door from Harry Cornick, who was playing for Mark’s beloved Luton Town at the time. The forward presented Mark with a shirt, signed by the whole squad, to thank him for starting a fundraising effort, which had raised over £1000.
While speaking to Cornick on his doorstep, Mark revealed he was considering cycling to every single Luton away game during the following season. By the time he stepped back into the house, the wheels of his plan were in motion.
“At that point I said, ‘Right, I’m going to cycle next season’. Once I told Harry (Cornick) I was doing it, I couldn’t go back from there, it was like the point of no return.”
So, it began. A gruelling mission spanning over 3,000 miles, fuelled solely by his own physical endurance. Demonstrating levels of determination and perseverance us mere mortals could only dream of, Mark braved the elements and the fatigue, as he followed his club up and down the country. Yet, this wasn’t the first battle Mark faced in his life – far from it.
“Mental health is a big passion of mine. I’ve suffered with mental health problems for almost 20 years, so I accept that I’ll always have struggles with it. I have things that help me cope, and the challenges and fundraising give me a drive and a focus.”
Despite his own demons, Mark remained resolute in his desire to help others. He funded his cycles entirely out of his own pocket, ensuring that every penny of the donations he received went to directly to charity. His commitment to aid those less fortunate gave him the psychological edge that he needed throughout the challenge, to ensure failure never prevailed.
“Sometimes I wanted to get off the bike and chuck it in a hedge, but my overriding thing was that I would never give up. Quitting wasn’t an option. I always said I’ll get wet, cold, lost, tired, all of the above, but at the end of the day I’ll recover, whereas unfortunately some people don’t.”
Mark completed his challenge at the John Smith’s Stadium, home of Huddersfield Town, and watched on as a valiant Luton side were defeated in the play-off semi-finals. However, much like the Hatters’ pursuit of the Premier League, Mark’s personal journey was far from its conclusion.
Just under a year later, Mark embarked on his second herculean fundraising effort, pledging to cycle to every single ground in the top five English leagues.
“I took a massive step. I wasn’t enjoying my job at the time, so I packed it in, took a career break and just planned this. I did 116 grounds, 2,500 miles, and I literally had one day off in five weeks. Even now I still don’t know how I managed it.”
By Mark’s own admission, that was meant to be the end of the challenges. However, after Luton were promoted to the Premier League in May 2023, he was persuaded to repeat his first mission, and cycle to every away game once again.
“I had a conversation with Jordan Clark, he said, ‘It’s the Premier League, you’ve got to do it, you’ve got to do it,’ and I couldn’t say no to Clicker!”
Mark cycled to iconic stadiums like Anfield, Old Trafford, and St James’ Park as he followed the Hatters on their rollercoaster Premier League journey, and the donations continued to flow in as he chalked the miles off.
“I had to cycle all through Christmas Day to Sheffield. Nearly £1,000 was donated on that one day, and yes, I missed out on Christmas, but just knowing that the money was helping, knowing I was making a small difference, that basically got me through.
“Although I was cycling on my own, I never felt alone because so many people were supporting me.”
To the surprise of absolutely nobody, Mark was not satisfied with completing three mammoth cycles. This year he has switched the bike for his own two legs, as he attempts to walk one million steps in just three months.
As he embarks on yet another challenge, he remains as humble as ever, but to everyone else, Mark Crowther is undoubtedly a hero.
Joe Ryan, University of Kent
When I turned five, a single moment shaped my love for football forever: a packet of Top Trumps.
At that age, my world revolved around Manchester United, my Wii, and endless hours spent on FIFA. So, when my dad surprised me with the Manchester United Top Trumps 2008/09 edition, it felt like the perfect gift.
I tore open the packaging and was instantly face-to-face with the players I had seen on TV: Cristiano Ronaldo, Edwin van der Sar and Dimitar Berbatov, to name a few. Then, I reached the Legends section.
The first few names were ones I recognised from my dad’s stories. Eric Cantona and Roy Keane. Even at five years old, I had watched YouTube clips of Cantona tearing through teams’ backlines.
Then came Peter Schmeichel and Mike Phelan. Players whose faces I recognised, though without their name on the card, would have been a mystery.
And then came the last two cards of the pack.
First was Bill Foulkes. A true United icon, with nearly 700 appearances to his name, third in the club’s all-time rankings at the time.
But then came the card that changed my outlook on football.
The last card in the set of 30 was a player that would not be known to many Manchester United fans, and it is a fair reason as to why.
