Honesty first: This damn thing has taken a month to write. It might be obvious why when you read it. Iâm sorry.
Alternate title: The World Cup summary from a non-football fan.
The country (and the rest of the world) has been hit with World Cup fever, and I hear it at home, on the commute, in the street, at work, and I pleasantly listen, and try to offer my two cents whenever appropriate (which isnât often or worth much due to my inability to care enough for football to work on understanding what is going on). The first week of the World Cup at work I listened in on a conversation between the old men I work with, and it went something like the following:
I just canât watch womenâs football: itâs like watching second division.
And that national player woman pundit at the World Cup: she knows everything but I just donât believe her. Itâs her voice.
You know the boxing movie? Whatâs it called? Million dollar baby: I couldnât watch it. Women shouldnât do that. Well, there is enough of them beating their husbands to a pulp.
But itâs mostly men following the World Cup, right? Itâs not like women watch it.
Day off from talking about football on TV, so thought I would go and play some instead!! Nice to be back with #fifa and the #fifalegend for a kick around â˝ď¸ #worldcup
A post shared by Alex Scott MBE (@alexscott2) on Jul 5, 2018 at 12:00pm PDT
The voice at the back of my head was at this point shouting: âYou know this is sexist bullshit, right? Why the fuck arenât you saying anything? For fuckâs sake how bad does it have to be for you to actually react? This is not true at all. A: Womenâs football teams are outperforming their male equivalents all the time. B: Fuck that shit, they just donât want to listen to a woman they know are right, because they are scared for the validity of their own fucking masculinity. C: All my friends who care about football watch it, whatever their genitalia.â
As the voice at the back of my head was loudly reasoning through all these valid points, I was deeply into reasoning my counter argument: âI know fuckall about footballâ, when my boss asked, to gauge the female viewership: âDo you follow the World Cup?â
âNot even when Denmark is playing?â he responded with a look of shock and horror on his face.
I stared at him for a few seconds to see if he saw the error of his question, before I responded: âWhy would I?â
And he looked confused for a few seconds, before he nervously laughed and when back to his previous conversationalists.
Huge thank you @itvsport for an unforgettable 3 weeks at the best world cup of all time! It was such a pleasure to work with the ITV team again after a fantastic experience at Euro 2016. Thank you also to @talksport for all the fun on your radio shows. I GAVE this opportunity everything and left nothing on the "pitch" making sure I was focused, prepared and ready to watch LOTS of football. I loved every single second! Despite my heart being in my mouth and mouth in my chest, watching England's historic penalty win in Moscow on Tuesday night was the cherry on the cake.Truly unforgettable stuff! OFF AIR the 4am chats in the hotel bar about amazing football stories and football debates with Gary Neville, Jacqui Oatley, Roy Keane and Martin O'Neill are high on my list of favourite moments in Moscow. Thanks to all the ITV pundits who made the experience so much fun. WHEN I became the first female footballer pundit on Match of the day extra 4 years ago, the aim then was to break the mould and keep building on that experience as a football pundit. Now I leave Russia after analysing and watching the worlds best teams and players and sharing my view with millions of people. It's all part of the dream. I HOPE now the status quo and narrative will continue to move forward to a gender neutral appreciation of pundits and broadcasters because of the amazing work all the women at this world cup have achieved for many years. Shout out @alexscott2 @jacquioatley @meseemajaswal @gabbylogan @kellycates0 Vicki Sparks and all other women I may have missed out. AS ALWAYS thank you to my agent @joannatongue @tonguetiedtalent. NOW IT is time to switch my brain off with a short holiday and watch some world cup games on a beachđâ˝ď¸ Then off to my new home in Turin, Italy!! Brb ⤠#WorldCup2018 #IWasTheređââď¸ #MustGo #Moscow9
A post shared by Eniola Aluko (@enialuko) on Jul 5, 2018 at 2:51am PDT
On the last Tuesday of June, I was one of my monthly scheduled social outings, Best Friend Tuesday (colloquially called BFT by the group of us that are going) at the place my boyfriend likes to call our local (not because it is the most local to where we live, but because it has the best beer selection and our actual options for our local have a clientele that creeps me out and I donât feel like I belong) Beer+Burger. For the World Cup they have installed TV screens, and show all the games, and on June 26th Nigeria played Argentina. While my friends (all female by the way) watched the game, and tried to show me pictures of Nigeriaâs varieties of kit to keep me intrigued (their travel kit is definitely worth a look, because, well, LOOK AT IT!), I was mostly hoping that the beautiful dog that walked in would walk over my way so I could pet it.
