Joke. teasing Targets that are too large. What a penalty. Bodies that are small and flimsy. They get tired more quickly. How beautiful, how ugly. Girlfriends and bedroom gossip. The image has always been sexualised. patriarchy. Whimsical. abuse. insult. But above all, don’t underestimate. Being a woman hurts, in football too.
Now look at Olga Carmona, because there you will understand everything. His siblings were normal children. Of course they played football. And she’s very petite, but with the genius of someone who’s slammed her knees on the gravel of the Utrera road, she sent to hell those who thought it would be cuter to stamp their feet in a flamenco dress than to do the same with her brother’s men. . He wanted to run after a ball, which was the same as running towards freedom.
Olga Carmona did not cry when she scored a goal that could be the goal of her life in the semi-finals against Sweden. Yes, he didn’t either this Sunday when he scored the goal of his life in the World Cup final against England. His movement was harsh. Sometimes people get used to crying inside. There is always time to cry from the outside.
On the way was the school where he respected how much he wanted, not how much he imposed. And it’s a mother’s commitment that she misses so much when she replaces her teenage years in Seville with Madrid where things grow like hell. A mother who lives on her head, heart and tattoo where ink defines the power of hugs.
The success of the Spanish football team at the World Cup transcends sports. Of course, it goes far beyond Jorge Vilda—human, of course—that the commonplace would now wish to canon. It’s about Aitana Bonmatí, who doesn’t run, but flaps her wings and changes time and space. It comes from Jennifer Hermoso, whose suburban pride makes her want a punishment that only those consumed by fear can miss.. Its firm, firm hands come from the dream-holding Cata Coll. It comes from Mariona, who laid the carpet in the sky with her exclusive booty for Olga Carmona.
And yes, it’s about Alexia Putellas, who has suffered more than ever to find herself between two oceans, the industry that disguised her as a queen and dragged her to play the World Cup despite her knee despite her coach; and the agony of not being with the person he wanted. Mapi León, Patri Guijarro or Claudia Pina prepared Gamper as an achievement was celebrated in Sydney.
There is no victory without a scar. There is no success without corpses in the ditch.
When the match was over, Olga Carmona collapsed onto the grass. Now, yes, she cried.
Crying never heals. But they are relieved when the joy is unbearable.
Joke. teasing Targets that are too large. What a penalty. Bodies that are small and flimsy. They get tired more quickly. How beautiful, how ugly. Girlfriends and bedroom gossip. The image has always been sexualised. patriarchy. Whimsical. abuse. insult. But above all, don’t underestimate. Being a woman hurts, in football too.
Now look at Olga Carmona, because there you will understand everything. His siblings were normal children. Of course they played football. And she’s very petite, but with the genius of someone who’s slammed her knees on the gravel of the Utrera road, she sent to hell those who thought it would be cuter to stamp their feet in a flamenco dress than to do the same with her brother’s men. . He wanted to run after a ball, which was the same as running towards freedom.
Olga Carmona didn’t cry when she scored a goal that could have been the goal of her life in the semi-finals against Sweden. Yes, he didn’t either this Sunday when he scored the goal of his life in the World Cup final against England. His movement was harsh. Sometimes people get used to crying inside. There is always time to cry from the outside.
On the way was the school where he respected how much he wanted, not how much he imposed. And the dedication of a mother she missed so much when she replaced her teenage years in Seville with Madrid where things grew like hell. A mother who lives on her head, heart and tattoo where ink defines the power of hugs.
The success of the Spanish football team at the World Cup transcends sports. Of course, it goes far beyond Jorge Vilda—human, of course—that the commonplace would now wish to canon. It’s about Aitana Bonmatí, who doesn’t run, but flaps her wings and changes time and space. It comes from Jennifer Hermoso, whose suburban pride makes her want a punishment that only those consumed by fear can miss.. Hands come from tough, solid, dream-holding Cata Coll. It comes from Mariona, who laid the carpet in the sky with her exclusive booty for Olga Carmona.
And yes, it’s about Alexia Putellas, who has suffered more than ever to find herself between two oceans, the industry that disguised her as a queen and dragged her to play the World Cup despite her knee despite her coach; and the agony of not being with the person he wanted. Mapi León, Patri Guijarro or Claudia Pina prepared Gamper as an achievement was celebrated in Sydney.
There is no victory without a scar. There is no success without corpses in the ditch.
When the match was over, Olga Carmona collapsed onto the grass. Now, yes, she cried.
Crying never heals. But they are relieved when the joy is unbearable.