“We Can’t Sign Her Because She’s on the Spectrum”

— That’s Bullshit

I was recently told—flat out—that a tremendous player couldn’t be signed because she’s on the autism spectrum.

Not because of her ability. Not because she lacked the physical tools, the tactical intelligence, or the work ethic. Just because she’s neurodivergent.

And let me be blunt: that’s bullshit.

Being on the spectrum isn’t a red flag. It’s not a liability. It’s not some unmanageable challenge. It’s just a different way of experiencing and processing the world. And in women’s football—a sport desperately in need of new thinking, deeper investment in player care, and more sophisticated approaches to talent—this kind of thinking is lazy, outdated, and cowardly.

You know who would agree with me?

Lucy Bronze.

Yes, that Lucy Bronze. One of the best right backs in the history of the women’s game. A Champions League winner. A Ballon d’Or finalist. A player who’s done it all—domestically and internationally.

Earlier this year, Bronze revealed she was diagnosed with autism and ADHD in 2021. In an interview with the BBC, she said she used to struggle with social interactions in camp, mimicked teammates just to get by, avoided eye contact, and couldn’t speak to anyone. But she also said this:

“I don’t know if I’d say I’m passionate, I’m obsessed. That’s my autism—it’s my hyper-focus on football… All the things I have because of autism have worked in my advantage.”

Read that again. She didn’t say she succeeded in spite of being autistic. She said she succeeded because of it.

So let’s kill this lazy narrative that neurodivergent players are too much work. That they’re not “team fits.” That they’re a gamble. No—they’re a mirror. They expose whether a club is actually equipped to support difference, or just pretending to care about development and inclusion.

A player on the spectrum isn’t “less than.” In fact, they might be more—more focused, more structured, more resilient. Many are capable of levels of discipline, pattern recognition, and routine-based excellence that coaches should be dreaming of. Some of the best players I’ve ever seen—technically precise, tactically sharp, unshakably committed—had traits that most would call “atypical.” So what?

The problem isn’t the player.

The problem is the system that doesn’t know how to support difference. The clubs that won’t adapt. The staff who don’t want to learn. The culture that still treats diversity—neurological, emotional, or otherwise—as a risk instead of a resource.

Let’s be honest: when a coach or sporting director says they can’t sign someone because she’s on the spectrum, what they’re really saying is:

“We don’t want to do the work.”

And in women’s football, that’s especially damning—because we talk all the time about inclusion, empowerment, and growth. But when push comes to shove, too many decision-makers still cling to rigid, shallow models of what a “good player” looks like. If we only scout and support what we already understand, we will never grow.

I’ve said this before: talent doesn’t come in one shape, one background, one personality type. And it sure as hell doesn’t come in one neurotype.

So to the clubs out there still hesitating: if you’re afraid of neurodivergent players, you’re not ready for elite football. You’re not ready for the future of this game. Because the best teams—the ones that will lead the next generation—aren’t afraid of different. They thrive on it.

And to the player in question: You’re not the problem. They are. Keep going.