After 48 years of waiting, the world’s eyes have finally begun to open

Some stories linger, hushed, in history’s shadows, waiting for someone to lean in and truly listen, finally. Sitting across from Scottie — a woman whose life shaped the very core of women’s football in New Zealand — I instantly felt the weight of her presence. I wasn’t just meeting an athlete; I was bearing witness to a pioneer. Her triumphs nearly vanished in silence. Her resolve stitched together a sport the world hadn’t learned to see. Her legacy lay unclaimed for almost fifty years.

Her story begins not with triumph, but with silence.

Years ago, Scottie stood proudly on a football field in a jersey stitched by a seamstress because real gear for women didn’t exist. She fought for New Zealand on the world stage, clinched a tournament no one thought they could win, and carved out space for generations — yet the NZFA left her team invisible. Only after 48 silent years, with some teammates already gone, did recognition finally arrive in the form of long-overdue caps.

Listening to her speak, you feel pride stretch into ache. Pride for all that was won; ache from decades spent waiting in the shadows, hoping for the world to catch up to their accomplishment.

Scottie’s love for football began with her brothers, almost by accident. She recalls a moment in Germany — juggling a ball at a barbecue — when a man asked her who she played for. She replied honestly: “I don’t play for anyone.” At the time, she didn’t even know women’s football teams existed. But that single question planted a seed that would grow into a lifelong journey. This was the first step that led to her discovery of new opportunities abroad.

Her time abroad brought her back to Scotland, where she was born and raised. There, she discovered that the Scots actually had a women’s team. That discovery shifted something inside her. When she returned from a match one day and found herself chatting with women at a bus stop, they invited her to play for their local team. The decision that followed became the axis around which her young adulthood revolved.

Their training took place in an old church hall. No grass, no facilities, no structure — just passion and persistence. Her first match was on a red-ash pitch, the kind where sliding would take off half your skin. They were battered by one of the top teams, whose lineup included players in the Scottish national squad. Even so, the referee singled Scottie out as one of the standout players. She shrugs when she tells this story — her modesty almost erasing the significance of it. Moments like that were the quiet proof of her natural talent.

In 1975, Scottie arrived in New Zealand. Within months, she was selected for the national team — the first New Zealand women’s side to compete internationally. Before she even played a club match here, she was wearing the fern abroad. This rapid transition marked the start of her most impactful chapter.

Their destination: Hong Kong.
Their mission: the inaugural Asian Women’s Championship — a tournament New Zealand wasn’t expected to win.

The team consisted of players from Auckland, Wellington, and Palmerston North. No South Island teams. No funding. No official gear or training facilities. They held fundraising nights at pubs to afford the trip. Their rain jackets were handmade. Their shirts were screen-printed by someone who forgot to heat-set the ink, so the black numbers peeled off in the wash. They trained with headlights in the dark. They washed their own gear. When they arrived at the international competition, they looked nothing like a national team.

And yet, they won the entire tournament.

She laughs when she recalls that final against Thailand — a country full of passionate gamblers. They had bet on the wrong team. Thailand strayed from their own tactical style and attempted to play New Zealand’s game. That decision cost them the title. The headlines afterwards described the New Zealanders as “big and strong,” though Scottie herself was scarcely five feet tall and weighed only 47 kilos. She grins at the absurdity. Still, the victory remains one of the proudest moments of her life.

That win made history — but history did not return the favour.

For 48 years, the NZFA shut them out, denying Scottie and her team official recognition, public honour, and even the memory of their feat. Their story slipped into darkness, precious only to those who had lived it, each year making the silence heavier.

When Puma came on board as a sponsor for the Football Ferns, they sought to honour the originals — the women who paved the path. Suddenly, Scottie and her teammates were being invited to events, dinners, and presentations. Their names were printed on jackets worn by the current Ferns. This gesture brought Scottie to tears. These new acknowledgments bridged the gap between the past’s silence and the present’s recognition.

But what finally broke her open was Katie Bowen — a modern New Zealand star — asking Scottie to present her with her shirt. The gesture was more than fabric and number; it was the living thread between generations, the moment respect echoed back across decades. In that embrace, past and present finally met, heart to heart.

The cap ceremony drew headlines. Families gathered, old teammates reunited with tears. The celebration stung: several players had already passed, their achievements unrecognised in their lifetimes. Scottie grasped at justice by arranging a cap for a teammate’s family — a gesture that filled the space medals couldn’t reach.

For Scottie, the cap itself wasn’t the most important thing. It was the validation of the journey. It was proof that every sacrifice—every fundraiser, each stitched uniform, each cramped bus ride, every Sunday match pushed aside for men—had finally, achingly, been seen.

Her story doesn’t end with football. In fact, after her football career, Scottie has lived a life of movement — from football fields to half-marathons, from Muay Thai to coaching, from being a midfielder to stepping into the boxing ring at 48 against a 29-year-old. Her journey shows how her passion carried over into every new arena.

As our conversation wound down, I told her what she already knows but never claims: that she has quietly, consistently changed lives without ever asking for applause. She created a community where international students found stability through her Muay Thai Kick Boxing classes situated at the Massey University Recreation Centre at Albany, Auckland, where strangers became family, where discipline met compassion. She built something no one could buy — a space defined not by ego but by kindness.

Scottie’s life is proof that history is not just made by victories — but by the people who push forward the things they love, even when no one is watching. Her legacy is not just in the tournament she won in 1975, but in every person she has coached, every barrier she pushed against, every step she took when the world told her there wasn’t a place for her.

There was always a place for her.

She built it herself.

Now, after 48 years of waiting, the world’s eyes have finally—just barely—begun to open.

Full podcast: Pioneer of the Game: Untold Story of Women’s Football in Aotearoa with Scottie