By: Bridget Gordon (@thaumatropia)

This is the final installment of a 3-part series. Here’s Part 1 and Part 2.

There’s a particular kind of fanfiction called Fix Fic. These stories essentially try to address something in the story or the universe that the fic writer believes is wrong somehow. An example would be Firefly fanfic that features Asian characters— something the original canon, despite borrowing so heavily from Chinese culture, frustratingly neglects.

Eventually I realized that my playing FIFA is, in effect, a way of creating Fix Fix in order to reconcile how the current landscape of English football is and how I think it should be. In the real world, AFC Wimbledon are stuck in England’s fourth division, struggling each season to avoid relegation to the semi-professional leagues. They have barely any money and, while several promising young talents have emerged from the academy system and broken into the first team, none of them are going to be world-beaters.

If you are a fan of sports, your heart will be broken. It’s not a matter of If, but When. There’s a peculiarity in football fandom where poor performances bring not just disappointment, but indignation. A club falling short of their target for the season can feel like an injustice. As if some part of the world had broken and the glass shards were embedding themselves in you and the thing you loved. In FIFA, I found a way to try and bridge the gap between how I think things should be and how things are. Talk to fans who write fanfic based on any popular media franchise and you’re likely to find very similar motivations.

*****

One Saturday in late November, years after the Shrewsbury game, Nathan led his team out of the tunnel. Wimbledon had found themselves in or around the Top 4 of the Barclay’s Premier League since the season started— which, for a newly promoted side, is almost unheard of in modern times. Yet the Dons were helped by a somewhat kind schedule, taking on mostly mid-table sides. Tonight, in the 5:30 game airing live on Sky, Wimbledon would face their biggest challenge yet— Chelsea, the defending champions. It was cold, and the rain was coming down hard. Just like that night 10 years ago, when Nathan lost everything.

It was the anniversary of his parents’ death and it became part of the narrative for a game of football. The game became about Nathan, and he didn’t like that. He could be a bit of a showoff sometimes, but fundamentally all he cared about was his teammates and his manager. He hated that they were only talking about him and how he lost everything. What about AFC Wimbledon? What about the fans? They also lost everything. They also had to start all over again.

*****

What’s the point of all this? I’ve asked myself that more than once as this story around a fictional professional athlete grew in the telling.

Protagonists in stories can act as audience surrogates. They symbolize qualities we wish we had. They can act in the world in ways we don’t necessarily believe we can. We identify with heroes as better versions of ourselves. And we can be emboldened to try and be more like them.

Nathan Richards emerged in a time in my life where I felt very powerless. AFC Wimbledon appeared on my radar at a time when I felt like I had lost a lot of what mattered in my life. At a time when I had no idea what to do next, I invented a character that had clear, actionable goals and the determination to achieve them.

Since I started playing FIFA I’ve started the long, excruciating process of putting my life back together. I’m no longer homeless. I’ve started working again— not in the career I went to college and grad school for, but one which pays and is personally fulfilling. I started making friends again. These may seem like baby steps, but less than two years ago getting this far seemed too much to ask.

I cannot, and will not, say that FIFA saved my life. I put in the effort to rebuild, and I was helped along by emotional and material support from friends and family (and no small amount of luck). But the story of Nathan Richards, perhaps, acted as a metaphor for my own struggles. This character lost everything that was important in his life and somehow had to cobble together a new life out of the rubble, with no guarantee that he would ever feel safe or happy again. And, yet, the new path he’s carving for himself might just end up being better than the one he lost.

I believe all stories present visions of possibilities and alternatives. In football, in FIFA, in Nathan Richards, I found a path out of the dark.

*****

It was the 80th minute and, with the score at 2-0 to the opposition, things were looking grim. Wimbledon won a corner. Nate ran to the corner flag to take it and sent a long curling ball into the box. Center forward Henry West rose out of the air and headed it in. Thibaut Courtois got a hand to it but couldn’t keep it out. 1-1. Plough Lane erupted.

Wimbledon tried to press but they were all but spent. As the minutes wore down, both teams seemed to accept the result as it stood. A draw at home against the champions isn’t so bad, some players thought.

It was deep in stoppage time and Nathan had the ball. There was no one in front of him or to his sides in support, and a six-man back line between him and goal. He made the run. Past one defender. Spinning around another. A feint and another one’s done. He had a clear sight of the box and he went for it. Then, pain and darkness and yelling.

He was brought down just inside the penalty area, and the referee took his time with the decision. The call is a free kick right on the 18 yard line. And a yellow card for Gary Cahill, who made the challenge. Nate stepped up to take the kick. This would probably be the last real action of the game.

The rain was still pouring. The noise from the crowd was unearthly. Martin Tyler told the television audience that the commentary gantry was shaking from the roar of the crowd. He said this could be a special moment.

The referee blew the whistle. Nathan took a step. Another. He planted his left foot beside the ball as he swung his hips and right leg around for the kick. The ball sailed over the wall and dipped down, just inside the post and just outside of Courtois’ grasp. 2-1.

Nathan didn’t celebrate. He turned away from the goal, looked up at the sky, and held two fingers pointed at the heavens. His teammates mobbed him. The rain was still pouring.

When played resumed Chelsea scramble to get forward quickly, but they were out of time. The referee blew three times. Wimbledon have beaten the champions and were now in second place in the Barclay’s Premier League.

As soon as the whistle blew, Neal ran on to the pitch. He ran straight at Nathan, grabbed him, and pulled him in for a bear hug. He asks Nate if he’s alright, and the young man just nodded. Neal tried to pull him toward the tunnel but Nathan stopped him. He had to thank the home fans first.

He led his teammates over to the home stand and the supporters explode. Chants of “There’s Only One Nathan Richards” rang throughout the ground. Nathan had mostly stopped crying. It was raining, so people couldn’t tell anyway.

An hour or so after that game, Nathan made one post on his Twitter account.

“Miss you, Mom and Dad.”