He died in 1958 at the age of 26, and still holds the record for the best goal-to-game ratio in Manchester United’s history. 0.686 to be exact.
His name?
Tommy Taylor.
As soon as I placed my small fingers and thumbs over the paper card, which Taylor’s name adorned, I knew I had found my player.
Somebody that I could call my favourite.
I looked to my dad, sitting on our brown settee in our living room, and proudly declared in my young voice: “This is my favourite player” as I showed him the card.
The first reaction from my dad was a slight chuckle, and for good reason. I was probably the only person under 20 whose favourite player was Tommy Taylor.
The next stop was to the family computer, where I would try and absorb as much information about my new favourite player as my tiny mind could.
It was the first time I learned about the Munich Air Disaster—an event that not only shaped Manchester United but also left an indelible mark on English football.
It is a memory that is ingrained in my brain 17 years later.
Later that year, I attended my first-ever Manchester United match.
It was a milestone moment, one that felt even more special because I was wearing my first kit with a player’s name on the back.
Of course, that name was Tommy Taylor.
From the first whistle to the last, I was engrossed with every second of the game. Whilst sucking on a cola-flavoured lollipop, I remember the towering stands, the deafening roar of the crowd, and the sheer excitement of seeing United play in the flesh.
United drew 2-2 that day with Sunderland. An own goal from Anton Ferdinand in the 94th minute salvaged a point—and that was good enough for me.
That match also marked the start of an odd personal streak—my next five live games all ended in a draw. But that did not matter; I was already hooked.
Moments like this deepen your connection to a football club. Learning about Taylor did not just teach me about one player—it set me on a path to uncovering the entire history of Manchester United, and eventually, the history of football itself.
There have been countless nights where I have fallen into rabbit holes, watching old matches, and studying the art of football from 1865 onwards.
I learnt about the harrowing deaths of Sandor Szucs and Matthias Sindelar and researched who might have won the Ballon d’Or had it existed from 1888 onwards. I even found myself diving into bizarre conspiracy theories—like the claim suggesting Barcelona players sent secret signals to Syrian rebels.
None of this would have happened without the spark that came from discovering Taylor.
So, when people ask me who my favourite footballer of all time is, I proudly say Tommy Taylor.
The laughs usually follow, along with the inevitable question: “Who the f**k is that?” But I do not care.
I smile and explain who he was, what he meant to Manchester United, and what he means to me.
My five-year-old self would be proud to know that I still wear Taylor’s name on my back—now on a beautiful 1957 FA Cup final replica kit—and even more delighted to know that my love for the beautiful game has never faded.
FWA/Kick It Out Unheard Voices Student Football Writer of the Year award 2025 shortlist
Keane Handley, University of Cambridge
I was born into football, named after Manchester United legend Roy Keane and brought up with my beloved Dagenham & Redbridge, proudly taking the pilgrimage from Cambridge to Victoria Road every other weekend. I was also born gay. These two things shouldn’t be read as, but are too often seen as, a contradiction in terms.
The issue of homophobia in football has resurfaced recently, and has been brought home after discussions about LGBTQ+ rights in host nations of the World Cup abroad, in Qatar (2022) and Saudi Arabia (2034). David Coote’s fear of coming out as gay as a Premier League referee also brings to the fore to the UK football community that there is still more to be done at home to foster a more welcoming and inclusive environment.
Everyone must be able to feel comfortable with who they are, and not just with an absence of fear but with a true sense of belonging. Football does not and must not ever belong to one group. The game belongs to all supporters with a deep affinity to a team, a place, a community. It is a sport that breathes purpose into the lives of those from every race, gender, religion, class and sexual orientation.
Football is a game with proud working-class roots, however it has been gripped by misogynistic, racist and homophobic attitudes for far too long. In highlighting this, I hasten to add that as Nadia Whittome MP outlines: “racism is not a working class trait” but rather “woven into the fabric of our society from the top down” – equally, homophobia is not a working class trait. We must be cautious in conflating the proud working-class origins of football with discrimination. Providing class as an undertone to explain why football appears to have a unique issue with homophobia in the sporting world is wrong. We won’t solve homophobia in football with classist rhetoric.
The men’s football world has shifted attitudes along with wider society but I can’t help but think that it continues to lag behind. David Coote’s fear of coming out is a stark reminder of this, as he criticised the “macho” environment that men’s football still maintains, in spite of initiatives from the sport’s authorities such as the ‘Rainbow Laces’ campaign. These campaigns have not come without controversy and calls to ‘keep politics out of football’, but that phrase just doesn’t hold. It is not ‘keeping politics out of football’ that is the issue; in doing so we would be keeping people out of football. Football is all about people and if people can’t bring their whole selves to the game, both on the pitch and in the terraces, then the sport is infinitely worse off for it.
