It had been a strange sort of game in which the usual balance between skill, physical strength, and tenacity were thrown out of their normal proportions. With three quarters of the game gone Sweden were leading 2-0 and had played the better football. But then Weigman made some inspired substitutions, England got two goals back, and the game went to extra time which produced nothing. The penalty shoot-out which followed was a comedy of errors which seemed to go on forever, but England prevailed in the chaos and the Swedes were on the plane home. I doubt they were very happy.
I dislike seeing Swedish ladies looking unhappy. It should have been noted by regular readers of this blog that I have a soft spot for Sweden and the Swedes because their attitude to life/lifestyle balance appears better to me than that exhibited by most nations. And they tend to be a very thoughtful people, which I also like (despite the Swedish fan in the crowd carrying a placard claiming that ABBA are better than the Beatles, but I can be a forgiving sort of chap when I need to be.) But in the final analysis fate can be a hard arbiter and what’s done is done.
And through all the mystery and mayhem of an unconventional football match, one redeeming factor stood out: the Spanish referee (at least her name suggested she was Spanish) was drop-dead gorgeous. I kept wishing that the producer would show a little less of women kicking a ball about and more of the referee. (Objectifying women is my only vice you know – quoting that old queen Ernest Thesiger – unless you count scotch and tobacco. But they’re dietary, so I don’t.)
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