IT HAD TO HAPPEN
When various media outlets started giving more than a cursory token nod to women’s football a few years ago, quite a few men seemed to presume it had become compulsory to watch the game and made it clear they were unhappy with having this sporting aberration “rammed down our throats”. A woman’s place was elsewhere, they crudely insisted, not contesting World Cup quarter-finals in packed stadiums in front of 75,784 fans who had presumably wandered in by mistake. That was the official attendance at England’s match against Colombia on Saturday in Sydney, a city that has long been synonymous with its Opera House, Bondi Beach and bizarrely strict pub door policies, but until this tournament had kept its huge population of football-mad, hostile Colombian diaspora largely under wraps.
The Lionesses could have been forgiven for thinking they were playing in downtown Bogotá, such was the hostility that rained down at Stadium Australia as they overcame a one-goal deficit to see off the tournament’s surprise package and qualify for their third consecutive World Cup semi-final. They did so on the back of another performance that was worryingly “meh”, but for all their laboured huffing and puffing in this tournament, the only thing that matters is that they are still in it. Now they have the small matter of a semi against the flamin’ co-hosts to get through if they are to make it to their first World Cup final. In doing so they would also go some way towards avenging the Ashes draws, that recent netball World Cup final, no end of other unrelated sporting humiliations, the importation of Foster’s Lager and almost 250 years’ worth of disparaging comments about Poms. No pressure.
The Matildas made it through a thrilling white-knuckle ride of a penalty shoot-out against France that could only have been more tense if it was a Neighbours storyline in which Bouncer the dog was given a last-minute reprieve after being framed by Paul Robinson for committing an unspeakable act of defilement on Harold Bishop’s tuba in the foyer of Lassiters Hotel. They have been trying to downplay the significance of any rivalry they might have with their opponents; unsurprisingly, the local press has been less coy in flagging up historical mutual contempt in the international sports arena that has often resulted in serious acts of unfair dinkum being perpetrated by both sides.
“I think for us Australians, I don’t want to say ‘unbothered’, but we want to go out there and do the job, and that’s to play,” declared back-up keeper Lydia Williams. “All the extra stuff, rivalries and stuff, it doesn’t really come about. If anything it’s to prove a point, that we can make the final and represent Australia that way. I think we’re so proud of our country that we really don’t bother about the other team in that kind of sense.” Yeah, but it’s England. An England who have also done their bit in trying to pretend that a World Cup semi-final against the only team to have beaten them during Sarina Wiegman’s 37-match tenure is just another game. “There is a rivalry with any team,” roared Keira Walsh. “So, for me, it doesn’t make much of a difference if the media is trying to talk about beating England.” Yeah, but it’s Australia and England’s star midfielder could be in for something of a shock on Wednesday, when a crowd of almost 80,000 baying fans join the media-led chorus of anti-Pom sentiment.
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QUOTE OF THE DAY
12 August: “In every country pub, city club, suburban home, they are doing this tonight. Watching the Matildas” – former Australian deputy prime minister Barnaby Joyce attempts to clamber aboard the World Cup bandwagon, performatively posting a video from the Commercial Hotel in Walcha, New South Wales, of him watching France go down to Australia.
14 August: “I think we were watching the wrong game” – Joyce clarifies that the drinker had, in actual fact, been broadcasting Australia’s flamin’ pre-tournament warm-up against Les Bleues, rather than their famous World Cup penalty shootout triumph. An, er, easy mistake to make?
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FOOTBALL DAILY LETTERS
Regarding reflex reactions to players’ names when mentioned in commentary (Football Daily letters passim), I find it impossible to hear ‘André Onana’ without replying ‘What’s my name?’ in the style of Rihanna, and then repeating it three times – much to the discomfort of my fiancee. I support Wolves, but sadly I’m not expecting to hear his name very often when we play Manchester United on Monday, unless the commentator is pointing out how little he has had to do in the match” – Joe Stafford.
Surely it’s not just me who cannot hear the name ‘McManaman’ without adding ‘doo doo doodoo’?” – Tony Porter (and no others).
I can never hear ‘Mahmoud Dahoud’ without hearing the Brighton midfielder’s name sung to the tune of Slam Dunk Da Funk by turn-of-the-millennium boyband Five” – Mike Martin.
Nicolas Jackson, ooh, I am for reeeeeeeal …” – Antony Train.
I am pleased to report that mascot Boomer (Thursday’s Memory Lane, full email edition) continues to strut his stuff at the Vale (to the tune of ‘who let the dog(s) out?’). No on-field botherings to report, although he regularly ‘cocks his leg’ on the away team goal during the warm-up” – Rob Ford.
Send your letters to the.boss@theguardian.com. Today’s winner of our prizeless letter o’ the day is … Mike Martin.
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