Spain crowned World Cup Champions
Spain is the fifth nation to win the Women's World Cup, defeating England 1-0 in Sydney tonight
— Sydney, Australia
A notably sunny Sydney day. Early morning workout people crowding Sunday streets in impressive number as I strolled about, having a coffee. England kits most visible between the dog walkers, the brunch havers, the idlers like me milling through this or that neighborhood early on.
Ferry along the water is as nice a mode as any to arrive at a World Cup final. Sun setting on the Opera House as we set off, sailing along the river beside a city soon to host the end of a certain, memorable, historic time.
As with the train from Auckland to Wellington, all the stadiums since that cursed one in Melbourne, and every bar or venue displaying the games across two nearby countries… a clear preponderance of Americans were visible, spectating an event they’re no longer a part of.
And as with all of the above, none of them seem to mind their own team’s absence, all folding merrily into this or that adopted fandom and seeming to have a nice time.
On the bus from river to stadium, one crew made friends with a local Australian lady that remarked several times, “oh that’s a lovely sock-a story!”, as they told her they played on the same team in high school, and travel together to World Cups. “Do you think it was a nice World Cup for everybody?” wondered the Australian woman into the crew of Americans that readily agreed that it had been.
Waiting for the ferry, a family from Melbourne eating ice cream cones en route to the stadium told a family from the USA that probably, as England met Spain in the World Cup final, half of the Aussies would default into cheering for England. The other half would default toward definitely not. The Americans nodded sagely.
At the stadium (a placid place at 6 PM given the size of the event soon coming) a spread of individuals sat outside staring up at Olympic Stadium, as if to make sense of its contents through the powerful length of a long, hard stare.
No Putellas in the starting lineup for La Roja, I heard, staring up at the stadium’s exterior looking for sense myself. 19-year-old Salma Paralluelo had scored game changers against the Netherlands and Sweden. She’d start in the World Cup final that night.
And as for England no changes. Same XI that met Australia. No Lauren James, back from her ban of two matches.
A group of Spaniards draped in flags nearby began to chant, “Yo soy Espanyola”, just as a father-daughter passed by draped in the signs of the three lions, chanting, “Come on England!” in response.
A suspicious number of Spain supporters begin to filter in with American (and a few Australian) accents. As time ticked on toward 8 PM local, “Come on England!” picked up.
Macarena blasting. Black Eyed Peas blasting. Queen blasting. A healthy conglomerate of Matildas fans all about. A closing ceremony to mark the start of the end.
And with that, the next generation of global football giants kicked off their World Cup test of new Europe.
England and Spain, the very specific poster children of the latest round of development and investment in Europe, the teams that may hold the height of this game at various level for some time, set off in Sydney for the first-ever women’s World Cup final for both countries.
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