On Women’s Football Tour

 Happy Birthday, Doris Bačić. There are goalkeepers who make noise. And there are goalkeepers who make history quietly. Doris belongs to the second kind. She never needed the spotlight to prove her worth. She earned her place the hard way — step by step, glove by glove, save by save. From Croatia to Sweden, from Anderlecht to Juventus, she carried herself with the calm of someone who understood that greatness is not always measured in headlines, but in trust. Trust from her defenders. Trust from her teammates. Trust from those who knew that when she stood behind them, they stood stronger. At Anderlecht, she was part of something historic — the beginning of a dynasty. Not the loudest voice, but a steady presence when foundations were being laid. At Juventus, surrounded by stars, she never tried to be someone else. She remained herself. Reliable. Professional. Ready — always ready — when her moment came. And that is the mark of a true goalkeeper. Not ego. Not noise. But readiness. Fo...

  Hedvig Lindahl  the woman who can stop time There are goalkeepers who stop balls. And there are goalkeepers who stop moments. Hedvig Lindahl belongs to that rare second kind. She is never just a player. She is the silence before impact, the breath between hope and loss, the figure who refuses to accept that the inevitable must happen. When an opponent approaches, when a stadium holds its breath, when thousands of hearts beat faster at once — she is there. Not as an obstacle, but as an answer. The calm of someone who has seen everything There is something timeless in her presence. No rush. No panic. No excess. Only certainty. Not the loud certainty of arrogance, but the quiet certainty of someone who understands her craft completely. Her movements are never wasted. Her dives are never desperate. She does not seem to react to the moment — she seems to already know it. That is the true art of a great goalkeeper: not reacting, but understanding. She reads bodies the way others r...

  Happy 40th Birthday, Marta. Rainha. Sempre. There are players who win matches. There are players who win trophies. And then there is Marta — who won time itself. Forty years… and still she stands, not as a memory, but as a presence. Not as a chapter, but as the book itself. She came from dust roads and empty pockets, carrying nothing but a ball, and the quiet certainty that the world would one day have to listen. They laughed once. They doubted. They said women’s football had limits. She answered without words. A touch. A feint. A goal that bent reality. Six Ballons d’Or. World Cups that carry her footprints. A generation that exists because she refused to disappear. She was not only Brazil’s number 10. She was Brazil’s voice. Brazil’s courage. Brazil’s impossible dream made flesh. And even now, at forty, she does not belong to the past. She belongs to every girl who dares to believe that greatness can begin anywhere. Parabéns, Rainha. The crown was ...

 Dit is geen gewone tifo. Dit is een thuiskomst. Hoog boven de tribunes van de Tele2 Arena verschijnt ze, niet als bondscoach, niet als wereldreiziger, maar als één van hen. Jong. In groen en wit. Met de trofee in haar hand. Het jaar 1986  onder haar voeten. Het jaar waarin dromen nog geen geschiedenis waren, maar beloftes. De fans van Hammarby hebben haar niet afgebeeld zoals de wereld haar kent — de coach die Olympisch goud won met de Verenigde Staten, de architect van Zweden, de mentor van generaties. Nee. Ze hebben haar afgebeeld zoals ze haar het liefst herinneren: Pia, de speelster. Pia, de hunne. Dat is het verschil tussen erkenning en liefde. Erkenning krijg je voor wat je bereikt. Liefde krijg je voor wie je bent gebleven. En Pia is altijd gebleven. Niet fysiek — haar carrière bracht haar naar Amerika, Brazilië, Zweden, de wereld — maar spiritueel. Want elke keer dat ze sprak over voetbal, sprak ze niet over systemen of statistieken. Ze sprak over vreugde. Ov...

