FIFA Women’s World Cup: Train like a Football Fern – can an average person be taught to kick a goal?

What does it take to train like a Football Fern? Each week Stuff reporter Amberleigh Jack – a very average 42-year-old non-athlete – takes a first-hand look at one small aspect of what’s involved in being one of the country’s best footballers.

Despite being fairly athletic growing up, ball sports and I never really gelled.

I never managed to garner the power needed to hit tennis balls over the net and attempts to join the big kids at backyard cricket resulted in tears.

While I gave netball a decent crack (and may have been Auckland’s shortest goal attack in 1990), when it comes to football I make a great fan, but have stayed well away from any attempt to actually play.

My coordination, inability to generate power and general clumsiness (often resulting in injury) led to the lifelong acceptance that kicking a ball was simply not in my wheelhouse.

But having already followed the Football Ferns’ strength programme and delved into the mental preparation of the team, actually kicking a ball seemed the next logical step.

So when Football Ferns striker Hannah Wilkinson agreed to give me a few pointers ahead of the FIFA Women’s World Cup, it seemed the perfect opportunity to put her teaching skills, and my coordination, to the test.

First up, Wilkinson told me, the non-kicking foot stays planted and faces the direction you want the ball to go. Sounds easy enough.

From there the head stays down, the whole body gets behind the kick, where the foot connects the ball matters, and it’s important to keep the momentum going after you’ve made the kick.

There was also mention of curling, and the whole kicking a goal thing started to sound a little less simple.

But I had the basics, and a pro standing at my side giving pointers. After a few minutes of listening, what better way to put my newfound ball-kicking skills to the test than going head-to-head with one of New Zealand’s best footballers?

Given that I’d never kicked a ball, had half the Football Ferns squad on the sidelines and a professional striker watching over me, I took the full-sized goal, sans defenders or goalies.

As for Wilkinson? She got the much smaller practice net.

While getting myself in the zone and preparing for my first shot, I remembered to plant my non-kicking foot, and forgot everything about head placement or getting power with my body.

The shooting, electrifying pain in my foot was a pretty clear indication I’d also forgotten any tips around where I was meant to connect the kick, too.

But the ball made its way, by way of a slow crawl, to the back of the net. Realistically, a goalkeeper probably could have made their way up from the opposite goal in time to save my shot.

But it went in. I’m calling that a win.

Pretty quickly I felt I was getting the hang on kicking a ball in a straight line from not very far away. Sure, I used all my power and garnered very little speed. Apparently my head didn’t stay down, my foot stung with every kick and – even though I was tasked with kicking a straight line into an unguarded net – I had no sense of aim and I still missed a shot.

But four hit their intended target, which officially makes this effort my most successful football challenge to date.

In fact, my shoot-out with one of New Zealand’s best ended with a draw. Sure, her net was about a quarter of the size of mine, and she laughed about the fact her kicking speed was more “passing” than “shooting”.

But if Wilkinson and I were pitted up against each other, with no defenders or other players on the field, where speed, agility, skill and power weren’t a factor, and if her net was much smaller than mine and I had plenty of time to aim?

We’d be pretty even, I reckon.