When Abbie McManus and Jess Sigsworth found themselves in full firefighting gear, working to free a trapped deer from railings, the moment felt utterly surreal. Just a few years earlier, they had shared a dressing room at Manchester United and Leicester City, competing at the highest level of the Women’s Super League. Now, the former England defender and ex-Leicester striker stood shoulder to shoulder as firefighters for the Greater Manchester Fire and Rescue Service, a testament to the unexpected turns life can take after elite sport. “We both just stood there—it was surreal,” McManus recalled. “We used to be in the dressing room together and now we were just wanting this deer to stand up.”
Their paths first crossed in the north of England, where both were rising through the ranks of women’s football. At Manchester United, they forged a bond that would later prove pivotal. When Leicester City came calling for both players, the decision to move together was a comfort. “Leaving for Leicester was massive because Manchester is home,” McManus said. “Having Jess there was like a comfort blanket. We lived together for a couple of years.” That solidarity would become the foundation for their post-football careers.
The reality of professional sport is that careers often end on someone else’s terms. For McManus, a serious leg break in 2023 brought her playing days to an abrupt halt. Despite 18 months of rehabilitation, a surgeon delivered the crushing verdict: “You’re done.” The news was a bitter pill for an athlete who had earned 18 England caps and played for Manchester City before her spells at United and Leicester. To add a surreal twist, the injury also spoiled a surprise 30th birthday party her mother had planned. “I rang my mum from the stretcher and said: ‘I’ve broken my leg.’ She was more livid about the party than my leg,” McManus laughed, though the pain of forced retirement was no joke.
Sigsworth’s journey was equally cruel. A product of the England youth system, she had already battled back from one knee injury in 2017. At Leicester, a second devastating knee injury—marked by the unmistakable sound she instantly recognized—convinced her that her time was up. “I pulled my hat over my eyes and thought: ‘I’m not coming back from this.’ I just couldn’t mentally go through it again,” she admitted. The mental toll of rehabilitation, coupled with the loss of identity, left both women staring into an uncertain future.
It was during those dark weeks in Leicester’s dressing room that a new path emerged. In a candid conversation, they decided to channel their competitive drive into a completely different arena. “We just looked at each other and said: ‘We’re going to join the fire service,’” McManus revealed. “And now we’re sat here, which is surreal.” The transition was not merely a job change; it was a deliberate choice to replicate the camaraderie and purpose they had known on the pitch.
The similarities between elite football and firefighting are striking, and both women were quick to identify them. The daily routines mirror each other: arriving at the station, sorting kit, training as a unit, and eating together. “You must pass so many fitness tests to get into the fire service,” McManus explained. “We do loads of PT and the togetherness you’d have as a football team you have here. When you’re at an exhausted part of a workout, that’s when teamwork comes in. It’s the same on a job if you’re in a really hot fire—you’ve got to pull each other through. Nobody gets left behind.” Sigsworth added that the pressure of performing under scrutiny, whether in front of thousands of fans or in a life-or-death emergency, felt familiar. “We enjoy pressure. In football, you’re playing in front of crowds, constantly wanting to prove yourself. That mentality never leaves you.”
Even the debriefing process echoes football’s post-match analysis. “If we lost a football match, we’d analyse it afterwards. It’s the same here after difficult jobs. It’s like one big family,” McManus said. The transition from kissing a club badge to representing the fire service emblem has been seamless. “It makes me laugh because Jess would score and kiss the badge—I’ve never had a job when you’re not representing a badge,” McManus noted. “We’ve changed a football badge to the fire service badge.”
Of course, certain matchday rituals are irreplaceable. Sigsworth still longs for the electric moments before kick-off: “That moment before you walk out. The music is blasting in the changing room, everyone is shouting. I think you miss that forever.” The adrenaline of scoring a goal in front of roaring supporters is a high that few experiences can match, yet both have found a new kind of fulfillment in serving their community.
Their competitive spirit found a recent outlet when they dusted off their boots for a seven-a-side emergency services tournament in Salou, Spain, representing the Greater Manchester Fire and Rescue Service. The team emerged victorious, though Sigsworth’s brief stint as a stand-in goalkeeper provided plenty of laughs. “We won’t mention Jess getting lobbed,” McManus teased. “I’m a centre-forward!” Sigsworth protested. “They stuck me in net. One girl just booted it from kick-off and I was daydreaming.”
Beyond their personal journeys, McManus and Sigsworth have witnessed a seismic shift in women’s football. When McManus first joined Manchester City, she was paying £380 in subs just to play the game she loved—a stark reminder of how far the sport has come. Today, young girls wear Ella Toone shirts and dream of professional WSL careers. “That’s the best thing ever because girls can finally see a path,” McManus said. Sigsworth echoed that sentiment, emphasizing how they lacked visible role models in their youth. “When we were younger, we didn’t really have professional women footballers to look up to. Now little girls can genuinely aspire to that life.”
The most important lesson they carry forward is that athletic identity need not be the only identity. Retirement from sport can feel like a death, but it can also be a rebirth. “We got so consumed by it that we think it’s the only thing we’ll ever love. But I love my job now. I love having an identity again,” Sigsworth explained. For McManus, the message is clear: “If you’re retiring from football, yes you’ll miss it. But you can absolutely find something else to fall in love with again.”
Their story is not just one of reinvention; it is a powerful reminder that the skills forged in elite competition—resilience, teamwork, and grace under pressure—are transferable to arenas far from the pitch. As they race to emergencies across Greater Manchester, Abbie McManus and Jess Sigsworth continue to lead by example, proving that life after football can be just as meaningful as the glory days on the field.
Based on reporting from BBC Sport.