Category Archives: Sport

Montpelier Villa Women, Sport, Women's football

Hear the Lioness roar

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Skip Kelly, coach of Montpelier Villa Women, explains
why women’s football has transcended nationalism

It’s hard to predict the future, and what I’m about to write could come back to haunt me. For a man with a name like mine and a background like mine and a cultural upbringing like mine… Are these the words I’m commiting to print in the finest local magazine to be read by millions? The words that will finally see me charged and convicted? 

I like the English football team. No, not that one. Let’s not get carried away. The English football  team that puts a smile on your face. It’s been another incredible summer for The Lionesses and many of you will wonder if I am referring to the Lionesses of Singapore or the indomitable Lionesses of Cameroon or the humble, but local English Lionesses. 

This summer was spent reacquainting ourselves with women’s football teams from around the world such as the Super Falcons (Nigeria), The Reggae Girlz (Jamaica) and, of course, The Girls in Green (Ireland).

Nationalism is one of those concepts like organised religion or low emission zones that emits a guttural reaction ignoring the sometime possible benefits. Such as laughing at your neighbours when they are knocked out of international football tournaments. 

Like all those concepts, it’s often the subtlety that provokes shock – and Irish nationalism is no different. After sitting through a school curriculum that had the Gaelic language as a compulsory subject until the age of 18, a history syllabus that taught the wrongs of imperial nations in far flung places like India and Congo, the litany of English football failures serves as a small serving of revenge every couple of years. International football doesn’t allow for nuance and it was always a joy to watch England lose at anything. 

It was suggested that the Australian team – the Matildas – success in the World Cup was the culmination of a co-ordinated online media campaign that itself was a response to the traditional media that supposedly reflects what middle Australia think and espouse good old-fashioned traditional Australian values had for a long time taken a dim view of women’s football. The Matildas were successful because they weren’t seen as representing good old-fashioned Australian values and good old-fashioned Australian morality – they were just seen as Australians. 

I heard this argument and thought it reflected precisely why I found the Lionesses easy to like. The Lionesses had names like Niamh and Mary. Surnames like Daly, Walsh and even Kelly. My initial resentment was at their refusal to declare for Ireland but that has slowly but surely subsided when I realised that these surnames are no longer considered de facto Irish names. 

The Lionesses and The Matildas have somehow transcended nationalism in favour of a more inclusive world for all of us. One that seeks to include rather than exclude. And it’s really hard to root against that, especially when you see first-hand the impact it has on people who’ve previously felt uncomfortable in their own sexuality. Those who felt they had to be in a metaphorical closet now get to see openly gay athletes being celebrated for their athleticism. 

I’m fortunate enough to have a front row seat to this at Montpelier Villa. Our players have always been footballers first, and yet I see how much it means to players when they wear rainbow laces or put up Pride flags at our matches. Our little football team is one of many  that has subverted what’s expected of a ‘traditional’ football team. 

The only court I will be convicted in for liking another football team is the one of public opinion. In the most extraordinary act of self-sabotage ever seen before this court, I would like to present the footage captured by the BBC immediately after Chloe Kelly’s winning goal last summer. Although it’s not clear initially, I am featured in the crowd shot, and I can be seen celebrating wildly with 90,000 others . . . And, yes. I’m wearing my emerald green cap. 

Cricket, Skip Kelly, Sport

Skip Kelly – Bazball, schmazball

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I may be the first sports writer who’s willing to admit that I am not that good at the sport I write about. This possibly isn’t news to anyone who has seen me play football, but recent advancements in modern technology such as the video camera have enabled yours truly to watch games I’ve played in and finally understanding why I quite often didn’t play the closing stages of games. Or the opening stages either. 

It raises interesting questions around perspectives in grassroots sport because before the advent of video evidence, I was convinced I was playing exceptionally well and was harshly substituted and although I rarely challenged the coach understanding they had decisions to make. (The few times I have been recorded serve a similar purpose to Colonel Nathan Jessup in A Few Good Men by screaming “You can’t handle the truth.”)

