1st Half.

It is approaching 5pm on a dark winter evening and my family are huddled around the television set. The stuttering images flit across the screen; a pregnant woman and a man dance around the stage, microphones clasped in their hands, belting out a tune I have never heard before. The tune is not my cup-of-tea but the young couple are enthusiastic and eager. (Later, I Google the duo and discover the performance is by an artist called Stress featuring Karolyn.) I hope Karolyn isn’t too enthusiastic; after all, she is heavily pregnant and, with the forthcoming festive season in mind, I stress and worry that she may soon be looking for a manger to bed down in.

As they gyrate, they encourage their audience to clap and sing along with them. The audience seem quite reluctant. As the cameras pan across them, they look uncomfortable, exchanging worried looks with their colleagues. Stress and Karolyn are persistent, though. A few of the seated audience begin to clap along in obvious discomfort. This is not what they signed up for as delegates for their national football federations when they agreed to attend the draw for the UEFA Women’s Euro 2025 tournament.

You can see the delegates thinking, “This simply isn’t football”. The older men – and it is mostly men attending the draw – want to find out who their respective nations are due to play in Switzerland during the group games come the summer of ’25. They don’t want to be part of a sing-a-long. They just want to know who their opponents are, to drink the free booze and to snaffle all the food on offer before heading back home for Christmas.

I see Sarina Wiegman among the faces. She is mid-way back in the throng. She looks cheerful and expectant as she awaits the fate of her Lionesses. I smile when I spot her. One of us says excitedly, “It’s Sarina!” The England manager elicits that sort of response. She is likeable, engaging, entertaining and, not insignificantly for England fans, successful. The Lionesses are current European Champions – you may have heard a little about that – and expectation among fans for next year’s tournament is understandably high. And that optimism and expectation for Euro ’25 is why my family are waiting excitedly for the musical act to finish and the draw to begin.

Oh…we are also excited because Santa and his charity-collecting elves are due to process along our street at any moment and this will be Emilia’s, my very first grand-child, first Christmas to see him in all his lit-up, jingly-jangly, festively musical brilliance.

Thankfully for grand-daughter Emilia, and her much anticipated first sighting of the festive fellow riding a plywood sleigh carried on the back of a commercial wagon, Santa is running late and we are able to continue watching the Euro draw without interruption.

Meanwhile, away from our Yorkshire street and back in Lausanne, Switzerland, Stress and Karolyn’s performance has come to an end. The audience applaud politely as the singers make their exit. The actual draw is now, like Christmas, nearly upon us.

Our two hosts return. England international, media pundit, fierce advocate for the women’s game and all-round top-chap Ian Wright takes the stage. Alongside Wrighty, and almost a full head taller than the former Gunner, stands the elegant figure of Swiss sports presenter – and former ice-hockey player for Switzerland – Annette Fetscherin. Together they make excellent hosts and nothing seems to go awry with their presentation. (Although, it transpires that Wright took a tumble down some steps at the end of the ceremony. Thankfully, following treatment and with the aid of the always reliable and trusty ice-bag, he was said to be unharmed and was smiling and in good spirits.)

Two high-ranking members UEFA  appear to make introductory speeches. The man and woman banter playfully with each other (Sorry, but I couldn’t remember their names or find them on Google!), delivering their lines and scripted quips with professionalism and, dare I say it, a great deal of European panache. These two make quite a good double-act. They are not in the same league as a Wells and Hanson* partnership, nor are they up there with the likes of Blake and Mills*. But, this UEFA pairing are solid and dependable up-front for this occasion. *You may need to be old-time fans of a certain Yorkshire club to recognise those names.

A selection of celebrated footballers – mostly, I think, of the “ex-footballer” category – are introduced. The four men and four women stand behind glass pots that rest atop gleaming curved podiums. Some of these former pros will be picking the balls which specify the group each nation will be placed into; others will pick the balls that dictate the position the teams will occupy in their designated groups. These group positions will determine the fixture schedule and venues.

