There’s a chill in the air as Chloe Kelly steps forward from the centre circle. It could be a sudden swirl of wind or the icy fingers of fate, nobody really knows for sure. Millions of eyes follow her as she approaches the ball: eight paces, then six, then four, then two. She chews her bottom lip, sucks her cheeks in and out, as if she’s trying to taste what happens next.
Nobody expected it to get this far a few hours ago, but then nobody expected Germany to go out in the group stage a few days ago, and nobody expected women’s football to be played in front of sell-out crowds of 50,000 a few years ago. Kelly knows, better than most, that the history of women’s football is not written on the balance of probabilities. You have to write it yourself.
