Salma Paralluelo and my Uneven Connection with Women’s Football.

I don't mean to gatekeep but I got here first.

25 min readAug 19, 2023

One of my earliest memories of women’s football was watching Abby Wambach, in some shades, probably drunk out of her mind just going nuts with the Women’s World Cup Trophy on parade with the rest of the USWNT.

I remember thinking, “They look pretty cool.”

Off the top of my head I couldn’t tell you what year that was.

Actually, I’m pretty sure the Abby Wambach shout quite precisely ages it, but these days a USWNT trophy lift does nothing to narrow it down, because USWNT always win.

Well, almost always.

My connection with the women’s game is, admittedly, episodic. Serendipitous.

It’s like finding new music. Finding a new song (one you like, that is) often happens unexpectedly.

You watch an episode of Lethal Weapon and you like what they play at the end. You find out what it is, and now you’ve got something new on your Spotify playlist.

It’s like a happy accident.

If you didn’t hear it on the radio that one time or see some of the music video in that restaurant, you wouldn’t know it existed. You wouldn’t have saved it, you wouldn’t have listened to it. Then you wouldn’t have heard the whole album and, subsequently, their entire discography.

And you miss out on all that great music.

In another universe, you didn’t take that car ride, or go to that restaurant. You didn’t hear that piece and that version of you never got that have that musical experience.

It just a shame.

It’s just like that with my relationship with the women’s game.

This probably has a lot to do with the unsatisfactory level of access to women’s football.

It’s not merely as simple as sitting down on the weekend, cracking open a cold beverage and watching Sam Kerr cook with the boys.

The code combination I gotta punch in my remote to watch this weekend’s Liverpool game is so hard coded in my subconscious that I could rattle those digits off if I was in a coma.

There is no such level of easy access to Sam Kerr’s heroics.

Thus, a lot of people end up only watching what they can or, in really fortunate cases, only what they really want to.

It’s also a something of a catch-22 because if you don’t have adequate access to drum up genuine interest, then there’s little interest to demand access.

There’s really only a thin layer of long-term sensibility needed to scale this hurdle.

But, come on! It’s football’s decision makers we’re talking about here. So, let’s all just keep square dancing on the yellow brick road and pretending we’re on a 20-year-curve.

But that’s a conversation for different day.

Whatever the state of affairs, I only get to behold what the women’s game has to offer every now and then. Through stops and starts, special occasions and celebrations.

A World Cup here, the Euros then, maybe a couple UEFA Women’s Champions League games.

I gotta get lucky to hear the song on the radio when it’s playing.

So, episodically, I can fairly track our shared history.

Besides the enduring picture of Abby Wambach, I have some memories. I remember watching that Germany team absolutely put the screws to some of their opponents. I remember Carli Lloyd’s World Cup Final Hat-trick.

I remember an underdog Argentina team making one substitution and pulling off a comeback from 3–0 to 3–3 against a stacked Scotland team in one of the most memorable games I’ve ever had the opportunity to watch live. The Ippólito legacy game. I was there.

I remember the glorious Alex Morgan sipping tea celebration (and all the piss successfully boiled therefrom).

I remember some “moments” but I also remember that last World Cup as a whole quite well.

By the principle of sheer serendipity or blind luck, going into that competition I was a huge fan of Lieke Martens. Probably the first female footballer I was ever fully riding for.

No, I do not fully understand how I got to that point.

By 2019, she had already won the UEFA Women’s Championship in 2017, was named player of the tournament and was subsequently voted as the UEFA Women’s Player of the Year as well The Best FIFA Women’s Player of the Year.

As at the 2019 Women’s World Cup, she was coming off a campaign where she led the FC Barcelona women’s team (FC Barcelona Femeni) to their first ever UEFA Women’s Champions League Final.

So, I was all in on the Netherlands in the 2019 Women’s World Cup to win it all and more than anything I wanted to watch my favourite player play and (for the love of God) play well.