The eight “ballers”  in question are:

Leonardo Bonucci (Italy)

Verónica Boquete (Spain)

Lara Dickenmann (Switzerland)

Sami Khedira (Germany)

Jill Scott (England)

Caroline Seger (Sweden)

Xherdan Shaqiri (Switzerland)

Raphaël Varane (France)

Emilia sits contentedly in her highchair. She munches happily on her tea, occasionally dropping handfuls into her bib and table tray. Some of her food lands on the floor. Our dogs look up at her gratefully as they pounce on the unexpected delights. Her father, Liam, isn’t watching the Euro draw with us. (“Us” being me, my wife Sarah, daughter Bethany and the afore-mentioned Emilia). Liam is on his works Christmas do tonight and has asked to be kept informed of the groups as they are decided. He works for one of the rescue services and, in his spare time, Liam is a master at planning travel arrangements. Liam is just as excited by the forthcoming draw as we* are.

And rightly so. Because Liam and I are hoping to go to Switzerland to watch the Euros.

*Admittedly, Emilia doesn’t seem as interested. But, then, she isn’t yet one-year-old.

2nd Half.

So, now you know a little about the hosts, the musical act and the un-named UEFA duo. You also know there are eight former footballers waiting – as they often do/did – to play with some balls.

But what do you know about me? Or about Liam? Very little, other than I have a grand-daughter and Liam, her father, is a master trip planner.

Allow me to make some introductions.

My name is Gavin. Although, to Emilia, I will simply be known as GrumpPa. (Get to know me even a little and you’ll understand why.) I am in my – ahem – mid-fifties and have been a football fan since either the autumn of 1980 or 1981. I cannot remember when I first went to a professional game but, suffice to say, it was a heck of a long time back. During those four decades I have watched my team climb from Division 4 to the heights of the Premiership and then fall back to Division 4 where they currently reside. (I am old-school and the name League Two still reads as Division 4 to me.)

I have seen my team visit Wembley on three occasions, winning promotion via the play-offs twice and losing a major cup final once. I have travelled the length and breadth of the UK following them. Once, during our heady days in the top-flight, I spent around two days on a coach travelling to and from the continent just to watch my side play ninety minutes of football in a low-key European tournament. I’ve cried tears of joy and despair at their results. I have wept in sorrow for my club too.

I have been a season ticket holder for decades. I have spent a fortune on merchandise; replica shirts, retro shirts, mugs, scarves, hats and all manner of items that sport my clubs colours. I have donated money when they have been against the wall and given my time and my labour when they needed it – that snow doesn’t clear itself and those concourse walls don’t magically get repainted in the close season. I have been, like hundreds of thousands of men, women and children, across the world, fiercely proud of my club.

I still am proud of my club. I no longer buy the shirts. Nor am I a season ticket holder these days. And I have stopped going to the games and have not stepped inside the stadium for several years now. That ground was once my second home. I knew, not by name, but by sight all the faces around me on a match day. But no more.

Don’t ask me the why’s and wherefore’s of this because I simply don’t know. I have tried to understand why I fell out of love with my club but I have no answer. In fairness, I have also fallen out of love with football in general. Sadly, my decades long romance with the sport died a few years ago.

Or did it? For the men’s game it certainly did. I watch very few live games on TV these days. I don’t catch up with the highlights on Match of the Day and I have no interest in the Champions League. Everything seems to be about the cash. How much did player X cost? How many millions will promotion/relegation mean? How success is almost synonymous with a club’s ability to outspend their rivals.

But I simply love the women’s game. Cannot get enough of it. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it still has that “innocence” that, as a young boy, so enchanted me and which, to my eyes, the monies available in the men’s game has robbed from the sport.

I only became aware of the women’s game in a roundabout way. Someone at a game once mentioned that our club captain was dating (what a cute phrase – does it age me?) the England women’s captain. My curiosity was piqued. Soon after this, simply because of the romantic connection between these two professional footballers, I saw my first women’s international on television. Once again, my memory is abysmal, and I cannot recall the fixture. It was surely an England game? Whatever, I must have liked what I saw as, whenever, I learned of a women’s game available on TV, I made an effort to watch it.

That was over ten years ago. In the intervening years, as my liking for the men’s game has dwindled, my fascination and love for the women’s game has flourished and grown. Whatever the bug was, it had well and truly bitten me.

