She,
She wasted no time.
Leaving town,
She wasted no time,
And Lord, Lord knows that I
Am so tired;
Tired of fighting.
It was the soundtrack to her life. As a little girl she did not play with dolls, she played Fifa on her playstation with her dad and played football with the boys. She wanted to be the best in the world. She adored Diego Maradona, and that is why when she made the change, she chose to become his namesake. Diego, the best in the world.
And she was, she was the best player in the world. The best female player in the world. But who remembers the best female players in the world? There was that American lady who took her shirt off, was it Hope something? Or Brandi? That's right, Brandi in her bra - that's probably what everyone remembers. But did they remember her skills or do they remember her black bra?
To pursue her dream she had to join the men. As a child she dreamed of a time when the best women could play with the men. But it wasn't possible. She was in the prime of her life and no, no mixed gender football, unless it was in some dark, underground thing, shirts vs skins, the winning and losing side all joining together later as skins, some winners, most losers unless you actually enjoyed that kind of thing and were not doing it to make ends meet or to support a habit.
So she changed. She wasn't a trans-person, a he, xe, je, per, they or whatever. She wasn't part of that movement. She thought they were confused and confusing. She was not confused. She was a woman. Yes, she had a sexual preference for women, but that didn't make her a man. She just happened to be a lesbian. She still identified as a woman. She also loved and admired all the greats, not just Maradona, she loved Gullit and did her hair up in dreadlocks as a tribute. She loved Paolo Maldini as well and cultivated her skills on the left side even though she preferred to play further forward. She felt so overwhelmed finally getting to meet the great man when she signed for Milan. It was a crowning achievement. Who would have thought a girl could play for the great AC Milan?
It was quite inexplicable that she could pull it off, being a man. Did people not notice her perky, supple, er, calves when she was wearing her sweat soaked, skin-tight Uruguay kit? Did no one notice her pert bottom that stuck out so that every step she took forward she took two steps back. Antonella said she had this boyish charm, a Joseph Gordon-Levitt persona. She liked it. It was good that Antonella also liked women. Antonella liked footballers, too. They were a perfect match. Maybe it was like Superman and Clark Kent, just a pair of spectacles and no one ever suspected. Sometimes when you look too hard you miss what is right in front of you, staring you right in the eye. She liked that idea and took to wearing spectacles as well as an homage.
The team were in the Champions League spots now, and she was playing regularly. Life was good. No one would ever know that a woman had contributed to that. It would be a secret. Antonella would never tell. She was too much in love.
She wanted to be
A secret girl,
In her own world.
She, she wanted to be
A secret girl,
A waking dream.