As the Lionesses clinched the Euro 2025 final, I found myself among fervent fans, struggling to contribute anything intelligent. My 15-year-old daughter had wisely advised silence, but that was never going to happen.
I watched with a group so dedicated that one fan had a lucky shirt too small to wear, draped like an antimacassar. Her father was banished to the corridor during tense moments, and her mother shared a surname with a player, leading to confusion over which Walsh was on the pitch.
Newcomers must avoid saccharine remarks about player support or injuries, as one fan snapped: 'We're here to win the [expletive] Euros.' Personal comments on appearances are also taboo, though Leah Williamson seems exempt from this rule.
Penalties are safe ground, even for novices. By then, no one cares if it's your first game or your lifelong dream; you all want the same team to win.
When the Lionesses celebrated by lying on the pitch making angel shapes with glitter, I asked if this was a women's football thing. No one knew if the men's team celebrates so inventively—it was before we were born.
