02 December 2023 , 16:01
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Seeing Mary Earps break down on television was strange.
There was a fleeting moment in which watching the England goalkeeper lament her self-inflicted woes in real time was refreshing, some might argue inspiring, a word that crops up whenever footballers break from the usual bloodless post-match script and remove their media-trained veils to reveal raw emotion.
But mostly Friday evening’s post-match interview with ITV was peculiar. England won. The Olympics dream is still, technically, alive. Earps’ error, while significant in that it doubled Netherland’s advantage before the interval, was neither seismic nor decisive thanks to Georgia Stanway, Lauren Hemp and Ella Toone.
Lionesses boss Sarina Wiegman curtly dismissed Earps’ claims that she ‘let down’ the team through one ultimately harmless blunder, more distressed that such a sentiment had even crossed the Manchester United shot-stopper’s mind.
But it's worth considering: Why had it? This is, after all, Mary Earps. The woman who single-handedly took on the global sporting juggernaut that is Nike–and won . Who was the subject of a world-record bid for a women’s goalkeeper, and likely will be again. Who finished among the top five in this year’s Ballon d’Or rankings and probably has more Golden Gloves in her closet than real ones. TikTok and the covers of A-list fashion magazines are as much her kingdom as any penalty area. She has provided women’s football fandom with almost as many electrifying X-rated memes as implausible saves. Her nickname is Mary Queen of Stops.
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And one potentially game-altering blunder was going to haunt this person?
Never before has the scrutiny surrounding women’s football been so bright and unforgiving, particularly in the upper echelons. With the recent NewCo announcement and UEFA’s changes to European women's football, the glare is only set to metastasise. And fast.
Which makes Earps’ interview a timely and salient reminder that women’s footballers are not the unflappable, imperturbable influencers that they are increasingly demanded to be – nor should they be.
Mary Earps is consoled by England Coach Sarina Wiegman after the UEFA Womens Nations League match between England and Netherlands (Photo by Marc Atkins/Getty Images)The women’s game has never been so ubiquitously competitive, nor has the appetite for it been so insatiable.
Yet, in recent weeks, Earps has found herself dragged through the anarchic land of X’s trial by jury after (allegedly) not stopping to visit loyal fans after finishing a match, or the slightly different direction the 30-year-old took as she and her teammates lined up ahead of kick-off against Bristol City. Her character has been prodded and poked.
Throughout it all, Earps has mostly maintained her impenetrably cool persona, forever equipped with a fierce profanity-laden release on the pitch when required, as she continues to cut herself one of the best in the goalkeeping business.
Wobbles have arisen, as they do in the top-flight of any sport. But Friday’s events told the tale of an unrestrained overflow, the result of a build-up of demands from an increasingly exacting profile on and off the pitch that finally burst into a public moment of vulnerability.
Critics will (rightfully) point out that elevated levels of pressure (and thus scrutiny) are critical stepping stones if the women’s game is ever going to be perceived as equal to the men’s. Exponential growth comes with exponential pressures. That’s the tax paid.
Mary Earps is consoled by England Coach Sarina Wiegman and Alessia Russo after the 3-2 victory over the Netherlands (Photo by Marc Atkins/Getty Images)The converse of that is: Is the modern men’s game really the pinnacle for which to strive? This soul-consuming, player-devouring pressure cooker which dedicates hours of carefully tailored, fury-stirring bandwidth to dissecting a single mistake from [insert this week’s culprit here], before moving on to the next serving of footballing carrion to pick apart and leave to the faceless social media buzzards?
And all for the enjoyment of… whom exactly? Us? The fans? The players? Is this really fun?
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Women’s football has been built on the premise that its players are relatable and accessible. This has never been truer than now as the game’s biggest personalities and stars are shouldered with the responsibility of driving it forward as much on the pitch as off it.
Which is why players will stay behind to fulfil the legions of demands for autographs and photographs. They will do so with a smile. They will also play a full 90-minute game of competitive, high-stakes football. They might win, or they might lose. They might play awful or they might relish one of their greatest-ever games. They might get berated by their coaches or by themselves, or they might be named POTM.
Go beyond the post-match dressing room: players might be struggling at home, with family or friends, with a small cold or with deeper-rooted mental health, concerns that feel almost too blissfully normal and mundanely human to be attributed to our favourite England stars.
Which is why, instead, the expectation is that players will remain after the game, to sign autographs and give up shoes and shirts and their time and always, always smile.
Because that’s the unspoken social contract they’ve signed into: be a footballer and an influencer. Be a two-pronged instant entertainment supplier who doesn’t wilt under the pressure and stratospheric standards. And smile!
This ideal illusion ultimately leaves no space for the footballer to be a human: to be upset after a match and deal with intrusive thoughts away from the glaring spotlight; to perhaps just go home after a day’s work and have a quiet one on the couch. Instead, thoughts pile up. Stress swells. And the game is worse for it.