Their qualifying wasn’t exactly smooth sailing and Lieke was hurt. Foot Injury.

They got over the line and secured their spot in the tournament and but Lieke’s health was still an issue. Despite the toe injury she was called up to the national team squad for the World Cup.

Sarina Wiegman was not about to put that team out without their marquee playmaker.

The consequence of this is, from the word go, Lieke Martens was physically compromised.

I was psyched to watch this woman play, still.

She played in the Round-of-16 matchup with Japan. In which she scored 2 goals in a 2–1 win.

The first was a deft touch at the near post that nutmegs a defender and nestles into the far corner, somehow. A goal I still think about to this day. The second was a last-minute game winning penalty.

Bedlam ensued. In all the celebrations, Jill Roord, her teammate, stepped on her foot. She worsened her toe injury.

She struggled to train ahead of their quarter-final game against Italy. Regardless, she played all 90 minutes and they won the game 2–0.

In the semi-final against Sweden, she couldn’t play the full game due to the pain in her toe becoming unbearable. She started but was subbed off late with the game still tied at 0–0.

This game was as tough a test as they had faced to this point. Both sides had attempts saved onto the post. Tensions were high.

It wasn’t until extra-time, after about 100 minutes of football, before one of these exceptional keepers would be beaten.

The Netherlands strung together a couple quick passes in midfield before #14, Jackie Groenen, called her own number and slapped in a worldie as good as any you’ll ever see.

I remember where I was and what It felt like to watch that. I remember my eyes lighting up when this beautiful human scored this even more beautiful goal and I thought for a second…

“They can actually do this. Holy s — t, they could actually do this” All they had to do then was get past the Big, Bad Wolf.

“The Big, Bad Wolf” that would be the oft feared, much revered and still quite disrespected United States Women’s National Team or USWNT.

They started the competition with a 13–0 win over Thailand and have won every game, brushing all their opponents aside with all the exaggerated swagger of a defending champion. The piss boiling and general showmanship on display has been quite remarkable.

They are well settled into their role as the villains and they kinda like it.

They win and they have fun with their football.

What are you gonna do about it? Beat ‘em?

Thailand.

Chile.

Sweden.

Spain.

France.

England.

All stepped up and all fell flat.

From scrappy athletes with a fighter’s chance, to world class teams who have been aware that any bid for the Mundial means preparing for this specific matchup and have thus done so for the better part of the past 4 years. All have succumbed to the irresistible USWNT.

They’re not over confident…

They are simply just that good.

Jackie Gronen’s heroics had booked the Leeuwinnen a ticket to the big game.

Now, they gotta get past the Big, Bad Wolf.

However long it actually took to get from the conclusion of the Semi-Finals to the Final, it felt like forever. I was inundated by warnings from everyone, from those who had a passing, tabloid like interest in the big game to people with actual emotional investment, that they were gonna get stomped.

Personally, I wasn’t trying to hear that.

I started doing permutations in my head about what needs to go right (or perhaps wrong) for the Netherlands team to vanquish this particular foe. I felt like I was going mad.

I was like Charlie from that meme from It’s Always Sunny with the conspiracy board behind him.

“No, no, no, no, no that won’t work. THAT WON’T WORK!”
“Maybe Jackie has something else for me? What?! What am I even talking about?”
“Lieke? Can she play another 90 minutes? I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Viv? Please?”
“[EXPLETIVE]!”

I felt like I was going insane.

The reigning European Champions were considered such underdogs that it was driving me to my mental extremes trying to do the mental gymnastics that would allow them to somehow leave that game with a win.

Such was the inevitability of the USWNT.

The final itself went by faster than all the moments before it. It felt like the life was being drained from my person as the minutes ticked down.

I don’t remember the goals scored. I simply do not. The nature of the goals themselves was not nearly as important as the fact that they got them, the fact that they always seemed like they would.

Two goals in 10 minutes put the USWNT in the driver’s seat in the final.