It is an ‘invisibility’ that Adam Crafton, an openly gay football writer, alluded to when he spoke to Varsity in 2023, with homophobic language being so normalised in football parlance that it too often passes without comment or challenge, especially when it has not been necessarily aimed at an openly gay player. However, it doesn’t pass without consequence. Part of the reason why there are very few openly gay players and no high-profile current players in the men’s game is the fear of lack of acceptance that such comments ignite.
The fact that this abuse isn’t as personal, perhaps having not been directed at one player in particular, doesn’t mean it isn’t damaging – it damages the game we love and every supporter and player who doesn’t feel able to be themselves. Equally, however, the onus shouldn’t be on current players to come out and lead the fight – though these would be incredible steps to take – it should be on football itself to continue a collective drive of a truly zero tolerance approach to homophobia: in the dressing room, on the pitch and in the stands, to create the conditions for visibility and pride, for people to simply be themselves.
Each season that passes without an openly-gay footballer in England’s top flights is an indictment on the ‘Beautiful Game’, and a failure of its institutions to live up to that name and assert that football truly is for everyone.
Chinonye Ruth Ibeakanma, University of Lagos
When Asisat Oshoala danced across the field after scoring during the 2014 U-20 Women’s World Cup, she was not dancing because she had scored a goal, she was dancing because she was celebrating defiance. With each step, she shattered assumptions about what girls from Lagos could accomplish. I watched her that day, amazed not only by her skill, but by what her happiness represented: possibility.
“It is hard for girls in Africa to play football and other sports in general,” Oshoala once said. “A lot of them have the same problems that I had when I was little, where their parents don’t want them to play and there aren’t many options for women footballers.”
Those words could have been mine or any other girl’s from Lagos, Kinshasa, or Accra. They echo in community fields across Africa where young girls are told their dreams have boundaries, where football ambitions are treated as temporary distractions from “real” futures.
In Nigeria and much of Africa, girls with football aspirations face a cultural playbook that doesn’t include sports: go to school (if they’re lucky), learn domestic skills, prepare for marriage. Football with its freedom and public visibility disrupts this carefully constructed narrative of female propriety.
But Oshoala refused this script. When her parents objected, she didn’t argue—she adapted. She played in secret, sneaking out to develop her skills in stolen moments. She wasn’t just practicing football; she was practicing persistence.
Her triumph arrived unanticipated and in style in 2014. Sweeping the U-20 Women’s World Cup, she bagged the Golden Ball and Golden Boot awards. The young lady who once struggled to chase her dream was Nigeria’s pride within a night. Her parents who had disapproved of her dreams stood won over by her excellence beyond any doubt.
Oshoala outruns expectations just as she overwhelms defenders: fast, uncompromising, with fire in her eyes and the spirit of Lagos in her chest. To say that she did it against expectation is an understatement of the magnitude of her achievement. She did not merely break through barriers; she mapped possibilities.
In a world of football dominated by fame where it’s usually the boys with the luxury of scheduled training and career paths, Oshoala defined her own route, barefoot on muddy streets, using improvised balls as vessels for hope. Her quality asserted itself to be listened to, but it was her unapologetic self that commanded respect.
With confidence in her stride and a refusal to diminish her joy to accommodate others’ discomfort, she expanded the definition of what it means to be an African woman in sports. When she wore the captain’s armband for Nigeria’s Super Falcons, it represented more than leadership. It proved that a girl from Ikorodu could shoulder a nation’s hopes while still expressing her authentic self.
What strikes me most powerfully about Oshoala isn’t just what she accomplished, but what she refused to compromise. She never diluted her identity to fit into systems not built for her. She never downplayed the struggles of being a woman in football. And she never distanced herself from her origins—the streets and the silence she broke with her talent.
Oshoala’s journey from playing secretly in Lagos to starring for Barcelona illuminates the artificial nature of the barriers placed before African girls. Her success reveals that the limitations aren’t in our abilities but in societal imagination.
Unlike many who achieve international fame, Oshoala turned her platform into a ladder for others. Her foundation, established in 2015, exemplifies this commitment by providing not just football training but also educational opportunities for girls throughout Nigeria. Through scholarships and mentorship programs, she ensures that future generations won’t face the same resistance she encountered.
