Women don’t owe you pretty, as the feminist saying goes. The Lionesses have proved the footballing truth of that in this World Cup, from Lauren James’s sending off for stepping on Nigeria’s Michelle Alozie to their tactical fouls and time-wasting in Wednesday’s semi-final against Australia. They have learned the dark arts of elite football, and it has got the job done. Which is why Alex Greenwood’s cynical bringing down of Sam Kerr against Australia raised barely an eyebrow in the commentary box.
Their progress through the tournament, ending in England’s first appearance at a World Cup final since 1966, is testament to their commitment and professionalism as well as their talent. They’ve got their feet dirty when it mattered, and in James’s case when it didn’t.
Which brings us to the identity of “women’s football”, for however long that distinction exists. Whatever the future holds, the women’s game is at a major inflection point. What happens next will shape the sport, and the machinery that governs and monetises it, for generations.
Until now, women’s football has been promoted and perceived as a rare beacon of good within the game, blinking hopefully through a miasma of venality and venture capital. The family atmosphere in the Women’s Super League has been justly celebrated and gratefully sought out by parents who would never dream of exposing their children to the toxic environment in the stands at a men’s game. The cheerful, peaceful nature of the sell-out crowd at the women’s Euro final last summer could not have presented a greater contrast from the grim vision of violence outside Wembley for the equivalent men’s event a year earlier.
The women administrating and playing football have, thus far, held themselves to higher standards than their male equivalents. While Premier League clubs and players alike were drooling incontinently over Saudi Arabian investment in the sport, the organisers of the current Fifa Women’s World Cup refused their sponsorship on the grounds that the country’s human rights record was clearly at odds with their own values.
Baroness Campbell, the FA’s director of women’s football, believes that many enjoy the women’s game for its “different culture”.
“People say to me, ‘You’ve brought the beautiful game back’,” said Campbell last October, “meaning this is like football used to be.” She made it clear she was talking about on the pitch as well as off. “I’m talking about the skill level, the way the women play, their respect for the referee, their toughness in terms of if they get kicked, they just get up and get on.”
Until recently, diving has been a relatively lesser-spotted offence in the women’s game, which isn’t to say it’s not creeping in. England fans were furious to have been “denied” a penalty against Nigeria when Rachel Daly went down in the box, but there was plenty performative in the rolling somersault that accompanied Daly’s tumble, and the exaggerated rubbing of her neck that followed.
Last week Magnus Wikman, Sweden’s assistant coach, was asked why there was so little diving in the women’s game. “They want to play soccer,” he replied, “they don’t think in that way.” And then, he made a telling addition to his statement. “Maybe in the future, it’s going to change because there’s going to be more and more money in women’s soccer.”
Aye, there’s the rub. It’s all very well for women to be the more sporting sort when the rewards are still much lower. But if parity is the ultimate goal, why shouldn’t we expect them to play just as hard, fast – and cynical – as the guys?
Already we see gamesmanship – or perhaps that should be gameswomanship – playing an increasingly prevalent role in other sports like cricket (see Deepti Sharma “Mankadding” Charlie Dean last summer). No one wants women patronised, expected to be good little girls in comparison with their male counterparts.
The same applies in the development of the game as a whole. If women’s football desperately needs funds, should anyone complain if they come from betting firms, or fossil fuel-investing banks, or rich nations with dodgy human rights records? Why shouldn’t we expect its (mostly female) administrators to behave as greedily as men have, and to take full advantage of all its various income streams have to offer?
And is this where women’s football now stands, balanced precariously on the very thin end of the wedge? Everyone agrees that what makes the women’s game so special is its alternative approach, its kinder nature, its more family-oriented feel and its community values. But how can those things be protected at the same time as the sport pursues the rapid growth and equality that is its right?
Perhaps we might start with an understanding of the historically different motivations and aims of women’s football. As the chief executive of Women in Sport, the long-running gender-equality advocacy organisation, points out, women’s football has always had – and been – a social cause. “The amount of money it raised for charity in the first half of the 20th century was enormous,” says Stephanie Hilborne. “It was about giving to society, not taking from it – that is at its heart.”
Hilborne believes that the sport must be deliberate about its purpose and “really intolerant” of anything that threatens that. Karen Carney’s review of the game, commissioned by the government and published in July, stated that it was vital to “preserve the inclusive environment which defines women’s football”. But doing that requires clarity and strong leadership on and off the field. Sporting legacies on the scale of what the Lionesses can offer are rare – but the opportunity is too precious to waste.
• Emma John is a freelance author and writer. Her book Self Contained: Scenes from a Single Life is published by Octopus