Russia here we come đłđŹ #Naija
A post shared by Mikel Obi (@mikel_john_obi) on Jun 11, 2018 at 6:17am PDT
The dog did eventually walk over and I got some much needed petting-time (living in a flat with a pet-ban is shit, but so is the London Life). I believe that was the highlight of the World Cup to me. Sadly there is no picture of said dog, because Iâm no sneaky ninja-photographer, and if I considered taking a picture the voice at the back of my head would go: âYou know they can see you take a picture? Did you ask? What if they donât want people to take pictures of their dog, and share them unabashedly? Would you like it if people did that to your dog if you had a dog?â
âActually if my dog brought happiness to someone, I would be happy for it to be shared on the internet! Puppies for everyone!â
âYou are such a child of the internet! Puppies, kittens and unicorns is a freaking addiction to your whole generation!â
I cocked my head and raised an eyebrow at her: âWeâre the same generation! You squeal at puppies and kittens just as much as I do.â
âBut I do it with refinement.â
âThere is no such thing as a refined squeal,â I said and ignored the rest of the humphing from the voice at the back of my head.
If the dog was the highlight of my World Cup, the low point was the quarter final where England played Sweden on July 7th. I was out for the whole game, and I mainly heard the cheers from all the pubs and open windows, and I had a good day out with In Colourful Company on their Shoreditch Colourwalk. Then there was a hop and a skip onto a bus to take me back to North West London. Sure, buses are slow, hot and miserable, but they are my only free means of transportation through the dreaded Zone 1 (free as in I buy an Oyster card for Zone 2 and 3 to get me to and from work, and that entitles me to all the bus travel I can manage in all the other zones). I hopped and I skipped on to bus number one and it started to snail itself through traffic. Two and a bit stops from Liverpool Street Station the bus came to an halt, and the driver mumbled something across the tannoy: â⌠in the road ⌠donât know how long we will be stuck here ⌠doors are open âŚâ
I sat on the upper deck trying to see ahead, but all I saw was standstill buses, non moving cars and flashing blue lights. âCar crash,â I thought. After a few minutes had passed, and none of the surrounding traffic had moved, I went down the stairs and started to move down the road, planning on catching a bus on the other side of the car crash.
Further down the road I heard them.
âEng-er-land! Eng-er-land!
*generic drunk loud crowd noises*â
A little further I saw them.
âOh, great. Football fans,â I sighed sarcastically to the voice at the back of my head.
âFuck fuck fuck,â she messed as her awareness of the crowd grew. The street was a sea filled more or less shirted football fans, and started to feel my heart racing.
âWe need to get to the other side, there is no turning back, just look ahead and keep moving,â I instructed her as I balled my hands up, and took a deep breath before I started the slow, sidestepping waltz trying to skirt the crowds. The sidewalks were where the path of least resistance lied, and I manoeuvred through the endless stream of people pouring out of pubs and bars. I tried to control my breathing, but all that came out were short, shallow breaths.
When I came to the corner of Boxpark Shoreditch I realised I would not find a bus, so my only option to escape the crowds was the overground.
âI donât care how much it costs, just get us out of here,â the voice at the back of my head pleaded.
âIf we could just get one station further down the line, we would be home free,â I futilely tried to reason with her, but I knew, we needed to get out of here now. I eyed up the sidewalk leading to Shoreditch high street station, and plotted a path trough the revellers. I picked up the pace as I continued the sidestepping waltz, bumped into and removed the light from someones cigarette, and darted into the station. Sitting on a rail along the platform I closed my eyes and tried to block out the world.
Footballâs coming home.
âI hate this. I donât trust them. Fuck them. I hate this. I donât trust them. Fuck them. I hate this. I donât trust them. Fuck them. I hate this. I donât trust them. Fuck them,â she messed at the back of my head, and I started typing my boyfriend just to block out her voice and the surrounding noise of the English Horde. And it kept me calmâish for the time it took to get home.
The semifinal where England played Croatia was spent at home because I refused to leave, and the voice at the back of my head was just laughing at my football-fan boyfriendâs complete elation and total crushing despair because I know how he reacts to utter defeat or great victories. It was a way to round my apathy to the English football fandom. I did also watch the final, and I enjoyed the rain during the rewards ceremony.
Somewhere in the last week of the World Cup I had had enough of trying to write about football. If you came here to read about actual football, I will tell you now, that this blog will never actually contain football. Now that this terrible attempt at being current is over and outdated, this blog will get back to it regular unscheduled mess. Ta. xx
Itâs coming home Honesty first: This damn thing has taken a month to write. It might be obvious why when you read it.
