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Getting Stuck In- Part 2

This is the second of a three-part series. You can find Part 1 here. Look for the final installment next Friday.

By: Bridget Gordon (@thaumatropia)

Two years ago I was broke and couchsurfing with a friend. While channel surfing for something to have on in the background while I searched for jobs, I discovered Fox Soccer Channel, which offered 24/7 soccer programming. I developed a love for the sport as a kid, but they didn’t show soccer on network TV much when I was a kid (and my family couldn’t afford cable). So I drifted in and out, catching most of every World Cup but missing out on most everything else.

While desperately searching for work, I would have FSC on in the background, which in the afternoons meant either replays of Premier League games from the weekend or, occasionally, a Champions League game. When I finished looking for work, I would keep the TV on and lose myself in whatever games were on. I rediscovered everything I loved about the Beautiful Game— the speed, the unpredictability, the moments of individual brilliance, the fan culture.

I used some of the tiny amount of money I had to pick up a cheap used copy of FIFA ‘12. After spending some time with throw-away save files to get acquainted with the game, I started a Manager Career Mode game as manager of AFC Wimbledon. I had fallen in love with the club because of their story and their fans. AFC Wimbledon was the story of a community who lost the thing they loved most in the world, the thing that bound them together, and found a way to keep going. At the time, it struck an emotional chord with me.

Playing FIFA became a way to relieve stress in what had become one of the worst periods of my life. It was a way to cope with anxiety attacks and depression. And, in Nathan, I found a heroic figure that I could believe in. In the same way that people find solace and construct meaning in Star Wars, Doctor Who, and the Marvel Cinematic Universe, I found catharsis in English football by way of a popular video game franchise.

*****

After a few months of courses in the park and dribbling behind his house, Nathan was still rough around the edges, but he was fast for his age and handled the ball exceptionally well for someone so new to the game. After some discussions with his grandparents, an academy scout approached Nathan and asked if he’d be interested in joining the club’s Boys U12s side. He couldn’t say Yes fast enough.

He did well in the U12s and finally got promoted to the U21s. Nathan played a variety of positions, but he seemed to perform best in the #10 role— playing just behind the center forward, drifting out wide or making forward runs as necessary, helping to create space and set up that final ball. He was recognized within the club as a promising young talent, but because they were all the way down in League Two none of the bigger fish took notice. Nathan was AFC Wimbledon’s little secret.

One day, Nathan was called into the coach’s office after his midweek training. Standing in the office was Neal Ardley, manager of the senior team. He was polite— maybe too polite, a habit he engaged in while trying to compensate for anxiety. They got to the point. There’s an injury crisis in the first team and they needed someone who could get them goals. Neal wanted Nathan to play with the first team for that Saturday’s home match against Shrewsbury Town. He stuttered a bit but managed to splutter out a yes. Neal told him he’d be training with the first team the rest of the week, and they’d sort things out with his school. He wouldn’t start, but he would almost certainly be named to the bench. He nodded and nodded until he sensed it was ok to talk. “I won’t let you down, sir.” Neal just shook his head and smiled.

*****

I’m not the only person to use FIFA as way to tell a story. The popular YouTube celebrity and New York Times Bestselling Author John Green has a side project in which he plays as the manager of AFC Wimbledon in FIFA in a series of Let’s Play videos. Green uses the ad revenue he collects from his videos to fund a sponsorship agreement with the real-world club.

His version of AFC Wimbledon- which he nicknames the Wimbly Womblys- stars two custom-made footballers named Bald John Green and Other John Green. Over the course of that series the author revealed that the two fictional Johns Green were in a committed romantic partnership with each other. The wider world of English football, in his setting, was seemingly fine with this (which perhaps strains credibility given the rampant homophobia that still infects the English game). Green went to great lengths to ensure every player in the side was given their own narrative as he described the action in his YouTube videos, careful to present every member of the first team as complex individuals with rich inner lives. One of them, Green revealed, was a woman playing on a men’s senior team. For someone who both has a complicated relationship with my gender identity and who finds the brand of toxic masculinity that permeates football culture very off-putting, this was an exciting development.

