Lucy Zeezou's Goal (2 page)

I wasn't the only one obsessed with football. My papa enjoyed a passion for the round-ball game from the moment he took his first steps. He was thrust into the spotlight early, not only because he was the child of a famous footballer, but because he displayed incredible talent as a youth. He was touted as the next big thing in football from the age of thirteen. And they were right, he was now captain of both AC Milan, known as
Diavoli
, the Devils – one of the world's richest and best football clubs – and the Italian national team. With his beloved Italy, he won the World Cup twice, and he'd won five European Champion trophies with AC Milan.

In the public's eyes Papa was the football legend Paolo Zoffi, but to me he was just Papa. Whenever I got to hang out with him, which wasn't often enough, we'd chill out at home and play with my little chihuahua, Gigi. Papa's always been affectionate, wrapping me up in his huge hugs and telling his silly jokes.

But I didn't get him to myself very often. Papa was so famous that we couldn't walk the streets in our home
town, or in fact anywhere in Italy, without being bothered by the paparazzi or fans. He was very patient with the fans – he'd never say no to a kid asking for an autograph. But it was even worse after a game, when he ventured out to the players' well-known hangouts, such as Giannino's, a restaurant owned by one of his team mates. The photo graphers would wait in their cars or around the corner and pounce when the players appeared.

Wherever we went as a family it was the same. Very few photographers respected your space; they thought they owned you. The paparazzi even followed us to our retreat in Lake Como sometimes, but at least then they kept their distance. It was so laid-back there. You didn't get any of the noise you were bombarded with in the fast-paced city of Milan. It was gorgeous for a short break but after a while I'd be bored with the peace and quiet, so I always looked forward to returning to the city.

Papa loved Lake Como too, but really, he escaped from it all on the pitch; it was his sanctuary. And he – like the rest of his team – was captivating to watch. Most of all, I loved going to the home games, as the atmosphere at the San Siro stadium was incredible, especially in the local derby where his team faced off against Inter Milan.

I usually watched Papa's games from the team's private box. It was luxurious, but I wished I could sit in the grandstand with all the
real
fans more often. Being in the crowd was how I imagined sitting in the
Colosseum would have been, watching gladiators fight for their lives in fierce battles against ravenous lions. AC Milan's dedicated fans, known as the
rossoneri
(the red and blacks), would face off with Inter's fanatical supporters, the
nerazzurri
(the black and blues). They'd spur on their teams with loud chanting and wild cheering throughout the spectacle and when their team scored, it was electrifying.

I loved watching Papa and his team mates play – not only were they incredible athletes but really cool guys. If I timed it well, sometimes I got to spend time in the change room before the match, although I had to get out of there when the manager arrived for the team talk. (Well, I actually hid behind a wall so that I could listen to his strategy.) At half-time the talk could become very animated, to put it mildly. Sometimes the manager got angry and exploded with fury. Of course, that was when they were losing. When they were winning, which was quite often, he didn't say much at all.

That was the best thing about being Paolo Zoffi's daughter; I got to break into the inner sanctum. If only he liked the idea that I wanted to follow in his footsteps.

Yeah, Papa just didn't get it. He didn't know that I was still playing football. He thought the game was just for boys, and not for his daughter. Girls, he'd say, should be feminine, not sliding into tackles and getting dirty.

We'd see about that!

Even before I first saw Papa play in a big match, my love of football was ignited by my dear late Nonno Dino, who was once AC Milan's star goalkeeper and captain, and one of Italy's most respected players. All he knew was football, and when I came along, the first and only grandchild in the Zoffi family, there was initially disappointment because I was the wrong sex. A boy would certainly follow family tradition, but a girl couldn't possibly wear shin pads. Papa was hoping to teach a son the game he'd played all his life, taking him to watch the big matches. When I arrived, he thought he would be the last of the Zoffis to play.

Girls didn't play, especially in the Zoffi family. Zoffi women were expected to be well educated, look glamorous and enjoy the good things in life. I think it was partly because Papa was very protective. But sometimes it was just stifling! Mama would say, ‘This game isn't for girls or ladies … it's for boys. You should be dancing or playing tennis like the other girls.'

Nonno Dino couldn't help himself, though. As soon as I was born, he took me under his wing and taught me everything he knew about the game.