For Christmas 2021, Bethany and Liam presented me with tickets for the opening game of the European Championships at Old Trafford in June 2022. Daughter-No1 had skilfully plotted England’s possible route through the tournament and secured tickets for their potential knock-out matches including the semi-final in Sheffield should The Lionesses reach it. And the icing on this Christmas cake? They had secured tickets for the final at Wembley. What a fantastic gift! To coin a phrase, I was over the moon.

At that time, it had been less than a month since I attended my first ever England fixture. After more than forty years as a football fan, it wasn’t until November 30^th 2021 that I first watched England live. Bethany and I travelled on a cold, damp night to Doncaster to watch the Lionesses host Latvia in a World Cup Qualifier. It was some spectacle with our girls romping to a thumping 20-0 win.

I have lost count of how many times I’ve seen the Lionesses play live since that night. I often go with Bethany and Liam. Sometimes I’ve gone to see them with my wife. I took my old man down to Milton Keynes for a goalless draw against Portugal in a pre-World Cup send-off game. I drove Bethany and Dad went to Sunderland’s Stadium of Light to see them take on Scotland in the Nations League.

Of course, we also had that oh so glorious summer of 2022.

After forty years watching football, I count that tournament as my all-time favourite spectacle. And that final against Germany stands as one of my most special memories. Not simply for the result or the, still to this day, joyous sight of Chloe Kelly pausing to check her goal wasn’t going to be ruled out before setting off on a magical, madcap, marvellous, shirt-waving run across the Wembley turf.

Euro22, and that magnificent final, stays in my mind for the sheer joy and vibrancy of each match. I remember it fondly for fans from different nations – whether young and old, male or female, of whatever sexual preference, taste and flavour – coming together to simply celebrate and to enjoy football.

That’s probably why I love the women’s game as I do.

And what about Liam, you ask.

I recollect that he and Bethany started dating – that cute word again – sometime about April of 2013. In hindsight I recognise it was probably around the same time my interest in the women’s game began – although in no way at all do I think they are connected. Sheer happenstance.

Daughter-No1 and Liam met due to their mutual love of the same Yorkshire team I hinted at earlier. I took Bethany to her first game when she was less than three-years-old and had steeped her in the history of my club. She wasn’t an ardent fan in those early days but she grew into one. We travelled the country together, father and daughter, following our club. Magical days. I had obviously trained Bethany well over those years, for, with Liam, she had brought home not only a football fan but a fan of our very own team. Back of the net! And, what’s more, at that time Liam was the match-day stadium announcer too! Result!

So, they started going out – courting, another word that ages me – and it was soon apparent that their relationship wasn’t a short-term or temporary loan deal. Theirs was a permanent transfer and, what’s more, one with a multi-year contract. They have bonded well and make a formidable partnership. In football terms, they are a great midfield duo; both comfortable going forward or remaining behind to organise the defence, the pair of them handy on the wings or equally at home in the centre of the pitch. Both of them are fiercely competitive, bold and tenacious tacklers. Both blessed with an exquisite delicate touch, each adept at finding the telling pass. One is the Gary Jones to the other’s Stuart McCall.

Liam increasingly joined Bethany and I in the stands to watch matches, his announcing duties allowing. His family took seats around ours, sitting alongside my mum and dad and our friends. Our family – and our football family – was growing. The team on the pitch was performing well too. Promotion runs, FA Cup exploits, giant killing acts in both major cup competitions, players you could relate with, players who wore the shirt with that same pride we fans did. Magical days.

When they met, Bethany was in her final year of sixth form. She went to York University, living in student accommodation and then a house share with her fellow students – and later bridesmaids. In her final year at York, Liam and Bethany rented an apartment near to us and she commuted to her studies. Sarah and I helped them move in. We gave them a beautiful, comfortable, reclining leather sofa to help them out. Liam and I struggled to carry it up two flights of stairs to their new home. It was very heavy to carry.

Then, a year or so later, they relocated because of Liam’s job. We helped with the move once again. Down those stairs we carried that sofa, into my van and out of the van at the other end. Across a carpark and up two new sets of stairs to their next apartment we hefted that damn sofa. Did I mention it was very, very heavy? A ’reet unit’ in football terms.

Remember me telling you that Bethany and Liam love travelling? After eighteen months in that apartment, they bought their first house. It was less than a mile from ours and we were thrilled for them. I was less thrilled at the prospect of moving that sofa a third time. But, we loaded up my van and move it we did. Heavy sofa. Shattering work moving that beast.