Originally posted by wimblywomblys

During the videos, Green takes care to provide reasons for fans of his who don’t care about sports to watch, whether that’s talking about current events or responding to audience questions or answering Buzzfeed quizzes. But those who follow the action on the pitch and Green’s narration are treated to a rich, elaborate story, filled with characters with troubled pasts and difficult personalities who find in AFC Wimbledon both a surrogate family and a cause worth fighting for.

By comparison, what I’m doing with my games of FIFA is smaller and certainly more self-serving. Yet knowing that I’m not the only one who uses FIFA as a platform for developing narratives let me not only fess up to the reality of this weird thing I was doing, but also made me think about this as a story I can tell to other people and not just a way to come to terms with my anxieties. It made me believe what I was doing really did amount to telling a story— even if it was one I intended to keep to myself.

*****

Saturday finally came, and Nathan was indeed named in the 18. The air was cool, and there were still patches of sunshine. The home side were down 2-0 and were dreading another disappointing result. Striker Matt Tubbs picked up a knock in the 68th minute and Neal called Nathan over. This was it. This was actually happening.

The announcement came over the PA. “Substituting for Matt Tubbs, number 19, Nathan Richards.” He got a surprisingly loud reception. The home crowd always loves it when an academy product breaks into the first team, but more than a few supporters already knew about Nathan. They heard things. Good things.

Wimbledon keeper James Shea sent the ball long and midfielder Sammy Moore tussled for it in the center circle. His opposite number won it and tried to pass to a teammate, but it was collected by left-back Callum Kennedy. Kennedy passed to Moore, who passed it to Nathan. His first touch in a senior team game. He was about 30, maybe 35 yards from goal, but he saw Town’s keeper was well off his line. He could hit the net from there. He’d done it before in training. He took a touch to control the ball and center himself. With his second touch he went for goal from that outrageous distance. The ball flew past Shrewsbury’s keeper and into the far corner of the net. The ground was silent for a moment before the fans exploded. 2-1. They were back in it.

Nathan didn’t celebrate his first ever senior goal. He ran up, fished the ball out of the net, and ran it back to the center circle. The game wasn’t over yet. They had less than 20 minutes left to try and get an equalizer— or better.

The next 10 or 15 minutes had the Dons exerting relentless pressure on Shrewsbury. Nathan got the ball and found four stout men in front of him. His feet moved, shuffled, curling the ball in orbit around him. There was a flurry, and suddenly Nathan found himself with only one defender between him and goal. He sent the ball through his opponent’s legs and sprung Akinfenwa loose, who collected the ball in the box and looked set to finish. Nathan made a forward run in support. Bayo took his shot but the keeper parried it away. The deflection put the ball right at Nathan’s feet. The goal was wide open. 2-2.

Again, the ground exploded. And, again, Nathan fished the ball out of the net and ran it back to the center spot. There was still time left on the clock.

Deep into stoppage time, Wimbledon were forced to defend a corner. Nate hovered just outside his penalty area, ready to break if the opportunity came up. Town took their corner but the ball was punched away by Shea. A Shrewsbury defender near Nathan collected the ball, but he lost his footing. Nathan stole the ball away and ran for the opposite end of the pitch. There was no one between him and the goal except the keeper. Everyone was screaming. The guys on the call for Radio WDON stopped commentating and became fans again, yelling at Nate, telling him tp keep running. Shrewsbury’s keeper rushed off his line. Nathan ran at him, then made a quick pivot and spun at the last moment to round him. The goal was empty. 3-2, with stoppage time all but spent.

That time, he celebrated. He ran a few feet down the goalline in front of the ChemFlow End, stood in front of the home supporters, eye level with a flag reading “WE ARE THE RESURRECTION.” He held his arms out, threw his head skyward, and soaked in the adulation of the crowd like a warm summer’s rain, mouth agape to try and catch some. He made his first appearance for the senior team, came on as a 68th minute substitute with the team down 2-0, and scored a hat-trick in 20 minutes and change to secure all three points. That doesn’t happen in football anymore.

In that moment, he felt loved. He heard the roar of the crowd and he wrapped himself in it like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night. He never wanted that feeling to go away.