The first thing to understand is that it’s not “Football Players’ Wives,” which means that this is real football, played on a pitch, not a “field,” and no pads and helmets. Roit! (As for where the apostrophe went, only a wank would give a sod about that.) The second thing you should know is that, after two seasons, we’ve never seen a game — no playing except for a bit of practice now and then. What we do get to see are big sprawling McMansions with their rolling green lawns and blue swimming pools under those perpetually, accurately depicted, gray English skies.
That, and the lads’ bums in the shower room — more often than the ladies’ private areas, which might give you an idea who the series is aimed at, even if the birds are worth a whistle.
But let’s go back to the beginning. The first two seasons of Footballers Wives now make up two double-disc DVD sets, and the third is about to begin February 19 at 10 pm on BBC America (a Season 2 marathon runs from 10 am to 6 pm). So you’ve got a bit of catching up to do. But it’s such a rich and moving tale — where to start?
Why not with that very first episode. The players are all working-class kids who’ve struck it rich, showing off all their toys but still swallowing half their consonants. So Ian Walmsley is thrilled that he’s just been called up to the Earls Park Football Club, and in our opening scene, he’s giving his daughter Holly a piggyback on one of those lawns in front of one of those swimming pools. He and his wife, Donna, have been together forever, and Donna’s hoping that now they’ve got some money, maybe they can look for little Daniel, whom they had to give up when she was only 13.
Meanwhile, in a McMansion across town, Kyle Pascoe and Chardonnay (real name: Carol or something) are getting ready to tie the knot, and it’s touching how much they’re in love. Chardonnay is some kind of model — it turns out, in fact, a kind of breast model, the way they have hand and feet models, apparently. And Kyle’s so in love with that sweet bird, he almost doesn’t care, except when he’s got to see their pending nuptials announced on page 3 next to a picture of the couple and one of Chardonnay showing all her assets under the headline “What a lovely pair!”
Meanwhile, over at the Turners’ house, wife Tanya has to hide another one of those pesky tabloids from hubby Jason. He’s the top scorer for Earls Park, but he’s a bit of a . . . lad. And since he’s 31, you have to wonder whether the Fleet Street boys have it right: “Is time running out for Jason Turner?”
Especially since there are rumors that Earls Park is about to recruit . . . Salvatore Biagi. Not only is the swift-footed Italian poised to take Jason’s midfield place, he’s also handsome, sensitive, romantic, with aquiline features, his jet-black hair pulled into a tight pony tale . . . But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
Tanya is the forgiving sort, which is good, because Jason — captain of the team and lad that he is — tends to stay out all night, shagging a stray bird here and there and drinking heavily. (No wonder he’s losing his edge on the pitch.) Along with his poor impulse control, he’s got an explosive temper. When he gets an ultimatum from his bosses, he throws a nutty in the Turners’ living room. “Tanya, there is nothing in this house that’s yours — not even this glass!” SMASH! against the brick wall. (He’s already smashed a framed picture.) Tanya — with her taste for coke and vodka — knows how to handle Jase, and she gets him to sit beside her and tell her what’s wrong.
It’s nothing Tanya can’t fix. She’s off to talk with big ol’ Frank Laslett, chairman of the team, all bulldog jowls and gold chains. Frank tells her to tell Jason to work up a sweat in practice once in a while, and pull his forelock occasionally while he’s at it. Of course, Frank fondles her thigh while giving this fatherly advice.
No matter, it’s all a lie: Biagi is here to stay.
The explosive dynamic between Tanya and Jason is at the heart of the show, and when Jason pleads with Frank for his job, saying, “I gave you my best years!”, you’ve gotta feel for the guy. Frank’s cool reply — “You’re right” — sets the Turners on a murderous rampage.