  Laura Deloose De stille muur die nooit om aandacht vroeg Er zijn speelsters die het stadion doen daveren. En er zijn speelsters die ervoor zorgen dat het stadion kan blijven staan. Laura Deloose hoorde bij die laatste categorie. Geen schreeuwer. Geen theatrale gebaren. Geen nood aan spotlights. Alleen positie. Alleen timing. Alleen plicht. Ze stond daar. Altijd. Niet als iemand die toevallig een shirt droeg. Maar als iemand die begreep wat dat shirt betekende. Het shirt van de Red Flames. Geen kledingstuk. Een belofte. Een belofte dat je blijft staan, zelfs wanneer niemand kijkt. Dat je het gevaar opvangt voordat het een probleem wordt. Dat je denkt in seconden die anderen niet eens zien. Laura speelde niet voor applaus. Ze speelde voor zekerheid. Voor de speelster naast haar. Voor de keepster achter haar. Voor het land voor haar. Verdedigers zoals Laura leven in de schaduw van doelpunten. Maar elke overwinning draagt hun handtekening. Elke nul op het b...

  Anouk Hoogendijk:  De roos die blijft bloeien Er zijn speelsters die komen en gaan. En er zijn speelsters die blijven. Niet op het veld. Niet in de opstelling. Maar in de lucht zelf. In de manier waarop een stadion ademt wanneer haar naam valt. Anouk Hoogendijk is zo’n naam. Ze was nooit luid. Nooit opzichtig. Ze hoefde niet te schreeuwen om gehoord te worden. Ze sprak met haar voeten. Met haar timing. Met dat ene moment waarop ze een stap vooruit zette en een aanval al had gelezen nog voor die geboren werd. Als een roos die niet bloeit om gezien te worden, maar omdat bloeien haar natuur is. Ze stond daar. Recht. Rustig. Onaantastbaar. Niet als iemand die vocht tegen de storm, maar als iemand die begreep dat de storm ooit zou gaan liggen. Anouk speelde zoals sommige mensen leven: met trouw. Met waardigheid. Met een stille belofte aan zichzelf dat ze nooit iemand anders hoefde te zijn. Je zag het in haar blik. Niet hard. Niet koud. Maar helder. Bewust. Aa...

  Julie Fleeting The Striker Every Modern Transfer List Would Begin With today There are statistics. And then there are statements of dominance . 116 goals in 121 international appearances for Scotland. Not a good ratio. Not even a great one. A ratio that belongs in a different realm. A realm reserved for those who did not just play the game — but imposed themselves upon it. Julie Fleeting belonged there. She played in an era before global marketing machines, before million-euro contracts, before the world watched every touch. There were no algorithms amplifying her name. There was only grass. Only instinct. Only goals. Every defender knew what might happen. And still, it happened. The efficiency of instinct Fleeting was not a striker of spectacle. She was a striker of certainty. She did not move to be seen. She moved to decide. Half a metre of space was enough. Half a second was enough. One moment of hesitation was fatal. She possessed the rarest quality a s...

  De Godinnen van Anderlecht: Solange Carvalhas Portugese flair op koude vrijdagavonden in Tubize Tubize op een vrijdagavond was geen plaats voor romantiek. De lucht was zwaar. De kou kroop langs je kraag. De lichten hingen stil boven het veld, alsof ze zelf ook liever ergens anders waren. Dit waren geen glamoureuze avonden. Dit waren avonden voor karakter. En net daar verscheen Solange Carvalhas. Geen drama. Geen grote gebaren. Alleen die eerste controle — zacht, beheerst — alsof de bal haar al kende. Waar anderen vochten tegen de omstandigheden, bracht zij iets onverwachts: Portugese flair in de Belgische winter. Ze vertraagde het spel wanneer het te wild werd. Ze versnelde het wanneer niemand het zag aankomen. En soms, plots, was ze daar in de zestien. Goal. Niet met brute kracht. Maar met intelligentie. Met timing. Met elegantie. Ze was middenveldster. Ze was topschutter. Ze was evenwicht en gevaar tegelijk. Op die koude vrijdagavonden in Tubize leerde Anderlech...

