Women's World Cup
Having criticised Charlton's (now reversed) decision to close their women's team, I this morning decided to put right my somewhat paradoxical parallel viewpoint, that I actually had no interest in watching women's football. What better way to start than a World Cup semi-final between my country of birth and my country of residence?
I watched the game with my American 7-month old son, which allowed us to indulge in some good old-fashioned banter (or 'trash talk' as they call it here). I told him his team 'sucked', he just 'sucked' (on his dummy).
When the USA scored their first goal, I feigned indifference and told him I didn't care much for soccer anyway (which confused him as his middle name is Charlton). Unfortunately all of this mickey-taking left him crying long before the final whistle, which proves what I always thought....Americans don't have a sense of humour.
In fairness, I was mildly surprised that the standard was higher than I'd imagined, at least until the USA's third goal which was a shambles. The patterns of play at least suggested the players knew where the ball should go, even if they weren't always able to make it go there. It's probably too much to expect the winger for example, to drop a shoulder and whip in a cross, but then again I watched Dennis Rommedahl for three years and he never managed it either.
Some of the players were surprisingly attractive too, which added to the spectacle. It reminded me of an ex-girlfriend who used to express a keen interest in joining me at Charlton matches, until it emerged she was only there to see Steve Brown. I recall 'rugged' was the word she used (he was often run 'ragged' too, but that's a different story).
Unfortunately some were less attractive, or to use a technical term, rather androgynous, occupying that grey twilight between man and woman. It got me thinking that they ought to have their own separate World Cup? Perhaps Rommedahl could play.