Unforgettable moments
What really struck me about the World Cup Final
As I watched the Lionesses’ hearts break on Sunday, I felt the familiar pain of someone who has watched England on the cusp of glory so many times...and as someone who grew up in England (albeit dual nationality) I have learned to be sanguine about this feeling. It hurts like crazy, but only in the most fleeting way.
It still takes me back to the days of Euro ‘96 when my brother and two of his closest friends were still alive, where we laughed and cried, drank and danced, celebrated and commiserated together. Now all three of those beautiful boys have left this world in the most tragic of ways, my associations with football are forever dipped in their memories.
As such, the thing that struck me most about the women’s World Cup Final was not about how it’s ok to come second, how incredible all the players have been, how Nike are scoring a huge own goal over Mary Earps’ shirt, and how wonderful it is to see women’s football on the world stage; although I whole heartedly feel all of those things...
All I can really think about is Spain’s Olga Carmona.
At just 23 years of age - a whisper away from still being a child, this young woman scored the goal that sealed her country’s victory in their first ever World Cup Final. A moment to be indelibly etched in her brain - something she will replay and relive time and time again. After scoring, she lifted her shirt to reveal a tribute to her friend’s mother who had died. A woman she called ‘our star’ - a beautiful and thoughtful moment amidst the frenzy.
I had never even heard her name before Sunday, and I don’t really know much at all about football, but I will hold her name forever more - not because of the goal or the victory, but because of what happened afterwards.
It turns out that Olga’s father had died two days before the World Cup Final, and when she scored that goal, she didn’t yet know. Her family had (understandably) kept the news from her in the run up to the big game, and as the winning celebrations no doubt continued into the night, her life tilted on its axis for the second time within a few short hours as she was told of his passing.
Now I’ve never scored a winning goal in a World Cup Final (shock news I know), so I can’t speak for how significant that feels, but I do know that those moments of elation in life make an imprint in our brains, time-stamping the experience: celebrations, successes, births, graduations, medals, marriages - whatever they may be.
What is seared into my own psyche with much more fervour, however, are those moments where I received news of loss, and my life shifted in a more fundamental way. When my mother rang me at 4am one morning, I knew it wasn’t going to be good. I can still see myself standing there, by the right hand side of the bed, facing the window as my body crumpled upon being told my dad wouldn’t wake up.
For these competing emotions to happen to one young woman, on the same day, is almost incomprehensible.
In this excerpt from my book I describe that feeling further as I recall the time when my dad himself rang me to tell me that my brother had been unexpectedly wrenched from our lives:
When I saw the words ‘dad mob’ scroll across my phone screen, my body sensed that my universe had shifted before my mind even began to catch up. I felt instantly sick, or perhaps not even sick but that prickly, primal dread you get when you know there is a large spider on the wall behind you even though you can’t see it. My dad never called me on my mobile, he was strictly landline only, and he didn’t even use his own mobile. It was suddenly all so wrong.
When I answered, he told me he was outside in the car, and I needed to come out. Why? How? Why? How did he know where I was? Why was he outside? Why? Why? Why?? My closest friend, the one under whose Christmas tree we had so recently gathered, strode purposefully towards me, intuiting that my world was changing in that moment. As she reached for my baby Bel whilst the phone was pressed to my ear, tea precariously balancing on a cushion, our silhouette was cast into the fabric of history; preserving the moment where everything I knew about permanence, protection and safety melted away from me in the pyroclastic flow of erupting events. A human shaped hole carved into the ether for future others to forever sense as they brush past.
When I think about Olga Carmona, it’s not about the captured moment we have all seen of her celebrating after scoring - images that will stand the celluloid test of time; it’s about the moment that she will remember for the rest of her life - the one we didn’t see. The one that has been imprinted in her heart. The place where her fractured emotions will have left their residue on the fabric of the universe.
This is why I’m so delighted she scored that goal, and took her country to victory, because losing both on the same day would have simply been too much.
World Cup winners are awarded a ‘star’ to wear above the crests on their football shirts as a mark of their achievement. Another marker. That evening, Olga quoted so eloquently:
And without knowing it, I had my star before the game started. I know that you have given me the strength to achieve something unique. I know that you have been watching me tonight and that you are proud of me. Rest in peace, papa.
What a star she is.
Love & lemons 🍋
Em x
So beautiful! Thank you for sharing this. 💖
Goodness - I too still feel the pain of my darling dads death.
Beautifully written as always Emma xx😘🤗