  Hanna Ljungberg The Silence Between Heartbeats There are players who arrive. And there are players who were always there. Hanna Ljungberg belongs to the second kind. She did not enter football like a storm. She entered like winter light through a window — quietly, steadily, inevitably. And before anyone realized what had happened, she was no longer part of the game. She was its rhythm. Number 10 on her back was never decoration. It was not a symbol of ego or spectacle. It was a promise. A quiet promise that wherever the ball would travel, it would find clarity in her presence. She never wasted movement. Every step had intention. Every touch carried memory. She played as if she understood something others did not — that football is not chaos, but timing. Not noise, but breath. Defenders tried to close her down, but they were always a fraction too late. Not because she was faster, but because she had already been there in her mind. She saw the future in small spaces. She liv...

Some departures don’t weaken a team immediately — they reveal their meaning years later. Goalkeepers do not see the game like others do. They stand alone, removed from the noise, watching everything unfold in front of them. They read patterns before they form. They sense danger before it becomes visible. Seven years ago, Hedvig Lindahl left Chelsea FC Women. At the time, it was just another squad decision. Another transition. Another professional goodbye in a sport that constantly moves forward. Nothing dramatic. Nothing emotional. Nothing, it seemed, historic. But football rarely reveals the true meaning of departures immediately. Sometimes, it takes years. Lindahl was not simply a goalkeeper passing through a successful club. She was a leader. A stabiliser. Someone who understood environments, not just matches. She had experienced football cultures where trust mattered as much as talent. Where people were not just resources, but pillars. Goalkeepers develop a different kind of intell...

  Karen Carney The Quiet Revolutionary Some players arrive with noise. Karen Carney arrived with purpose. She never needed to shout. She never needed theatrics. Her rebellion was quieter, and therefore more powerful. It lived in her movement, in her courage to demand more when “more” was not yet fashionable in women’s football. Karen Carney did not just play the game. She helped drag it forward. She grew up in a time when girls were still told—subtly or directly—that football was not entirely theirs. Facilities were poorer. Attention was minimal. Respect was conditional. Yet she walked onto those pitches anyway, not as a guest, but as an owner of her own destiny. And she stayed. Over 140 caps for England is not just a number. It is a testimony to endurance. It is winters survived. It is pain carried silently. It is the daily decision to return, again and again, when easier paths existed elsewhere. She represented England at a time when the shirt was heavier than it is now—n...

 Ze viel in in de 61ste minuut. En in de 62ste lag de bal al binnen. Dat is geen toeval. Dat is een signaal . Terwijl anderen minuten nodig hebben om “in de wedstrijd te komen”, komt Eva Oude Elberink erin en beslist ze. Twee goals, directe impact, wedstrijd gekanteld. FC Twente loopt vier punten uit. Titelrace opengebroken. Klaar. En dan moeten we blijven doen alsof dit soort invalbeurten geen selectiecriterium zijn? Bij achterstand heb je aan Oranje-zijde te vaak hetzelfde probleem: balbezit zonder dreiging, controle zonder tanden. Mooie structuren, maar niemand die zegt: “Geef mij dat moment maar.” Terwijl het antwoord soms gewoon op de bank zit. Invallen en scoren is een aparte kwaliteit . Niet iedereen kan dat. Niet iedereen durft dat. Het is makkelijk om te selecteren op basis van status, caps en vaste namen. Het is moeilijker om te erkennen dat voetbal ook beslist wordt door wie binnenkomt wanneer het brandt . Maar wie dat negeert, verliest wedstrijden die hij n...

 Celien Guns schrijft Belgische voetbalgeschiedenis in Portugal Het Belgische vrouwenvoetbal heeft er opnieuw een pionier bij. Celien Guns (27) kondigde via sociale media aan dat ze haar carrière verderzet bij Damaiense, een club in de Portugese eerste klasse. Daarmee wordt ze de eerste Belgische profvoetbalster die actief is in Portugal – een stap die niet alleen persoonlijk historisch is, maar ook symbolisch voor de internationalisering van onze speelsters. Guns droeg in totaal vier keer het shirt van de Belgian Red Flames, en bouwde daarnaast een veelzijdige clubcarrière uit: Lierse SK – begin van haar carrière, nationaal opgemerkt om haar loopvermogen en strijdlust. Club YLA – vaste waarde in de Super League, waar ze maturiteit en ervaring opdeed. sc Heerenveen – ervaring in de Eredivisie, waar ze in aanraking kwam met de fysieke intensiteit van het Nederlandse voetbal. Apollon Ladies (Cyprus) – Champions League-ervaring en een eerste buitenlandse avontuur. Damaiense (Portugal)...