Head in hands and short of words of any kind. No yelling, no tantrums just watching. Just watching behind sad eyes as time ticks down and these Leeuwinnen slowly run out of steam.

There are no more trick plays, there are no more levers to pull. There are no more things to do.

Lieke couldn’t finish the 90 minutes and was subbed off late. The game ended 2–0. The Netherlands wonderful tournament was over.

The rollercoaster that Lieke Martens had me on for that tournament was exhilarating, if ultimately bittersweet.

I watched a woman, playing through injury, help lead her team to a World Cup Final.

Where in every moment, after every hit, every sharp turn, one cannot tell if that would be the moment wherein, at least for today, the pain would become unbearable for her to manage.

I watched her, through all that, help bring her nation to the final. Help bring them to within touching distance of glory.

…from qualifying all the way up until the final game.

That story, in and of itself, was worth the price of admission.

I did learn something while I was watching these Leeuwinnen, though. Contrary to my uninformed preconceptions, it’s not merely Lieke Martens’ team.

Regardless of how top-heavy talent is on international football teams generally or in the women’s game, I came to appreciate every part of this team.

They were incredibly well coached and structured and they had play-makers at every single level.

From the goalie, Sari van Veenendaal, who turned out excellent performances when needed, to the defence who remained steady throughout and presented a steady threat from set-pieces.

To the midfield play-makers. Jackie’s heroics have been covered but we also have Jill Roord, Olypique Lyonnais’s own Shanice Van Der Sanden on the wing along with Lieke down the other side.

…And up front there’s Vivianne Miedema.

I simply came to watch Lieke and I got the glorious opportunity to watch Viv.

I’m the guy with the words, so I should be able to explain what it’s like to watch Vivianne in action. I suppose the best way to start explaining is by saying that the feeling is a little hard to fully explain.

You see her, you’re sure she’s right there but you’d bet that she’s not real.

Football is really cool and complicated and complex but ultimately, it’s about getting the ball through the net. Enter Viv.

She is the kind of striker who holds her head, a look of genuine disbelief strewn across her face at the fact that she failed to scored a looping header from about 13 yards out.

She’s the kind of striker to wear smile on her face with a little confusion attached as to why everyone around her is losing their minds at another one of her finishes.

Her movement is immaculate, her technique is unimpeachable and her physical profile is near perfection.

Even in the final, I still maintain that if she had another half-chance at it, she’s putting them to the sword.

She’s constantly aware of what time it is, WHAT TIME IT IS and the distance between herself and goal at any given moment.

Her teammates need to have the ball, she just needs to set it on its way.

The telling touches and technical mastery. The pick, the touch, the finish.

And you know around here we have a soft spot for ballers who don’t mind the black gloves.

It’s a pleasure to watch her work and prior to that point, I had never had the opportunity to.

I was just here to watch Lieke and I was lucky enough to stumble upon Vivianne.

I was tuned into the right station at the right time and I got to hear a couple beautiful songs.

I left that competition with a new-found respect for Sarina Wiegman, a new-found competitive disdain for the USWNT, an appreciation for the performances I got to witness from Lieke Martens and a new favourite artist.

Lieke left that season losing a Champions League and World Cup final within a couple months. Since then, she’s helped her team to complete the first Continental treble in the history of the women’s game, won a handful of league titles, helped make that Barcelona team the most unstoppable force in the game and has, to this point, already had a pretty remarkable career.

Vivianne, on her part, has since the cemented herself as the greatest shooter in the history of the English FA Women’s Super League, the outright top goalscorer in Netherlands international football (men or women), is a singular goal under a goal a game as a professional and is widely regarded as one of the greatest strikers in the modern game.

It’s been a fun couple of years following these women.

Time goes by and the Mundial turns up again.

Before I could even fully get excited to run it back with the Leeuwinnen, I hear Viv hurt her ACL and would be missing the tournament.

