Women’s football has well and truly broken through to the mainstream but for decades the sport was sidelined in Australia, seen as a haven for “unconventional” women.
In the 80s and 90s teams such as the Adelaide Armpits – “a bunch of ratbag, lesbian feminists” known to many as the Hairy Armpits – and Sydney’s Flying Bats proudly flew the flag.
These clubs, like those that many of the first Matildas emerged from, had to fight for decent equipment, training grounds and recognition.
“It wasn’t that popular a thing to be a women’s footballer then,” says former Matildas vice captain Moya Dodd, who played for Port Adelaide Soccer Club at 13 before joining the University of Adelaide team in the 80s.
“You were considered a bit of a circus freak, and it was really nice to find the other circus freaks and hang out with them and share this mildly obsessive feeling.”
The Matildas’ first World Cup outing in 1995 earned them a few desultory paragraphs in the back of the Canberra Times. The team resorted to doing a nude calendar in a bid to boost their profile and funds in 1999 in the lead-up to the Sydney Olympics.
Dodd says since then the beautiful game has, for women, become one that is empowered and celebrates difference.
Patronised on the pitch
It has been a long road. In 1921, the first public women’s football match in Brisbane drew a crowd of 10,000 people. Despite the strong interest, soon afterwards Australia followed Britain’s lead and a committee declared the sport “unsuitable” for women.
Women’s soccer (we all called it soccer back then) was still clawing its way back from that shadow ban in the 90s and was still sidelined at all levels. Literally, in some cases.
One team I played for had just one training pitch for three teams – two men’s and one women’s. The solution was for one men’s team to use half, the other to use the other half and the women to train in the gravelly dirt off to the side of the pitch.
I’ve been talking to other former players from various teams as we rejoice in the performance of the Matildas in this year’s Women’s World Cup. We marvel at the enthusiastic public response – and remember how female footballers were often treated.
We joked about the little figurines on our trophies and the leftover boys’ trophies with tits and ponytails stuck on.
We played in hand-me-down strips and old Bonds T-shirts marked with Posca pens. Strapping tape was deployed to make a different jersey number.
There would be maybe two match balls, carefully ferried to and from games by coach or captain. Change rooms usually had one loo and a urinal trough, and a smell that would outlast religion.
The referees were often condescending, arbitrary or inexperienced. You might be laboriously lectured on the offside rule, despite having played for years.
More than once a ref decided that slide tackles were not allowed at all because it was just too dangerous for ladies (the same ref might fail to see when the opposition resorted to nipple cripples in the chaos of a corner kick).
Sometimes it was handy to have a totally green young ref – you could convince them the other side had kicked the ball out when it clearly came off your own boot.
Culture of acceptance
The other remarkable thing about women’s soccer we often discuss is the number of lesbians who play, and the associated stereotype that if you play, you must be a lesbian.
This Women’s World Cup, gay sports blog Outsports reports that almost 100 of the players – 13% – are out.
Compare that to the men’s. In 2021 Adelaide United’s Josh Cavallo became the first openly gay professional top flight men’s footballer in the world.
Teams like the Armpits and the Bats, and the Melbourne Rovers, led the way on LGBTIQ+ inclusiveness in Australia, but it’s a global phenomenon much commented on but little understood.
Some point to the atmosphere of inclusivity for marginalised people, or the way women’s football was once seen as unorthodox: Dodd called it “a highly unconventional sport for women”.
This is not to say it’s a safe space for everyone. There have been wild accusations – later disproved – of a “lesbian mafia” controlling the sport and criticism of a “hyperfocus” on sexuality. The BBC had to apologise after a reporter quizzed Morocco’s captain about gay players. Fifa’s flirtation with Saudi sponsorship, and ongoing work on the inclusion of transgender players, have made it hard to always include the ‘T’ when talking about LGBTQ+ inclusion.
In February Matildas captain Sam Kerr ran on to the pitch wearing a jersey with rainbow colours. “We have such an inclusive team,” she said at the time. “Always have and probably always will.” (Still, Fifa blocked rainbow OneLove armbands for the World Cup.)
Dodd says the culture of acceptance encompasses the fans. “The fans don’t just enjoy the game for the spectacle itself, which is wonderful, but also for what it stands for and it stands for women’s empowerment, gender equality and inclusiveness,” she says.
“These fans stand up for marginalised groups, they celebrate difference and they see the game as driven not only by the will to win trophies but also a strong purpose to improve society for everyone in it.
“Happily we’re not regarded as circus freaks any more, but there is something about being in a place where you can be yourself and be accepted for who you are.”