Similarly, I’m not the first sports writer to have outlandish opinions about a sport I know very little about. I have never once picked up a cricket bat, but it is my steadfast belief that if I did and could be bothered I would be one of the finest batsmen the world has ever seen. People often say they would love to see me deal with a ball traveling towards me at up to 80 miles an hour and my response is I would simply just whack it as hard as I could. This was often met with uproarious laughter like every single one of my anecdotes. Those of you that have played cricket may scoff and spit out your tea and scones having read that but I have played hurling – Ireland’s bat and ball game in which everyone carries a stick at all times and striking the ball unopposed like you do in cricket is a pipe dream. 

Some may question if I claim to be so good at cricket then why don’t I make a lucrative career out of it. The main reason being I am not motivated by money, I am motivated purely by Montpelier Women’s Football Club. The other thing is I don’t want to travel as much as any top class athlete has to and although there is travel involved with MVWFC it never takes up any more than a day of traveling.

You never truly know what someone thinks of you until you die and all those lovely things are said about you at your funeral but I have found a shortcut with cricket fans. I simply offer my opinion on how good I am at cricket and what I get in return is a summation of my personality. Recently someone agreed with this and pointed out that I would take great pleasure in winding up bowlers by staying in for as long as possible. Which takes us to the current Ashes series – or, by the time you read this, the last Ashes series – which has been incredibly entertaining and equally vindicating. Although as a coach I understand a defensive style and the importance of staying in for an extended period of time, where’s the fun in that? I’ve always enjoyed coaches whose modus operandi is to win in the most entertaining way possible and Brendon McCullum certainly falls into that category because, although there is a thinking that all sport is a results based business, I couldn’t disagree more. The verb used to describe sport at all levels is play and with that there are connotations of being child-like and free from the realities and responsibilities of the big bad world. We play sports to exercise, to socialise and to entertain ourselves and others. There is something incredibly beautiful about athletes at the pinnacle of their career being reminded of this and being told to just whack it as hard as you can.

Brighton Life, Pickleball, Sport, The Arts

Joy + Play = Pickleball

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Pickleball? Heard of it? Done it? Do it? Ceri Barnes Thompson goes for a dink… 

About 18 months ago the American podcaster, author, social worker and researcher Brene Brown posted a photo of herself on Instagram (right) that really caught my eye. She was wearing aviator shades, a headband and was holding a little racket and holey ball the like of which I’d never seen. She was also, importantly, wearing the most enormous smile. 

She wrote underneath this sunshine of a photo “For me, joy + play = pickleball. The court might be the only place in the world where I’m fully in the now. Not thinking ahead, worrying, wondering—just keeping my eye on the ball and my head in the game.”

What is this “pickleball”? Surely she meant “paddleball” or “raquet ball”? I asked myself, keen to achieve anything close to the level of happiness in that photo. I swiftly googled ‘Brighton and Hove Pickleball clubs’ and sent out an email to Richard Ellis hoping to join any kind of waiting list going. 

I got a swift and warm reply inviting me to come for a beginners ‘dink’. A week later I was on a court in Mouslecomb with around 16 people I’d never met before, welcomed and guided through the rules as a newcomer then straight into the deep end of playing pickleball. They take no prisoners those pickleballers, let me tell you. 

Liz is a whiz and keeps you on your toes. Paul is steady and stealth. “Stay out of the kitchen!” they yell! Before I knew it everyone was gathering up the gear and saying goodnight. 

Two hours had passed and Brown’s words couldn’t have been more true. I was elated. Maybe from running around – it’s a great work out. Maybe from feeling so welcome amongst strangers – it’s hugely comforting. Maybe from laughing out loud at myself. 

It’s really quite embarrassing when something that looks so easy is actually kind of hard. Maybe from the challenge of learning a new game – it’s very rewarding – but mostly I just felt like my over-stretched and stressed-out brain had had a break. Just like Brene, I’d experienced two hours just fully immersed in the game thinking of nothing else but that crazily lightweight ball and how to keep up with the rotation of each game. I came out feeling refreshed on a level I’ve not felt for years.

I asked Richard when he’d started playing the game. He’d been in Thailand looking for a doubles tennis game and they only played pickleball so he’d given it a go. 

Pickleball is often described as a mixture of tennis, badminton and ping pong – invented by three dads in the 60’s in the States for their bored kids during the summer holidays it’s massive in the USA now. The court is smaller than badminton and the net is low, like a tennis net. 