I put my head in my hands. Distraught that the best wouldn’t be involved in the showpiece event and even more so that she wasn’t gonna get a chance to put the screws to the USWNT.

They simply can’t keep getting away with it.

I was upset.

That’s where Salma stepped in.

The first time I ever laid eyes on Salma Paralluelo was at the U-20s World Cup.

I don’t know what it was. I still couldn’t fully explain it to you.

Actually, if I was to guess I’d probably start with the brace in the final. Or the Player of the Match semi-final performance.

But even in that semi-final, it was a little strange.

POTM notwithstanding, Inma Gabarro was doing pirouettes and slapping in worldies top bins but I was just fascinated by #11 as she just kept trying to find the far corner.

I suppose its just that something. Just one of those things you can’t control.

You see, age-grade competitions are usually a hotbed for promising young talent.

Just about every one of your favorite players has put in work in the Unders. That being said, not everyone who succeeds at that level makes it at the next, or at senior level for their clubs.

Development is simply not uniform and that’s part of the intrigue at the heart of the sport.

Keeping up with the ones you like, crossing your fingers, hoping, praying that they come good. As you desperately want them to be the ones to take over the world.

For me, stumbling upon Salma that first time was kinda like that feeling when your favorite team is linked with a new player and spend forever just obsessing over their body of work.

Obsessing over the little things about them.

This isn’t like the case with Lieke or Viv.

Lieke was already a Ballon D’or (sorry, I meant The Best FIFA Women’s Player of the Year) winning footballer when I got in.

Viv had already fully downloaded the off-ball movement tech and polished the finishing tech and was already well on her way to becoming the undisputed greatest gunslinger in the FA WSL’s history.

With Salma, it feels like I got here on the ground floor.

It feels exhilarating.

I was born a little too late to witness the birth of Cristiano Ronaldo, a little too late for the genesis of Ricardo Kaká and I was a little too sheltered for Atleti “El nino” Fernando Torres but I’m just in time for Salma Paralluelo.

It’s like Kylian in 2017–18.

I could talk about the numbers, her effectiveness and so on. But while all that is good for information, it doesn’t speak to the romantic, or to the poetic.

For example;

Erling Haaland is fixing to be the most efficient finisher in the history of the game, right? Right.

But that UCL Debut hat-trick? That’s the one that put everyone on notice. That’s the one that made us all realize that he’s special.

He was extremely unpolished. The running technique was all over the place, ball control was unrefined, even his hair was a lot less “He-Man”.

He had a particular set of skills though. He was extremely aggressive, supremely confident and that finishing tech? ¡híjole!

Watching this large teenager lumbering for long stretches and zipping the ball into the back of the net with ease again and again…and again was a transcendent experience.

It didn’t feel like a good achievement for a young man. It felt witnessing The Terminator’s first kill.

The raw emotion on display was also interesting. His willingness to suffix his goals with a guttural scream and absolute limbs draws one further into this experience.

He’s a statistical monster but that right there? That’s the romance. That feeling? *chefs kiss* Beautiful.

For Salma, I think her suite of abilities is unbelievable.

I’ve seen her score free-kicks, Puskás nominated goals, show off her movement, ball-striking tech, touch, on-ball moves, pace…

And, around here, we have a soft spot for left-footed ballers and ballers who don’t mind the black gloves.

But there’s a fair bit of rookie disease as well.

She can find herself snatching at chances sometimes, forcing it onto her dominant foot, getting into (and losing) physical battles she’s not favoured in.

But I think that’s just part of the appeal.

She won’t cheat the game.

She’ll chase after every lose ball, engage in every duel. She’ll fight for every lost cause. She’ll use her physical frame, her long strides and her pace to full advantage. She will give it everything she has until she’s blue in the face.

She isn’t spec-ed into the whole “efficiency of movement” thing. Nah, she’ll run at you, you, you and everything else.

In or out of possession she remains a threat.

Her off-ball abilities are great and her on-ball abilities are even more so.

She’s an athlete.