  Rachel Brown: Head and Shoulders Above the Rest It was never about ticking boxes. It was never about rattling through PowerPoints until everyone falls asleep. Football is not theory. Football is feeling. And Rachel Brown embodies that better than anyone. She was once a damn good goalkeeper – strong, fearless, commanding her box. But today, she has become something else. The greatest female pundit there is. Because Rachel doesn’t just talk football. She lives it. She feels every tackle, every save, every goal. And when England won at Wembley, she didn’t hide behind analysis – she broke. Tears rolling down her face, dancing like Nobby Stiles, exploding with joy. That is what makes her unique. She doesn’t stand at a distance, safe and detached. She throws her heart into it, every single time. And when she speaks, you listen – because it’s real, because it’s raw. Rachel Brown bursts out of the screen. Passion, honesty, beauty, knowledge. A pundit who gives more than commentary – she ...

  A Career of Medals — but Remembered for the Miss Over the years, Peter Gerhardsson did a good job with Sweden. Several medals, big matches, and a team that often punched above its weight. But the public rarely remembers the full picture. What sticks in people’s minds is the last tournament — the one you don’t win. And this was his last match. He mishandled the penalty shootout. He let it come down to chaos instead of command. And when a player openly said afterwards “I didn’t even want to take one” — that’s not just a player doubting herself. That’s a player quietly saying: the coach abandoned me here. It’s harsh, but that’s football: You can earn medals for years, but you’re judged on the last moment you mismanaged. Wil je dat ik dit nog uitbreid met een sterke slotzin? Bijvoorbeeld: A good coach brings medals — a great one also shields his players from moments like this.

  Pace, passion, and pure dedication — you ran down the wing like it was your second home. With over 100 caps for Denmark and memories from World Cups and Euros, you played with fire in your boots and heart on your sleeve. Wishing you a birthday full of joy, and thank you for every thrilling run in red and white.

 Happy Birthday, Rachel Brown! Safe hands, sharp mind, and a true voice of the game. You guarded Everton’s goal with class, wore the England shirt with pride, and continue to lead with insight as a voice for women’s football. From shot-stopper to game-changer — you’ve never stopped inspiring. Wishing you a birthday as strong and grounded as your legacy.

  Happy Birthday, Glódís Perla Viggósdóttir! Strong, composed, and commanding — you are Icelandic steel with a touch of elegance. From Iceland to Sweden to Bayern Munich, you’ve led from the back with vision and voice. Not just a defender, but a presence. A leader. A rock. Wishing you a birthday filled with pride, strength, and joy. Til hamingju með afmælið, Glódís — the game is stronger with you in it.

Six years ago today I walked through the streets of Paris — crying and dancing at the same time, overwhelmed with pride, with joy, with love for the one who just saved it all. I told complete strangers how brilliant she was. How they had just witnessed greatness — “That’s Hedvig Lindahl. That’s my keeper.” It was the first time I ever celebrated in a way that felt almost shameless . No filter, no holding back. Just pure, wild emotion . Because that wasn’t just a penalty save. That was the release of years of loyalty, of fear, of silent hope — all unleashed in one glorious dive. And I? I exploded. Loud, ungraceful, uninhibited. Because finally — finally — she got what she deserved. She didn’t just stop Canada. She stopped the doubts. She reclaimed her aura. She reminded the world: “I’m Hedvig. And I’m not done.” That night in Paris was my personal final. Not on a scoreboard — but in my soul. And in that scandalous cheer of mine, a piece of football history ...