Richard and his wife loved it and the fact it’s easier on the joints than tennis so on returning to the UK they searched – a bit like me – once they came home to Brighton for picklers here. Finding one other couple – aces Joe and Liz – they persuaded the Stanley Deason people to let them mark up a badminton court for pickleball and started to play. 

Putting it out on Facebook they soon got a regular cohort of players with new people joining weekly. I asked him what it was about pickleball he loves. “I usually feel elated, glad to have played feeling we have had some good exercise with a great bunch of people, hoping to improve with time”. Jacqueline, another club regular who started playing the game in Florida in 2014, lives in rural Sussex and rides horses. She loves pickleball as it uses very different groups of muscles and is a good aerobic workout. She loves the people she meets as she has to travel widely to play – Bexhill, Eastbourne, Burgess Hill, Brighton, and she stressed “It’s not an old people’s game – it’s for everyone. It’s very social”. She’s right. 

On the day I played there were players from 18 to 80 – and the 80-year-old woman was one of the most sprightly and skillful on the court. I found it can be as gentle or as hardcore as you like – some of the games were seriously impressively skillful dinkathons with extremely competitive members sparring. 

Richard and Trish devote a lot of time to running something which, as with all community efforts like this, really delivers a huge scoop of joy to those who play. Sessions are broadly Thursday nights and Tuesday mornings give and take a few logistical bits and bobs. It’s harder for them than it should be due to the lack of facilities – they’ve recently moved to Moulescombe Leisure Centre, always searching for somewhere reliable to play. You can find them on Facebook – Brighton and Hove Pickleball Club – or if you google them, you can contact lovely Richard Ellis directly. You won’t regret it. And maybe we can persuade Brighton and Hove council to install some courts dedicated to the Mighty Pickleball. 

Sam Wollaston of The Guardian recently wrote about the game – coming to it with a hefty dollop of cynicism not least because he finds the name silly – ending up just like me, completely energised and turned around. “The thing about pickleball”, he said, “is that you can play at any level. As my level increases, I will play with greater intensity. And it will, and I will. Because it turns out I’m brilliant at pickleball! A total natural, nimble of foot and thought… the deftest of dinkers!”. 

That’s honestly how it makes you feel, very swiftly and without all the weight of tennis’ ladders, rankings and years of play. As George Bernard Shaw said “We don’t stop playing because we get old, we get old because we stop playing”. 

Come on, have a dink! 

l Check out the Facebook page for Brighton and Hove Pickleball Club

Brighton Life, Montpelier Villa Women, Sport

The final score is… just detail 

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This was the scoreline after only 10 seconds and although it didn’t finish like this, it was probably our most valuable lesson this season: realising that the final score is such an incredibly small part of football. 

The Seagulls dominate football in this city not just through their flagship professional teams but the incredible work that is done through Albion in the Community which not only provides football sessions for so many, but they are also building sustainable and affordable homes in Lancing. Unlike most other professional teams, it’s hard to see them as an enemy. Until you’re on the pitch. 

A dramatic penalty shootout win against Saltdean United set up a semi-final clash against Brighton’s u21 side. A huge reward for our players and a perfect opportunity to test our mantra that we’re good enough to beat anyone. 

The game was scheduled to take place at the end of February half-term which was good for a number of reasons; it allowed those of us who work in education time to watch the 10 hours of footage we acquired of the Brighton team and plan a strategy based on it. The fact we were watching Brighton play against Arsenal, Chelsea and Spurs didn’t deter us from our plan. Conveniently for us the game was also scheduled to take place during the international break. This though impacted our opponents more than us. 

The day before the game I found myself on the bridge across Falmer station as fans flocked to watched the men’s team play Fulham, I forced leaflets into the hands of at least 100 fans and in an attempt to conjure up support from our opponents international fanbase employed Google translate to learn some basic Japanese.

The David Brent antics didn’t stop there unfortunately. The half-time scoreline read Montpelier Villa 1 – 8 Brighton and Hove Albion and I felt the best thing I could do was get on the tannoy and tell some jokes to the large crowd. 

The harshest lesson we learned that day and one that I’m still struggling to come to terms with is that we’re not as good as Arsenal, Chelsea or even Spurs. Brighton certainly had no problem addressing any delusions of grandeur we had. 

