Emma Hayes was born and raised in central London, and enchanted, like so many British kids, by football. She’d play with her two sisters, Rebecca and Victoria. She’d play in cages, or on family vacations at the beach. She’d play with boys at primary school. She jumped to a local club, then rose through Arsenal’s academy. She’d play wherever she could — until she couldn’t.
Around age 17, after damaging her ankle on a ski trip, she had to stop.
For months, perhaps years, she was “devastated, heartbroken,” her sisters wrote. She went off to college in Liverpool, focusing on European studies, Spanish and sociology. She later went after a master’s degree in intelligence and international affairs. Her intention, she has said, was to work in counter intelligence; to become a spy. “I wanted to work for the United Nations,” she added on a recent podcast. “I wanted to become a peacekeeper.”
But football always pulled at her. So did her dad, Sid, who loved the sport. “He attended football all over the world, often as a ticket tout — but he would watch all the games too,” Emma recalled. And as his daughter explored coaching, he phoned her from the United States, during either the 1996 Olympics or the 1999 Women’s World Cup. “Emma,” he said, after describing the crowds and the buzz, “you’ve got to move to America. This is where it’s at.”
Read the full feature on Hayes here.
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