Like a literal gold medal winning athlete (I’m not making this up), and she still has such great touch and feel.

She has such a propensity for directness while remaining so technically gifted. (go back to the Torres shout)

Her movement means she’s almost always in good position, she’s almost always a viable receiver.

She can slot in anywhere across the frontline.

And she always knows what time it is.

Her reflexes are constantly the sharpest in the room. She’ll constantly be the quickest to loose balls and rebounds.

She’s exhilarating, raw, intriguing and exciting to watch.

The upper limit of her talent and potential is, quite frankly, generational. It’s her effort, however, that’s the reason she’s effective right now.

She checks every stylistic, romantic and poetic box.

But because you like numbers…

She’s won silverware at every real age level of international football; UEFA Women’s Under-17 Championship and FIFA U-17 World Cup in 2018 and FIFA U-20 Women’s World Cup in 2022. This is aside from the Under-19 level where she didn’t stay put for long enough to feature in a major competition.

She made her senior international debut in a friendly against Argentina wherein she scored a hat-trick in about 57 minutes of work.

She’s just about averaged over half a goal a game as a professional.

She’s a weapon, a veritable force of nature and whenever she hits the field you get the feeling that, sooner or later, something’s got to give.

At the start of last season she joined that all-conquering Barcelona team.

She didn’t get nearly as much play as I would’ve liked but I didn’t get too upset.

She was effective when she was called upon. And she grew in wisdom and stature and chemistry with Asisat Oshoala.

Just as the Bible dictates.

She laid her hands on the Primera Division title in Spain, the Supercopa de Espana and the UEFA Women’s Champions League in her first season with the Blaugrana.

All in all, not bad work.

Summertime hits and around this point World Cup Squads are announced. Viv had made decent progress with her injury recovery but soon enough she officially ruled herself out.

Sigh, it is what it is.

Spain, on the other hand, were dealing with some reported turmoil. Something bordering on mutiny and managerial/administrative misgivings. All I know for sure is when the dust settled Salma was on that plane to Australia/New Zealand. My interest was piqued.

I had always felt like regardless of whatever Secrets and Lies or Cloak and Dagger was hanging over the Spain squad, as long as they put out a squad they would have decent shot of winning it all.

A couple things needed to fall into place first though.

First of all, something needs to do happen to the Big Bad Wolf.

And, well, something did.

They were drawn in the same group as the Netherlands team.

Ahead the rematch of the 2019 final against the Netherlands, the Leeuwinnen head coach, Andries Jonker, essentially said that the USWNT was washed and they Netherlands were determined to show them that “the thing about the old days is, they the old days.”

I mean, Rough Translation.

They drew that game 1–1 but these United States did not look as infallible as they usually do. They looked a little shaky, a little lost.

They never seemed to get out of first gear and narrowly left the group stage with only 1 win and 5 total points. The lowest in their competition history.

They eventually lost in a heart breaker vs Sweden on penalties in the round of 16.

It’s properly sad. But to be honest, I’m just sad that Viv couldn’t be the one to do it to them.

That’s the Big, Bad Wolf all out of huffs and puffs.

Another thing that needs to fall into place for La Roja to win it all is, simply you gotta play #18.

Admittedly, she had an uneventful first couple of starts in the competition in games where they hardly needed her production.

I remained patient.

It wasn’t until the Quarter-Finals against that Netherlands team that her latest act began.

She was brought on in the 71st minute and in about 10 minutes of work, she’d already won her side a penalty.

Following that goal, they were pegged back again in stoppage time and the Leewinnen forced Extra-Time.

After 110 minutes of football, Salma receives the ball on the wing, eats up yards in an instant, attacks the defender before her, sends her to the shops, and buries a beauty from her left foot off the right-hand post and in.

Her first ever World Cup goal shoots her team into the Semi-Finals.

Everything about that goal speaks to the sort of things she’s capable of.

The patience, the intelligent movement, the on-ball confidence, mastery of the angles and, simply how to strike a football like a pro.