Brighton have since gone on to win the Sussex Women’s Challenge Cup and deservedly so scoring 17 goals in their four games and only conceding two in the process. Admittedly 11 of those goals scored were against us but those two goals they conceded were also us. Both of them. 

Not only will those two players have a story to dine out on for the rest of their lives, their team-mates will never forget the day they shared a pitch with Brighton and can be safe in the knowledge

that their approach as a team was not to sit back and wait for the onslaught of the seagulls but to be positive, be proactive and not be afraid of taking opportunities when they come. 

The result may not have gone our way but there were some moments that are unforgettable, our u10 mascots and their unerring support of our team, the sheer volume of supporters which was mainly family and friends but still gave our side the chance to play in front of a vocal home crowd. The most lasting feeling is that of taking the lead against a professional side is something that can never be taken away from us and although the final score suggests Brighton are significantly better than us, it’s those fleeting moments that make it all worthwhile.

Brighton Life, Montpelier Villa Women, Sport

In sport as in life we find art

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It takes a lot of guts to be a writer, to not only put yourself in the centre of any narrative but to claim that your perspective is something new, fresh and worth reading. Les Misérables was first published in 1862 and has had countless adaptations and interpretations since then so it would be naive to suggest I could offer something new and exciting however I doubt many have looked at Les Mis through a Leeds United lens. 

The novel begins with Jean Valjean being released from 19 years imprisonment for stealing bread and few metaphors describe Leeds United’s 16 year exile from the Premier League. Leeds first season in the Championship brought a play-off final defeat so fans would be forgiven for thinking a swift return to the big-time was on the cards however relegation to League One followed the season after. Les Miserables the musical opens with the song “Look Down.”

On 26th February 2022 I watched Leeds United against Tottenham Hotspur on television from the comfort of my living room before traveling to London to watch Les Misérables the musical. Despite the 4-0 scoreline in favour of the North London side, Leeds had hit the woodwork twice and Stuart Dallas seemed certain to score when putting the ball past Hugo Lloris only for a combination of Dallas’ patience and some determined defending from Ben Davies ensured that didn’t happen. That was Marcelo Bielsa’s last game in charge of Leeds United and I found out that he had “parted company” during the interval of Les Mis. 

Susan Boyle was laughed at in her Britain’s Got Talent audition when she stated she wanted to be a professional singer and when Bielsa named his first starting 11 against Stoke City there were similar howls of derision. How had he included only one new signing in this team that finished 14th in the league the season before? Unlike Susan Boyle, Leeds fans had seen the same players only months prior and knew that they weren’t good enough to go up. If Boyle and Bielsa proved anything in their first public outing in the UK it was that looks could be deceiving. Boyle’s song choice – I dreamed a dream from Les Mis. 

Bielsa’s nickname is El Loco and his intense fitness demands and steadfast refusal to deviate from his attacking philosophy is what earned him that nickname but he lived by an honour code that made him human and in the world of professional football that is crazy. He lived in a small flat in Wetherby so he could walk to and from the training ground refusing the plush surroundings initially offered to him by Leeds United, he was often seen preparing for games in the local coffee shop, he reportedly spent hours every morning responding individually to fans messages, he didn’t give exclusive interviews because to do so would undermine his weekly 

press conference that was available to all. It’s important to remember he was doing this with Leeds United, Dirty Leeds. The team that celebrated Norman “bite yer legs” Hunter and the ground that during the 80’s became a hotbed of support for the National Front and the associated hooliganism that blighted English football for that decade. Leeds have never been popular and sometimes with good reason. 

Bielsa’s ability to get Leeds promoted is nothing compared to the achievement that is getting supporters of other teams to actively like Leeds United and causes us Leeds fans to question who we actually are – much like Jean Valjean does in Les Mis. The nadir of this honour code was undoubtedly allowing Aston Villa to score unopposed at Elland Road following what was a controversial but not illegal goal. The willingness to risk the ire of the vociferous crowd in order to do what he thought was right shows the El Loco nickname is warranted. 

The last song before the interval is “One Day More” and before I had turned my phone off to enjoy the show there had been rumblings that Bielsa was gone. The song begins with Jean Valjean pondering “These men who seem to know my crime will surely come a second time.”

But more suitable for Bielsa’s relationship with Leeds is the line “I did not live until today, how can I live when we are parted?”