Oshoala began simply by having fun and finding joy in the game before professionalism entered the equation. This authenticity remains her most compelling quality. She didn’t convince her parents with words but with demonstrations that sometimes showing surpasses telling. Her journey offers a powerful message to young African girls: talent speaks its own language when given space to express itself.
When I see young girls playing football in fields across Lagos today, wearing homemade jerseys with Oshoala’s name carefully written on the back, I witness her real legacy. It’s not just in trophies or professional contracts, but in the normalization of female ambition and the expansion of what African girls can dream without apology.
Asisat Oshoala didn’t just score goals,she scored victories against centuries of limitation. And in doing so, she didn’t just change the game; she changed the rules about who gets to play it.
“I want to build a future for girls in Africa,” says Oshoala. “I want them to believe. If I can do it, they can do it too. It’s all about showing up, believing in your talent, and never backing down.”
Kyrenia Shipillis, St Mary’s University, Twickenham
When the lights shine the brightest, most youngsters cower from the spotlight.
Not Myles-Lewis Skelly.
Last international break, during England’s 2-0 victory against Albania, he made history as the youngest player to score on his debut as he netted the first goal of the Thomas Tuchel era.
Hands fisted and a smile plastered across his face, Lewis-Skelly celebrated in front of thousands of besotted fans.
His first appearance at the Three Lions camp produced a different reaction. An image of the enthused youngster was posted on the teams’ X account soon after his arrival.
Most, taken by his cheeky grin and peace-loving sign were instantly won over, but the hidden comments revealed that others were not convinced.
“What is he wearing? He really is a bit of a t*t, isn’t he? Full of it! And for what?” one user wrote.
When you ask someone why they do not like Lewis-Skelly, the most common answers given are, ‘he’s an Arsenal player’, or ‘didn’t like that Haaland celebration. Tad bit arrogant, isn’t he? He hasn’t won anything.’
But history tells us there is always something more, bubbling under the surface.
The 18-year-old caused quite a stir when he mocked Erling Haaland with his goal celebration in the Gunners’ 5-1 victory against Manchester City last February.
Jamie Carragher on Sky Sports said: “I said about have football arrogance on the pitch and I loved it. I didn’t like this, I’ve got to be honest. Because he’s a young player mimicking Haaland, taking the mick.”
The celebration was previously addressed on the Fan Debate segment of The Overlap.
Paul Scholes was asked what the difference between Lewis-Skelly mimicking Haaland’s celebration and Neal Maupay imitating James Maddison’s darts celebration in Brentford’s 3-2 defeat to Tottenham last February.
He said: “[Maupay’s] just an id*ot. He just takes the p*ss.”
Maupay is just having a laugh. Lewis-Skelly is young and needs to be careful.
This is not the first time conversations on racial bias in football have been had.
Last June, a friendly between England and Iceland frustrated fans after 65th-minute substitute Bukayo Saka was the face of defeat across several multi-media platforms.
On X, former England striker Ian Wright said: “Those deciding who goes on the back pages know what they’re doing.”
“We need to protect Myles Lewis-Skelly at all costs,” Versus posted on social media in response to the Lewis-Skelly celebration debate.
“Mainstream British media have found their new target and are already taking aim. Instead of hailing up this 18-year-old’s impressive breakout season so far, his celebration in response to Haaland has become a point of contention.
“The sight of a young, confident, charismatic Black man thriving on the biggest stage is something that doesn’t fit into the mould of what [national media] envision.”
In a recent interview for the Sports Gazette, Show Racism the Red Card Honorary President and former Newcastle United player Shaka Hislop recounted his experience with racism as a player.
He said: “My experience in sport provided me with a unique experience about a world without racism, as opposed to racism as it exists.
“Where else can I, as a young Black man from Trinidad and Tobago, sit in a space five feet away from players up and down the United Kingdom. Players from Columbia, Belgium, Georgia, Norway, and recognise the value of diversity and strength of coming together around a common goal?
“I feel that epitomises humanity at its best.”
It paints a pretty picture, does it not? Players of every race, colour and creed unified under an umbrella of acceptance facilitated by football.
But with time, a steady drizzle has fallen, drenching the canvas in a sombre sheen. The rise of social media, drip – the anonymity that comes with it – drop, has created a market for hate and unsolicited opinions.
With every blue that drips into grey, the painting once vibrant in colour, is now muted in its initial intent.
It is time we pick up a brush.
Whether it is to unearth the perfectionism that Black players are expected to live up to, or to address unconscious bias within the sports media. The discourse surrounding Myles Lewis-Skelly has once again given rise to the need for a conversation.
