every other saturday

A few nights ago, Chelsea won the Europa Conference League. A historic moment that's made them the only team in the world to have won every single UEFA European competition. It’s not something I would normally be able to tell you. I don’t really keep up with football like I used to. I don’t know all the players’ names anymore. I couldn’t tell you when their matches are on. But I knew about this one. Because Chelsea matters to me in a way that isn't really about football at all. It matters because it mattered to my dad, Jack.

If you’ve followed my work, especially To Jack, you’ll know that ours isn’t a story told in DNA. It’s one built through choice, love, and all the small things that make up a life together. Chelsea Football Club are one of those things. There’s a photo I included in To Jack,  me as a baby in a Chelsea babygrow with a Chelsea mug beside me. There are countless photos of me in tiny jerseys. As a kid I learned the words to Blue Is the Colour and I sang them loud. I wanted to be close to Jack in all the ways I could, and Chelsea was one of them.

Jack started following Chelsea after they beat Leeds in the 1970 FA Cup final. Leeds was my biological father's team. I don’t know if that’s a coincidence, or fate with a sense of humour, but it makes me feel like Jack was always going to win. Not in a competitive way, but in the way that counts.

As I was listening to Suggs' Blue Day yesterday, the opening lines hit me like a tonne of bricks: “The only place to be, every other Saturday...” It instantly called back to the work I did on Every Saturday, the prequel to To Jack (and honestly, I can't believe I never made that connection before now). Every Saturday was about the double life I lived, torn between two fathers, two identities. One biological and distant, one chosen and beloved. That lyric brought it full circle. Every other Saturday... the in-between, the emotional push and pull I carried as a child.

There’s a memory from one of those court-appointed Saturdays that’s stayed with me. I was very small, it was cold, and I was wearing these little knitted Chelsea gloves. I loved them. I remember we were about to cross a road, and I reached up, instinctively, to take my biological father’s hand. But he wouldn’t hold it. Not while I had those gloves on. Jack's team. He told me to take them off. And I did, because I was a real rule-follower as a child. Well, I still am. I knew you were meant to hold a grown-ups hand when crossing the road. I remember how it felt though, standing there with my gloves balled up in the other hand. I didn’t have the words for it then, but I do now. I felt such rejection and shame. In that moment I realised, in the smallest, saddest way, who saw me and who didn’t.

It’s moments like that when everything feels like it fits...kind of like those gloves. Like nothing was on accident. Like Jack was always meant to be my dad. Who would always hold my hand.

Chelsea is one of our connections. One that grew stronger at a time when I was starting to make the decision to stop seeing my biological father. I was so young. But I think I was making my choice, not just on what team to follow, but who I belonged to. Chelsea became part of that choice. And even though I didn’t realise it then, that choice meant something very real.

At this time then, I had a full-blown Chelsea phase, just in time for their Roman Abramovich funded glow-up. I was obsessed. Jack and I went to Stamford Bridge a few times. I remember the buzz of the crowd, and blue everywhere, the way Jack would light up when they scored. I loved watching them win, not just because it was exciting, but because I could feel how much it meant to him. It made things better at school too. For once, the team I supported were doing good (thank you José Mourinho), better than Manchester United, the team all the boys who slagged me followed.

And even though I’m not glued to the matches anymore, it’s still there. I still wear the jerseys, especially when I’m doing anything related to Every Saturday or To Jack. I still wear not one, but two Chelsea pins on my lanyard at work every day. And when I’m home, if there’s a match on and Jack’s watching, I’ll sometimes sit with him. I don’t need to know who’s on the pitch to know what it means to me to be there.

Supporting Chelsea is how I say “I’m his daughter” out loud, without needing words. It’s a small, visible thing that affirms who I am and who I chose and who chose me.

So yeah, Chelsea just made football history. And while it’s a win for the club and the fans, for me, it’s a reminder. A little bit of magic. A little blue thread connecting me to the person who raised me, who showed me what love looks like in a Levi’s jacket and a pair of Dr. Martens. Who made me feel like I belonged.

I don’t love football. But I love Chelsea.

Because I love Jack.