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Abstract

This article seeks to uncover Carys’ precarious experiences as a professional female footballer. To date, research has largely examined uncertain labour market conditions, processes and outcomes, often overlooking the ‘hope labour’ of skilled precarious workers who take present risks in anticipation of future opportunities. Carys’ story highlights the critical role of individual agency in navigating such hope labour. We find that although her job carries risks, she is able to navigate them through strategic games, reminiscent of those described in Michael Burawoy’s influential work. Carys uses risk-mitigation games to secure better contract offers. She also practises risk-acceptance games to maintain her physical fitness and competitiveness. Carys’ case leads us to propose that the hope labour of skilled precarious workers is a matter of negotiation, rather than simple necessity.

Keywords

football games gender hope labour precarious work

Introduction

Even without detailed knowledge of football’s offside rule, the casual observer may be aware of professional clubs’ purchasing power and the individual male players’ transfer fees. The total market value of Manchester City alone, which heads the UK’s Premier League in 2024/2025 is just over €1.2 billion, while the most expensive transfer – in 2018 – was €222 million, paid for male Brazilian footballer Neymar da Silva Santos Júnior (Transfermarkt, 2025). Top male professional footballers can achieve fame on and off the pitch through sponsorship deals and product endorsement. However, there is a gulf of disparity between them and their professional, female counterparts who can earn 100 times less on average (Read, 2022) despite UK legislation like the Equal Pay Act (1970) and the Equality Act (2010). What is more, the total annual revenue of the Barclays FA Women’s Professional Leagues Limited, the UK and Europe’s first and largest professional league for women¹ is only 0.5% of the annual revenue of the Premier League (Sky News, 2023).

As a result of this, it is possible for even successful professional female footballers to find themselves in precarious work, marred by the uncertainties of short terms, low pay, and the raft of negative experiences that follow (Alberti et al., 2018; Standing, 2011). This is what we learn from ‘Carys’, a professional female footballer with national team captaincy games behind her and experience of playing in the Women’s Professional Leagues Limited. We meet Carys while she is recovering from a torn meniscus having been injured in the 2024 – 2025 season in her current, Division Three team. During our conversation, we learn of the risks – financial and emotional, as well as physical – she navigates to continue playing at an elite level.

Accepting risks in the present, while hoping for future experiences and opportunities has been aptly termed ‘hope labour’ (MacKenzie and McKinlay, 2021) or even ‘aspirational labour’ (Duffy, 2015). This is a personal experience for Carys. Her love for the ‘beautiful game’ balances present precarity and future potentiality. However, Carys is not without agency and is able to negotiate risk through the type of games identified much earlier in Michael Burawoy’s (1979) influential work. We now set the stage for Carys’ story by first providing a brief outline of precarious work as the context in which hope labour emerges and conclude by connecting with calls for its continued study in a variety of labour market settings (Kuehn and Corrigan, 2013).

Evolving understanding of precarious work

The extreme level of exploitation and insecurity of those undertaking precarious work has been studied from various perspectives (Alberti, 2014; Kalleberg and Vallas, 2017; Trlifajová and Formánková, 2023; Valenzuela et al., 2024). Precarious work can be seen as an umbrella term for non-standard, flexible and even exploitative working conditions due to low wages, absence of contractual security and even lack of personal safety (Manolchev et al., 2021). This dimension is explored in Kalleberg’s (2009) longitudinal analysis of insecure work in the US and Europe and further studied as experiences of precarious work across non-standard (agency, part-time, fixed-term) employment (Rasmussen et al., 2019), self-employment (Thörnquist, 2019), platform, crowd-sourced and gig-work (Jesnes, 2019) as well as zero hour contracts (Ryan et al., 2019).

Although precarious work is observable across all sectors of the labour market (Kalleberg and Vallas, 2017) and encompasses a range of circumstances and experiences, it is predominantly women, alongside ethnic minorities and elderly workers, who are most likely to engage in precarious roles (Meliou and Mallett, 2022; Trlifajová and Formánková, 2023). There is undoubtedly a gender dimension to precarious work with women historically more likely to experience work insecurity than men (Campos-Serna et al., 2013). Even when women and men occupy the same segment of the labour market, women can be limited to tasks reinforced by gender stereotypes and can find the work-life balance harder (Valero et al., 2021). Such perspectives are reflected in research considering the complex intersectionalities of gender, age, religion, education and precarious work contexts – especially in the Global South (Hammer and Ness, 2021; Kenny, 2021; Salmivaara, 2021; Steiler, 2021; Tripathi and Mishra, 2021).