Bethany had a health scare. I was frightened more than I have ever known, petrified of losing my little girl. She handled it with a poise and dignity that I am sure I don’t possess and so could not have passed on to her. An operation followed.

During this time I asked Liam what he would do if the results were not favourable. Would he stand by Bethany? His response, “I’m not going anywhere”, was just what this father needed to hear. It was probably at this time that I realised I ,too, loved Liam.

The all clear was given but the scare resurfaced. Those immobilising fears arising again. Another op was scheduled. Then a third. More tears and worries. Thankfully, that final operation was the last Bethany needed.

Then, one Saturday morning in September 2019, Liam called to see me. Despite my difficulties with recollecting dates etc, what follows is an – almost – exact transcript of our conversation. I may have added a few lines to any I have forgotten.

Me: Who dares enter my palace seeking an audience with me on this bright morn?

Liam: I dare, my Liege.

Me: And you are?

Liam: My name is Liam, oh Great Lord.

Me: Liam? I have heard tell of yee. Daughter No.1 has oft spoken thy name.

Liam: It is because of the fair maiden, Bethany, that I kneel before you today, oh Greatest of Kings.

Me: What of her? What concerns you of my youngest daughter?

Liam: Your youngest…? Oh, Most Majestic Sire, you have but the one daughter.

Me: Do I? I mean….I do! Yes. I knew that….just testing you, young knave.

You have passed my first trial. And what of her?

Liam: I wish her hand.

Me: Her hand? What would you have me do with the rest of her?

Liam: All of her, oh Wise One. I seek all of thy fair daughter.

Me: Liam…? Liam? Are you the Liam they say can vanquish the fiercest of dragon flames?

Liam: Aye, Great and Wise King. ’Tis I.

Me: What else can you do?

Liam: Er…Hmm.

Me: Speak peasant! Do not waste your King’s time!

Liam: Well, I’m quite handy at trip planning.

Me: What sort of trips?

Liam: Holidays. City breaks. You know, trips in general.

Me: Any good at organising themed travel?

Liam: Themed, oh Wise and Formidable King?

Me: Yes. Trips to watch the footy. That sort of thing.

Liam: Why, Great Wise Lord of All He Surveys, that is my speciality!

Me: Then, rise Liam, stand now before your King.

Rise as Sir Liam The Tamer of Dragons. I shall appoint you to my court.

Henceforth you shall be the official Purveyor of Tickets and the Organiser of Travel Planning to my royal household.

Liam: Thank you, oh Benevolent and Truly Wondrous King.

Me: My daughter is yours, Sir Liam. I give her to you. Welcome to the family.

Liam: You do know that Bethany isn’t yours to give away? She has free will. She has agency.

I only asked you out of a sense of tradition.

Me: Begone now.

Then came the lockdowns. What do you do if you have to cancel your wedding twice due to a worldwide pandemic? You move house. Well, Bethany and Liam did, this time to a bigger house just a half-mile or so away. I flatly refused to move the sofa again. Liam was in full agreement, saying something about it not being part of how they wanted their new home to look. But I knew the reality, he was just as sick of lifting that thing as I was. They passed it on to friends who came to collect it and I never saw that damn sofa again.

Liam has proved to be an excellent partner to my little girl. He is super talented, incredibly hard working, polite and really quite likeable. As a Dad, I was fully prepared to hate him, as I had with Bethany’s previous boyfriends. But it is genuinely hard to dislike Liam. Annoyingly so, in fact.

It has been a pleasure to watch Liam transform from a lad in his early twenties into the man he has become. I’d like to think that is mostly because of my influence since he met Bethany but, in all honesty, it is down to his mum and grandma and his sister that he is such a wonderful man and, now, son-in-law.

Liam and Bethany love to travel and make trips abroad as often as work commitments and finances allow – those trips are likely to be curtailed now due to parenthood! They especially love to travel to Poland and have made repeated trips to cities throughout that wonderful country. This is one reason why we all hoped that Poland – one of the countries bidding for Euro 2025 – would be chosen as host. Another reason was because Poland isn’t as expensive to visit as Switzerland!