Netball players will always be the dream

Everyone remembers the first time they ever fancied a girl. There was a distinct turning point in my life, at the age of about eight, when I drew a parallel between me and the girl in my form I couldn’t stop looking at, and the relationship between Zoey and Chase in Zoey 101.

The girl was tall and pretty and fluttered her eye lashes at me a couple of times, but the life-changing moment  – where I thought “oh gee, I fancy Harriet” – was when I watched her play netball.

They tried

Now, my theory is this: Everyone fancies netball girls at school. There’s something quintessentially attractive about them. Something so subtle it’s nigh-impossible to put your finger on it.

It’s difficult to get away from euphemisms as a way of justifying our attraction to netballers. Whether it’s their incomparable ball skills, the short skirts or the goal shooter’s skill at playing the ‘D’, it’s an obvious reasoning. But this appeals to a seediness unchartered by primary school innocence, and has no place in this serious investigation.

I’d be more worried about the basketball if I were here

A cynic will tell you it’s the group effect, that they hang around in huge groups of fairly attractive people which makes them all look more attractive than they actually are. But I’m telling you this is untrue: clearly they’re all tens, and perhaps the groups are intimidating and that’s what we love, but there’s more to their attractiveness than just their looks and that’s why they’re so dreamy.

Perhaps it’s just the sense of nostalgia that comes with fancying a girl who plays netball. In truth, the reason we all fancied netballers at school is probably because P.E. was compulsory and netball was the only sport you could play. This essentially means we had no option but to fancy a netballer, and this fascination is something we’ve held on to into adulthood. But this seems unlikely, if comfort is what we’re after then we’d all fancy the same people all the time, or maybe our Mums. It’s got to be something else.

The Reading team…

Perhaps it’s the home-counties vibe they exude as they walk around, moroccan shampooed hair shimmering in the sunlight, the smell of Stella McCartney following them in a perfectly pitched balance of sport and style. Their RP accents appeal to our deep-rooted yearning for posh women, the chimney sweep within us all who’s fallen for the Baroness way out of our league.

Perhaps it’s the simple fact that boys can’t play. Throughout school, sports like netball and lacrosse are strictly girls only, but whilst you can grab a stick and play lacrosse when you’re older, netball is always exclusively female. Exclusivity is a huge pressure point for our psyches, whether it be the unfounded desire to go clubbing in Mayfair, our want for designer goods or our unrealistic dreams of joining N.W.A. it boils down to wanting what you can’t get. The exclusive nature of netball clubs engulfs them in a cloud of intrigue and mystery we can only imagine.

I guess we’ll never know exactly what it is that attracts us to netballers, but that’s probably the point. A combination of their mystery and high-endedness moulds a person so graceful and beautiful we’re moved to get down on one knee there and then, pull out a ring and beg relentlessly for just five minutes of their time.