Hope labour

Insecure and dangerous – especially for women – (Valero et al., 2021), precarious work can be so uncertain that positive outcomes are regarded as luck (Manolchev and Teigen, 2019). As a result, its uncertain and insecure conditions may lead to ‘hope labour’ – the acceptance of present ‘under-compensation’ and risk, in the hope of future returns (MacKenzie and McKinlay, 2021).

Initially applied to the digital economy, hope labour can be experienced as a pursuit of one’s aspirations (Duffy, 2015) and passions, rather than exploitation, commodification or alienation. It is strategic action (Kuehn and Corrigan, 2013) not dissimilar to the use of mobility strategies by precarious workers explored by Alberti et al. (2018). In this context, research has shown how precarious workers may accept the risks associated with low-skill, low-pay work to create opportunities (Alberti, 2014) and develop the mobility power to access better jobs in the labour market (Moore and Newsome, 2018) and better employment outcomes in the future (Trlifajová and Formánková, 2023). Hope labour can also be viewed as part of an ongoing process of ‘precarisation’ (Smith and Pun, 2018) as the complex interplay of socio-political processes, collective and individual labour market struggles that give rise to a variety of worker experiences (Hassard and Morris, 2018).

The nascent literature on hope labour acknowledges that workers do not have an equal footing in the labour market (Allan, 2019), thus giving rise to a range of subjectivities, and making hope labour outcome-agnostic. However, current scholarship tends to predominantly associate the concept with the absence of (work) options or (personal) agency (Kuehn and Corrigan, 2013). Such a reading may reflect the oppression and exploitation of precarious workers, particularly women (Leuze and Strauß, 2016), but risks reducing them to ‘disempowered victims’ (Alberti et al., 2018: 450) of their working circumstances. This is not Carys’ experience, as she discusses her ability to negotiate her precarious circumstances through ‘gaming’ (Burawoy, 1979; Manolchev, 2020). We tentatively refer to this as ‘gaming hope’.

Introduced in Burawoy’s (1979) landmark study of worker consent (expanded elsewhere, see Burawoy, 2012), ‘gaming’ reflects the desire to pursue stakes, accept risks, and win against the odds in an employment context. Although the original games Burawoy (1979) observed were played out in an industrial factory and involved the control of working speed (‘goldbricking’) and quota outputs (‘making-out’), gaming inadvertently places workers and their organisations on the same team, rather than in opposition to each other (p. 80). This is not a process that one-sidedly benefits the workers, but nor is it one where workers are completely devoid of agency. Gaming is a means of ‘coordinating the interests of workers and management’ (Burawoy, 1979: 37–38). While it does serve to ‘produce and reproduce’ worker consent (Burawoy, 1979: 37–38), it also opens a space of rule ‘relaxation’ (Burawoy, 1979: 79), which allows workers some control over the outcome and the opportunity to advance a personal outcome against the odds.

In the factory context Burawoy (1979) observes, the playing of games requires the relaxation of formal rules, whereby workers retain autonomy in the way tasks are organised. In Carys’ story this rule relaxation applies to the context of the Barclays FA Women’s Professional Leagues Limited, which is able to operate – to some extent – outside legislative frameworks stipulating equal pay, maternity rights, Trade Unionisation, and so on, leaving some scope for female footballers to negotiate their contractual conditions individually.

Burawoy (1979: 87) warns that gaming is also contingent upon the workers’ perception of risk. Individual perception of risk (or opportunity) is not necessarily reflective of an objective assessment of the given circumstances (Burawoy, 2012) or even individual abilities. Yet, there can be no games when the risk becomes so great that its outcome is beyond worker control; or, when it is so slight that the outcome is predetermined. In this way, the two types of games described above – ‘goldbricking’ and ‘making-out’– can be viewed as risk mitigation strategies. In Burawoy’s (1979) factory study, goldbricking may be viewed as a risk-mitigation strategy of slowing down worker productivity if the production quota set by the factory seems ‘impossible’. Goldbricking not only protects workers from escalating quotas but also prevents production disruptions by reducing the likelihood of operators quitting when the new rate becomes too difficult to ‘make-out’ [fulfil] (Burawoy, 1979: 80). In turn, ‘making-out’ could be considered a risk-acceptance strategy, whereby factory workers meet or even exceed their production quotas, but only by a small margin, in the hope that this one-off high output does not become the new expected quota (Burawoy, 1979: 80).

Negotiating hope through gaming

To date, the concept of hope labour has been applied to the digital and platform economy, academic internships, freelancing and volunteering (Hawzen and King-White, 2024). Yet, it has not been studied in the context of professional women’s football and, through Carys’ story, we answer calls (Kuehn and Corrigan, 2013) to study it in a wider variety of labour market contexts.

