The Women’s World Cup? I’m guessing that’s a Double D.
- Carlton Palmer confuses (World) Cup sizes.
Let me be honest. The time my co-authors spent on getting reacquainted with basic arithmetic, I spent by not watching the group stage of the FIFA Under-20 Women’s World Cup. In fact, I do not even know if there was a group stage. Neither did I see the knockout stages or the quarterfinals. Nor the semifinals. Actually, I saw roughly ten minutes of one game that I believe was the final. I’m not sure. So the majority of this World Cup review will be based on extrapolation, guesswork, and telepathy. Not unlike the majority of World Cup refereeing.
If I learned anything from playing rugby, apart from the fact that I am awful at playing rugby, it is that it takes a lot of concerted effort to bring a fully grown man down; me, not so much. Unfortunately, nobody let football know. Or so I thought.
Which is why, BFZ gives two heartfelt thumbs up to the FIFA Under-20 Women’s World Cup. After watching a very enjoyable twenty-minute period of a damned decent football match between Nigeria and Germany, during which the referee was called into action all of zero times, the only thing to hit the deck and writhe around in agony for seemingly no reason was my jaw.
In the five minutes of football that I saw, I was witness to one of Germany’s finest new talents, Alexandra Popp. Now if the BFZ Times’ gossip column is to be believed, Manchester City are set to outbid neighbors United with a $32 million bid for Popp, who they see as an ideal backup and possible replacement for Emmanuel Adebayor; if they succeed, they will have much-needed cover in the cheer-leading position that is a staple of most Manchester based teams (see Dimitar Berbatov, also Michael Owen). But then if the BFZ Times is to be believed, then the BFZ Times is not to be believed at all. (Pardon me, but every post needs it’s Nolan moment.)
In those forty minutes of football, I was privy to the precariously named Popp, pop into the area, prance past two, pummel the ball into the bottom corner and pirouette away towards the corner flag, stand there perplexed for a couple of seconds, and then punch the air modestly in celebration, her title of princess of the penalty box finally justified; then I had to go pee. Careful analysis by The Sun revealed that her celebration was by no means passionate enough for the big occasion at hand.
To understand her muted celebration, we need to step back in time to when FIFA decided that this whole shirt removal business would henceforth be an automatically card-able offence. Given Cristiano Ronaldo’s propensity for taking off his shirt, to celebrate a goal, to announce his baby’s birth or just because it’s kind of humid, men all over the world rejoiced, happy that if they would necessarily have to see Ronaldo half-naked, at least he’d be half-sent-off.
But in what turned out to be a small, somewhat misguided step for women’s lib and a giant leap against boobies, FIFA also made the act of taking off the shirt a caution-able offense in women’s football. This came as a hammer blow and led to much wailing and gnashing of teeth amongst fans of the beautiful game in particular and amongst fans of the beautiful in general.
What I’m saying is, the already cautioned Popp was not pleased. I’m told Germany won the game 2-0. Or something like that.
In all, the Under-20 Women’s World Cup was a refreshing change from having to hear Xavi announce that there were trace amounts of Catalunya in the sample of Cesc’s Jesus Juice that he put in his DNA machine. Keep in mind that in Spanish, ‘put‘ means to ‘swallow‘, and ‘DNA machine‘ refers to ‘Xavi’s big mouth‘.
Speaking of big mouths, here’s a thoughtful video of an anaconda regurgitating an entire hippopotamus.