He spent as much time with me as possible. He even insisted on looking after me when my parents weren't around. So instead of a nanny I had Nonno, plus the help of a chef and housekeeper who lived in the staff quarters.
Nonno was like a big kid; we had so much fun together. He was the one who gave me Gigi, when she was just a tiny, skinny little puppy. She'd always been stubborn. Nonno used to say we were just alike.

He also gave me my first football, which made the sound of a bell when it moved. It was my most treasured toy, buried in among all the pink girly stuff in my cot. My earliest memory is of Nonno Dino placing the football at my feet when I could barely walk and showing me how to kick. When I connected with the ball I'd scream with excitement as it jingled along the floor.

He was so excited that I showed interest in kicking the ball that he made sure we'd play every day. By the time I was three, we had progressed to the mini pitch at the back of the estate. Nonno Dino always made it fun. He stuck life-size cartoon characters on the back of the nets. One day it would be a duck called Signor Paperino – also known as Donald Duck – and then Italy's Mickey Mouse, Signor Topolino, and sometimes he'd surprise me with a beautiful white horse. Each day I couldn't wait to run out onto the pitch to see which character I'd face next. I'd try to kick the ball past them as if they were my targets, and when I scored, the duck would tease me. ‘Fantaaastic, quack, quack, quack. See if you can beat me again … quack, quack.'

I'd be in raptures of laughter until Nonno Dino would throw the ball back out and say, ‘Come on, the duck will talk to you again if you can kick the ball past him.'

Nonno was impressed with my ability, even though I was motivated purely by fun. And he loved sharing his treasured tales about my Nonna Lucia, who I was named after. She passed away before I was born. She was the daughter of professors, and broke tradition by forging a successful career as one of Italy's top tennis players. He'd proudly announce that she was the best in Italy, enjoying the top ranking for many years. They were the darlings of Italian sport and the social set.

So even though Papa was old-fashioned about girls playing football, I had a bit of a sporting heritage. It was important to Nonno. ‘Lucia,' he used to say, ‘you remind me so much of your nonna. You have her natural sporting ability and determination to be the best. Never lose that instinct. Your nonna faced opposition from her parents too but she never gave up and she lived her dream. One day, I know you'll follow the family tradition and be a great player just like your papa. I know you'll prove that girls can also be great footballers. I hope I live to see it.'

I became so obsessed with the game that I used to cuddle up in bed with my football and dream about playing in a big stadium just like my nonno and papa. Some people might have thought that was a bit weird, but I knew there were lots of girls around the world who felt like they didn't fit in. Being a girl didn't always mean you liked playing with dolls and wearing dresses … I never did.

Funnily enough, I'd always received them as gifts, and while I learnt to be gracious and accept them, I didn't want them. It would drive Mama crazy.

‘I don't understand why you don't play with your dolls and wear those pretty dresses,' she'd say, shaking her head. ‘I loved getting such beautiful things when I was your age.'

But to me they weren't beautiful. I had no interest in playing dress-ups and talking to dolls. I'd throw them aside and just play with my ball.

I think Nonno secretly thought this was funny, but he also taught me to be charitable; we would give the unwanted dolls to those in need. He'd come from a very poor background and escaped poverty by becoming a professional footballer. It had been his ticket to a better life, and a better life for his family – but he never forgot how hard his life had once been.

I started competing in the local junior football league when I was four, thanks to Nonno Dino. I was the only girl playing, and even back then I had to prove myself. It didn't take long – I quickly gained respect by becoming the top goal-scorer in the league. Everyone took notice of the blonde ponytail heading for the goal.

‘Go Lucia, now pass,' Nonno would yell. But I'd just keep running with the ball; it felt too good to stop. I'd weave my way around the defenders and strike the ball as hard as I could, and most of the time I'd find the target.

I was a natural striker, groomed to be selfish by the team coach and the spectators. I believed I was the only goal-scorer – the chosen one. But Nonno wanted me to appreciate being part of a team. He'd give me one
lira
for scoring a goal, but two
lire
for assisting my team mates. He used to say, ‘Remember, it's more important to be a team player and have fun playing the game you love than being the star. When the team is happy, so are you.'

But for a long time I didn't listen. He eventually quelled my attitude by teaching me as much as he could about
all the positions. He taught me moves and techniques to keep my opponents guessing. ‘Stay a step ahead … create your chances. Be free with the ball and have fun with it,' he'd say. It was worth it, because my ability to play anywhere made me a sought-after player. Or at least by teams that didn't mind having a ponytail on the pitch.