She whipped out the whole gamut, her whole suite of special moves in the biggest moment of her career thus far.

WE HAVE ARRIVED.

The semi-final starts and her starting spot is still kept from her.

It’s becoming painfully clear that Spain is sorely lacking in directness or any kind of direction. Their possession is great but the Swedes begin to turn them over and their lack of an outlet starts becoming an issue.

Sure enough, at the 57th minute, off goes Ballon D’or winning marquee creator Alexia Putellas, and on comes Salma Paralluelo.

She’s playing down the middle, up front. So, here’s where we see the full rollercoaster experience.

She’s using her pace and control to keep the ball higher up the pitch, run at defenders and keep the pressure off her teammates while being a capable aerial threat. On the other hand, she’s just as often getting into losing battles, snatching at opportunities and forcing them onto her stronger left foot with a stacked box in front of her.

But it’s different, you can tell that Spain isn’t playing scared anymore.

One way or the other, you get the feeling that when she’s on the field something’s got to give.

Soon enough she created a big chance solely off of her superior reflexes that was missed point blank.

She’d have another chance to affect the proceedings, though.

In the 81st minute, with the football loose in the box, she jumps on it, swings her right boot at it, it nestles into the far corner and she becomes the second youngest player to ever score in a FIFA Women’s World Cup Semi-Final Match.

WE. HAVE. ARRIVED.

Although the Swedes scored with only a handful of minutes left to play, Olga Carmona, on the stroke of 90 scored one of those goals that remind you why someone has the green light to shoot from range.

2–1, Spain is headed to the final.

By then they had no idea who they’d be up against but by now, they know it’s gonna be the England team.

That team is coached by Sarina Wiegman, the former coach of the 2019 World Cup Finalist Netherlands team. She is quite possibly the best coach in the competition and very possibly the best coach in all of women’s international football.

The rest of the squad is only something of a super-team.

Between the sticks there’s Mary Earps, who is quite possibly the best goalkeeper in the entirety of the women’s game. She has a little trophy to prove it, after all.

At the back they line up with the likes of Millie Bright who is absolute handful to deal with both on offense and defensively from set-pieces.

Rachel Daly, Lucy Bronze and Lauren James (back from her anger management retreat) are the kinds of dynamic play-makers they have suiting up in the middle.

Up front they’ve got Lauren Hemp who might deserve a dark-horse shout for player of the tournament.

Alongside her is #23, Alessia Russo. The diamond of the offense.

One of the very best attackers in the world, Viv Miedema’s new partner in crime (because the only real truth is that the rich must get richer) and the one who might very well be leaving Australia with a player of the tournament trophy under her arm.

In the end, it all falls to the feet of #23.

It’s just world-beaters. At every single level.

And, oh yeah, and let’s not forget Chloe Kelly and Beth England coming off the bench.

Coming into it, the reigning European Champions were probably the team to beat and they’ve merely gone from strength to strength in the competition.

It’s a tall order that stands before La Roja on Sunday.

But they have a bunch of technically sound players who never want for belief in their own abilities.

They have a stubborn, dogged coach capable of bending affairs to his will, a fair few world-beaters of their own and a generational talent who’s just waiting for another opportunity to make something special happen.

Crazier things have happened.

[PS: Salma, if you give me some joy this Sunday, I will be insufferable to everyone around me]

It would seem like we’re probably in for something special on Sunday. Regardless of how that goes though, you should all know a few things…

It’s not “Parullo”, it’s not “Parallo”, It’s Salma Celeste Paralluelo.

GET IT RIGHT.

She isn’t a “starlet” or a “super-sub”, she’s a super star.

I don’t say that because I live so close to the sky that I may reach out read the inscriptions off of the heavenly bodies.

I say it because…maybe my eyesight’s just a little better.

You were fortunate enough to read this article. Thus, sheer serendipity has allowed you afforded you the opportunity to discover some sweet, sweet music.