Women’s World Cup shows men how to play without the drama – Susan Morrison

The Women’s World Cup has fired the imagination of Susan Morrison who’s already bought her facepaint in anticipation of Scotland getting to the final next time.
United States' players celebrate their victory against England after the Women's World Cup semifinal soccer match at the Stade de Lyon outside Lyon, France, Tuesday, July 2, 2019. (AP Photo/Francisco Seco)United States' players celebrate their victory against England after the Women's World Cup semifinal soccer match at the Stade de Lyon outside Lyon, France, Tuesday, July 2, 2019. (AP Photo/Francisco Seco)
United States' players celebrate their victory against England after the Women's World Cup semifinal soccer match at the Stade de Lyon outside Lyon, France, Tuesday, July 2, 2019. (AP Photo/Francisco Seco)

We’ve been watching the Women’s World Cup because The Boss (aka my mum) loves her footie.

She knows her stuff, does the Boss. Her father played for one of those crazy little teams Scotland’s cities used to be full of, squads of part-timers who slogged in shipyards and steel mills in the week but became wingers and goalies at the weekends.

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She remembers standing next to him at big games as he pointed out the footwork of the professionals.

She can spot a flaky dive the minute they hit the deck. She would have been a fearsome ref in her youth.

We supported England against Norway. We felt we should, mainly because the Norwegians were about twice the height of the England squad and had the look of marauding Vikings about them.

We had an issue come England v USA. My lovely sister-in-law is visiting. She’s American. You see the problem. In years to come, me drunkenly ranting over Christmas dinner about the disallowed goal.

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In the end, England went down to defeat but fought like lionesses to the bitter end.

The real winner here was women’s football. It was fast, entertaining and even a footie eejit like me loved it. Also, there was a lot less of that dramatic flinging yourself at the ground and holding your knees, which seems to be a feature of the lad’s game. If they persist in these performances, they need drama coaches on the men’s squads.

Come on Scotland. There will be a next time. And we’ll get to the final. I’ve already bought my facepaint.

Shore is a mess

The Water of Leith at the Shore is a disgrace. The silting has now reached the point where it’s just about possible to plant a flag and claim this land as sovereign territory.

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The recent rains have washed down logs the size of a 1970s Volvo estate. If anyone is planning to barbeque a hippo, we’ve got the wood for the job.

The water is dead. We used to watch baggie minnies in the water. There’s nothing now. Technically, discarded footballs and rusting shopping trolleys are not wildlife.

This mess needs clearing. Or perhaps the People’s Republic of Leith should just seize The Shore?