Women’s Football: More than just family-friendly
- peter etherington
- Feb 27
- 6 min read
Updated: Mar 11
Tickets for Bromley’s men’s matches can be hard to come by these days, not to mention expensive when you’ve got a family in tow, so watching Bromley Women offers a pocket-pleasing, family-friendly alternative.
In that spirit, I went to watch Bromley versus Clapton Community on Sunday, but the football was so entertaining that I found myself wondering if we do women’s football a disservice by reducing it to pithy phrases like family-friendly. That’s certainly not all it is.
My daughter, Emma, who would be keen to tell you she’s three and three-quarters, has been showing a passing interest in football, so a trip to watch Bromley Women seemed like a good place to start. I ringmarked the fixture with Clapton Community because I admire the club’s ethos, which encompasses all of my favourite shades of ‘utter woke nonsense’, but as luck would have it, Bromley were putting on a family fun day in tandem. Lucky daddy.
This would be my first time watching Bromley Women, and while I wasn’t sure what footballing standard to expect, I knew I would enjoy the match as I like football in all its guises. Actually, I draw the line at Spain’s Kings League, football’s answer to Takeshi’s Castle, but all of the other guises are appreciated.
The lingering question was whether Emma would enjoy it. Kids are a capricious species, so I set the bar low and prepared myself to be flexible. That mindset came in handy.
I can only imagine what it’s like to step into the cavernous hull of Broomfields when you’re knee-high to a Grasshopper Club Zurich. The bar wasn’t nearly as busy as it is on a men’s matchday, but the clatter of conversation was as concussive as ever. Emma seemed unfazed, as she often does, but I did wonder what was going through her little mind.
The family fun day was in full flow when we arrived. Kids covered in expertly applied face paint were drawing at a dedicated craft table, overseen by friendly volunteers, while others played a giant Connect Four game. We’d missed the stadium tour by a few minutes, but I hid my disappointment well.
On to the football! Almost. Our pre-match burger and chips took longer to eat than anticipated, so we missed Bromley’s first goal, tapped home by fleet-footed striker Leen Ekwo after a pinpoint cross from Bryony Hart.
Once the ketchup had been rinsed from faces and fingers (and sleeves and eyelashes), Emma and I climbed to the top of the Glyn Beverly Stand and sat plumb centre. My Bromley season ticket puts me in the crumbling concrete of the North Terrace, so perching at such a heady altitude was a novelty. There sure is a lot of bird crap up there.
While I explained the extreme basics of football to Emma, I found myself looking at the game through a lens that I hadn’t peered through since I was the same age. Football starts to seem a bit bizarre when you examine the process in its simplest terms, but explaining the reasoning behind each pass helped me to appreciate the shape and style of Bromley’s play. It was easy to see why they currently top their division; one point ahead of Brentford (yes, that Brentford).
I was enjoying myself, as expected, but I got my first “I’m bored” about ten minutes in. I upped my engagement ante, but a second “I’m bored” soon followed. She wasn’t really bored, she was just restless and eager to explore, so we set off for a walk around the ground. That’s when Emma clapped eyes on Biggin Hill Airport’s mascot bear, Captain Mary.
Bromley’s Ronin the Raven also caught her eye, but Captain Mary was the star attraction. Emma was drawn to her like a bear to a picnic basket. I must say, the mascot-mime game of the person inside the costume was on point. I’ve always fancied donning a mascot suit for an hour or two – reckon I’d be good at it. Is that weird?
At the half-time whistle, we returned to Broomfields for some drawing at the crafts table, which quickly filled up with kids. The two young ladies in Bromley FC tracksuits who were overseeing the table were great at making the children feel comfortable and welcome. Emma’s fetching design for a new Bromley kit featured bright orange and pink detailing and dozens of stickers (commercial team take note for next season).
After a quick game of giant Connect Four, we took up residence in the John Fiorini Stand for the second half. Being closer to the pitch seemed to aid Emma’s engagement in the action, though she was equally interested in the whereabouts of Captain Mary.
The tide of the game was very much flowing in Bromley’s favour, but they were struggling to find a killer pass in the face of dogged Clapton defending. I particularly enjoyed the movement of Bromley’s number 9, Melanie Espinosa, who was dropping deep to pick up the ball in tricky pockets ahead of the defence. Trequartista, enganche, false-9, call it what you like, it’s hard to defend against and I love it.
Despite Emma’s loud and unprompted shouts of “C’mon Bromley!”, the Ravens continued to probe without result and I could sense her restlessness increasing. Then, as the wind picked up and the sky darkened, she uttered the words I’d been dreading: “Can we go back to the car now?”
I played my parental trump card: “In a minute.” I hated that phrase as a kid, and I’m sure my mum still has the clock running on numerous trump cards she dealt me in the late ‘80s, yet decades later I find myself dealing from the same crooked deck. We’re curious creatures, aren’t we?
It’s not the players’ job to constantly engage my child but I was quietly hoping for a moment of magic to change the conversation. As the game neared the 70-minute mark, I got my selfish little wish.
A slick through-ball from Espinosa put Bryony Hart through on goal. Bromley’s dynamic number 8 made no mistake, tucking home at the near post to double the Ravens’ lead. It was the moment of quality that Bromley’s football had been striving to deliver, and deliver it did.
As the ball hit the net and the crowd around us erupted, Emma instinctively matched their energy, leaping from her seat to punch the air and give the football gods a bloody nose. In a flash, she had discovered the reason why this peculiar Victorian ball game has gripped generations of otherwise sensible people: Goals!
Let’s be honest, following a football club is a slow-motion car crash a lot of the time, but we stick it out for the fleeting explosions of joy and the folklore they create. We stick it out so that when times are bad we can hold on to memories of when it was better, even when it wasn’t. We stick it out so we can say: I was there.
Women’s football is no different in that regard. The stands don’t pulse with quite the same fervour and vitriol, but Sunday’s game gave me the same sense of footballing satisfaction.
To be more precise, it stirred the same feelings I had when I was watching Bromley in the pits of the Isthmian League twenty-five years ago. Sunday’s record-breaking crowd of 215 was similar to the crowds the men’s team were attracting in the early 2000s. Back then, the passion on the pitch was evident, and it was more than matched by the dogged few hundred in the terraces, but it would be a while before the rest of the borough caught on. Today, it feels like another Bromley team is poised to grow.
I’ve no idea the kind of moments Emma will hold onto in her footballing journey, assuming she even has one, but I sense that the aura of her first goal will stick with her in some way. I won’t force football on Emma, but if she maintains an interest then I’ll be happy to nurture it.
Most importantly, she asked if we could go back and watch the football again, so we’ll be at Hayes Lane on Sunday to cheer the Ravens on, hopefully to another win. I suspect Emma will also be keeping an eye out for Captain Mary the mascot bear. Ronin the Raven has some serious competition.