Thus, we show that Carys, and her fellow teammates, may be viewed as hope labourers. They accept the risk of financial pressure, relationship and physical injury in the hope of one more contract, one more goal, one more game win. Hope labour offers them the autonomy to follow their passion but places the responsibility – and precarity – of negotiating pay, training and available time squarely with each individual player. Such a process of precarisation is nested in an overarching trend of ‘responsibilisation’ shaped by neoliberalism, which includes the shifting of risk from institutions to individuals (Liebenberg et al., 2015).

Yet, surprisingly, we find that female footballers, as precarious hope labourers, use Burawoyan games to negotiate the risk of their positions. For example, we find instances of Carys using risk-mitigation games in her hope labour. She discusses using her agent to negotiate better pay, turning-down contract offers from clubs that placed expectations on her to relocate or travel, without offering the contractual flexibility to have a second job or study. She also discusses accepting her current contract offer on account of the club offering to pay for private healthcare and her Master’s studies. Carys also practises risk-acceptance games. She accepts the risk of physical injury to maintain her physical fitness on and off season and makes family planning sacrifices. She does so not only to ensure peak performance when competing but also to give her leverage in contract negotiations. In this way, and through strategic gaming, she navigates, rather than simply participates, in hope labour.

Carys’ experiences are unique, but not uncommon. Women’s football remains a precarious profession, and as long as there are precarious working conditions there will be a need to engage in hope labour. We are confident that researchers will continue to study its contexts, as well as the gendered dimensions of the games hope labourers play. We will now let Carys tell her story in her own words.

Carys’ Story

Kick-off

I first started playing in 2004/2005 when I was about nine. I have two brothers, and I started by kicking a ball with them in the garden. Maybe because I thought I was good – or maybe because I was just better than them, I decided I wanted to join a team. It took a while. At first, my Mum didn’t want me to – she didn’t think football was for girls and wanted me to do dancing or gymnastics, but my dad managed to persuade her and started taking me to my brothers’ training sessions. I ended up playing for one of the best amateur clubs in the area and we had games at a lot of famous grounds – the Etihad [Manchester City stadium grounds], for example.

Following this I entered a football academy where you can study for A-levels and train at the same time. It was an elite professional environment, we did our studies in the morning and trained in the afternoon and because I was doing well, I was often asked to train with the first team – one of the top teams in the UK at the time. I didn’t think I would be a professional footballer at that point, in fact I didn’t think this was a thing for women. I just wanted to play football at the highest level I could, for as long as I could. By the time I completed my A-levels, I had captained a national team, competed in the European U19 Final Championships and played against the top eight women’s football teams in Europe, the likes of France, Denmark and England. This opened doors and started conversations for me. Ultimately, this led to my applying for – and being accepted on – a four-year soccer scholarship in the US. In the 2014 – 2018 period, I studied at a University in New York and played for the college team, receiving close to £1,000,000 in terms of my tuition, accommodation, my food, my textbooks, my kit, and travel to different games. This felt like being a professional without actually getting money in the bank. At this point I still didn’t think I would make a job and a career out of football, and I thought that I would graduate, go back to the UK, find a job and play for a local team as a hobby.

Playing the Advantage

Just as I was getting resigned to the reality of a return to the UK, another opportunity came. I received a message on LinkedIn, inviting me to play professional football in France. The team had an American owner, they had just been promoted from Division Three to Division Two and they had a lot of American players. They were looking to recruit players who had been through the American system and as I had the experience, but also – at the time – an EU passport, I was perfect for them. I had some concerns, for example, the culture (and wishing I had paid more attention in my French GCSEs) but decided the risk was worth it, and went for it. I had the best year. I played some of my best football, I was a key player and even put in a solid individual performance when we narrowly lost 0 –1 to PSG [Paris St Germain]. I had a boyfriend and was happy with my life off the field too, we were given a house, a car and a good salary. When our team didn’t achieve its target of promotion to Division One, we dropped too many points at the start of the season and finished second, the owner released a lot of players, me included. I wasn’t expecting it at all. I was exactly where I wanted to be, I was playing professionally, and it was taken away, just like that with no support. It was a big shock for me. More than that, actually – it was heartbreak.

I considered quitting football; after that experience, I didn’t know if I could love it again and there was a lot of uncertainty – where would I live, what level would I play, am I even good enough? Once I came back to the UK in 2019, after a couple of months I missed playing and I sent emails to a lot of Division Two (Championship) teams, which is the level I thought would have the most opportunities. I navigated this transition period without an agent, only with help from friends and family. I signed a 10-month contract with a club in the Women’s Championship that could also connect me with a university to study for a Master’s. The following season I got an agent, signing a two-year contract with them. The Players Football Association Trade Unionisation only supports players in the WSL (Division One) so I thought getting an agent could help me with negotiating better pay. I have always found the financial negotiations with various clubs difficult. In the past I have had to literally beg to get £10 extra a week or been told by a coach if they give me more money, they can’t get other good players. It wasn’t long before I was made captain, and we had a lot of success. However, after a few seasons, this team got relegated and when my contract came to an end I decided not to re-sign and changed my agent. I’ve been with her for about eight months now and she helped me negotiate my current contract. I chose it over offers from the likes of Crystal Palace because, even though my current club offered me less money, I was able to negotiate contract flexibility, access to private healthcare and paid study leave that can give me more income and stability. I have since received my first sponsorship deal – football boots specially designed for female athletes and been invited to attend the opening of a new department store in the area.