My parents came to watch a few times, at Nonno's insistence. They only let me play when I was little to appease him, although Papa sometimes got caught up in the action and couldn't help yelling out, ‘Go Lucia. Great goal!' Mama would give him a stern look but he'd just shrug his shoulders.

But those days were over. Now, I had to follow orders and focus on my studies and so-called modelling career. After my parents insisted I quit playing, I had no choice but to leave my club and, worst of all, my team. It felt like I had to start all over again as a footballer. Even getting a game with the kids at my local park was tough. I really had to prove myself. I'd stay until I was given a chance to play, and usually once they saw my ball skills they'd grudgingly let me join in.

Slowly the guys started to accept me – and now I was friends with some of them, especially Pino, who'd become my best friend. I became one of the boys, and they couldn't understand why my parents banned me from playing. They thought it was crazy. But in some ways I wished I was a boy. I overheard my papa say that
once, and I kind of agreed it would have made it much easier for me to become a footballer. How stupid! What happened to equal rights?

Sometimes I'd wish I could just fly away and be whoever I wanted to be, and not worry about what anyone thought – other kids, my parents, my teachers. Once I got to the park, that's what it was like. Running with the ball, I'd escape into the pleasure of the game. I'd feel untouchable. Well, until I was brought back down to earth by a fearless defender.

During our training sessions in the park, I usually paired up with Pino, because he was our best defender and we were both fiercely competitive. We'd push each other as much as possible, striving to get the best out of our game. He didn't like it when I beat him, especially in front of the others. The guys would tease him and call him
piccolo
Pino – small Pino. My confidence on the pitch riled him, too. I was always ready with a new trick up my sleeve.

By the end of the game, he'd look at me in disbelief and shout, ‘Zeezou, how do you do that?'

One evening, after one of our secret training sessions, I arrived home sweaty, but dressed in my dance outfit with my dirty football gear hidden in my bag. I was so hungry I headed straight for the kitchen, but I stopped in my tracks when I heard a strange snuffling sound. Normally I was the first one home, unless Rosa, our
housekeeper, was working late. I cautiously walked into the main living area where the noise was coming from and to my great surprise Mama was curled up on the lounge bawling her eyes out.

She was rarely home before seven o'clock. I stood quietly in the corner of the room, stunned. I wasn't sure what to do or say. We hadn't got on so well since I was forced to quit football, but I couldn't stand seeing her so upset.

I moved closer to comfort her, but as I took the first step, I noticed that my ballet shoes didn't feel right. I looked down and realised I had another problem. If she saw me now, my life wouldn't be worth living.

How could I hide a pair of dirty football boots? I had to get out of here and change, or I could kiss my football dream goodbye. I slowly turned to leave but …

‘Who's there?' Luckily she didn't look up.

‘Hi, Mama, it's me. Are you okay?' I asked hesitantly as I turned back. I was stuck a few metres away from her, hoping desperately that she wouldn't look at me.

‘Um, yes thanks,' she mumbled. She took a deep breath and I could see her trying to pull herself together, sniffling and blowing her nose.

I wanted to hug her and find out what was going on but it was too risky.

‘Well, if you say so. I'm just going to jump into the shower.' I tried to make a quick, casual exit.

‘Lucia, wait …' She buried her face in her hands. ‘It's about your nanna in Australia. She's been in a car accident and she's in hospital in a serious condition.' Mama started sobbing again.

‘Oh no,' I screamed. I was so shocked I just wanted to run away from the horrible news. I fled up to my bathroom, trying to hold back my tears. I couldn't bear the thought of Nanna Betty being in hospital. She'd come to mean a lot to me, especially since Nonno Dino passed away.

Nanna and I spoke on the phone nearly every week, since we hardly ever saw each other face to face. Mama had managed to fly my grandparents over to Italy for surprise visits and to give them a break from their grocery store in Sydney. But I still never saw them often enough. It was more difficult for us to travel to Sydney because Mama didn't like to leave Papa behind, and he couldn't get any time off during the football season. Even in the off-season he had commitments with the club. But he'd been promising that this year he'd find some time off for a trip to Australia. It was just as well. It sounded like my grandparents needed us more than ever.