Gaming Hope

Things are starting to get better for female footballers. You see players in Division One of the Women’s Super League signing two–three-year contracts, but it is still tough. I haven’t seen any real differences for me or other players on my team. We live from pay cheque to pay cheque. The football season runs from August to the end of April/start of May, so when the summer comes, we panic.

As a professional footballer, that is the time you should be relaxing. You’ve had an intense season. You may be healing from injuries. Yet, when summer comes, female players start looking to pick other jobs or start emailing clubs, hoping to sign a new contract. You pay for gym membership out of your own pocket. You train every day, so you maintain your conditioning. You pay for your own kit such as football boots and shin pads. You travel around the country to play trial games. You play while on your period. You accept the risk of injury due to the trauma you put your body under in the hope of being signed. If you have a contract, you will get paid through the offseason as well, but contracts are usually only 12 months. My current one is 12 months, but in the past, I have had 10-month contracts as well, and that’s stressful. No one will give you a mortgage on such a short-term contract.

So, you try to take steps to mitigate the risks and protect yourself at least financially. In the past, I have balanced football with multiple other flexible jobs. I have been a football coach, I have sold kombucha for a brewery, and a receptionist at a leisure centre. I love the game, so I also do talks at schools, as well as podcasts. My current contract gives me the flexibility to do this, but not all teams do. I have a friend who is a semi-professional footballer but also a firefighter. This means that she may miss training or even games if she is on call. She may be late for away games, if having to travel from a shift, and this is not considered. Her team simply does not pay her for training or games she misses, if she is on firefighter duties. I know players that have received no pay, basically volunteering to train full-time hours as there are no minimum standards or requirements that need to be met. Clubs expect players to train as professionals but sometimes only offer £200 a week or less.

It sounds bad, but my friends and I have compared our football careers to the love/hate of being in an abusive relationship. You’re so tired all the time. You are working multiple jobs. You have the uncertainty of relegation and of being released from your contract. You have the risk of injury. I’ve had three hip surgeries. I live in student accommodation with four other players. I have never come across contracts offering maternity cover. I’m 29 and I haven’t even thought about having babies. Obviously, there’s an expiry date on that. So, what do I do? Do I keep playing football, or do I start thinking about having a house and children? It’s a constant fight.

Every summer, when I get to the end of the season, I am broken. I think to myself, ‘I have to quit, this is not healthy!’ And then, just when you think you are done with football, the game pulls you back. It could be the thought of scoring a goal or the hope of winning a big game. Perhaps, it is just a sunny day, and you are kicking a ball around on the pitch. It’s 2pm and you are playing football in the sun. Why would I want to do a normal job?

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

This article is dedicated to the memory of Michael Burawoy, whose work has deeply influenced our writing. While we did not know him personally, we are grateful for a brief exchange shared in late 2024 and have held his words of encouragement close since his untimely passing. We also thank the Editor and three Reviewers for their thoughtful and constructive feedback.

Funding

The authors received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

ORCID iD

Constantine Manolchev

Notes

Constantine Manolchev is a Senior Lecturer in Sustainable Futures. He is the University of Exeter Business School Sustainability Champion and UN PRME Lead. He studies ethical organisational infrastructures, specialising in precarious work, bullying and harassment and ethical pedagogies.

Ryan Nolan is a Research Fellow at the University of Exeter Business School and studies how organisations and institutions navigate the twin crises of climate change and nature loss. Grounded in organisation theory, he investigates the rise of new sustainability fields and the strategic practices that actors engage in to turn nature-positive, low-carbon futures into reality.

Cameron Pearce is a University of Exeter BSc Business and Environment graduate. He is a passionate advocate of sustainable and ethical practices for business.

Carys* is a professional footballer in the FA Women’s Championship. Prior to joining her current team, she has played in the US, France, and captained one of the UK national teams.

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Gaming Hope: Professional Women’s Football as Precarious Work

Abstract

Keywords

Introduction

Evolving understanding of precarious work

Hope labour

Negotiating hope through gaming

Carys’ Story

Kick-off

Playing the Advantage

Gaming Hope

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

Funding

ORCID iD

Notes

References