Linda’s sexcolumn – (Not) only balls on my mind

Shorts, ripped calves, sweaty bodies – who can blame me for not caring much about offside, fouls and penalties!

Girls and soccer – an absolute catastrophe! Feminists would probably lynch me for this statement, so let me relativize: me, my girlfriends and soccer – an absolute catastrophe! Actually I don’t care two figs about ball sports, but during EC and WC I turn into an outright fanatic, all because of my favorite team, France, which clearly isn’t what it used to be anymore, but a true fan always backs his team. My schoolroom French might be even more pathetic than the performance of the Grande Nation at the last WC, but in order to follow a match and yell at the opponents, some basic expressions like “Merde!”, “Nique ta mère!”, “Putain!” and “Ta gueule!” will do just fine. Good thing I am able to say those in my sleep.

I watched the game France vs. England with a friend and a big plate of sushi from Nooch, which wasn’t exactly a masterstroke since with every “Putain!” there was half a piece of sushi flying out of my mouth towards the TV. But that’s the way it is when you’re doing something with heart and soul – which couldn’t be said of my friend. “He’s ugly!” she commented on every close-up of one of the players. I tried to get it through her head that in the game of soccer, looks were the last thing to count, otherwise the French might as well give up from the start. But when a SPILF (Soccer Player I’d Like to Fuck) entered the field, I could no longer follow the course of the game either. It hurt a little, drooling over an opponent, but after almost ninety minutes of Ribéry & co., Jordan Henderson was a real sight for sore eyes.

I didn’t completely forget about Les Bleus though. “If he scores, I will personally trash him!” “Yeah, right! YOU would do something completely different to him!” my friend replied. She was totally right, of course. The main thing is that he wouldn’t be able to walk afterwards and therefore couldn’t cause any more damage to my Equipe Tricolore. Fortunately (?) I didn’t have to hunt him down after all; the score remained an unexciting tie. Instead of being engrossed in the game during it’s last minutes, we googled the members of the playing teams. But then we decided that, apart from my new favorite Henderson, the ref was the most attractive on the field and wondered whether it was okay for supporters of the French team to hope that England and consequently Jordan Henderson would make it to the next round. Luckily there are always two teams from each group that can do so.

While I was still dreaming about a life as a WAG, my friend brought me back to earth rather ruggedly: “The whole Dutch national team has a strict sex-ban for the whole of the EC!” Poor Sylvie! And so long Jordan, if the ban applies to the English as well! There should be certain boundaries between a job and private life. But soccer is more and more being linked with sex. Not only because of the past sex-scandals involving – ahem – French star-player Ribéry, but off the pitch much revolves around sex. I was flabbergasted when I recognized my picture on a website called “Football Babes” or “Soccer Girls” or something similar.

I need to explain quickly: During the last EC four years ago I had the privilege to experience the match France vs. Romania live at Letzigrund Stadium. As it so often happens in life, I was discovered by the photographers whereupon a frenzy of flashing cameras broke out. So I screamed at the top of my voice for about an hour, laughed, trembled, yelled, and whatever else fans do when viewing a game, always in front of the ceaselessly clicking cameras. After that day I was shown on national TV; images of me were printed in the 20Minutes and other rags, and they even used my picture in Italy and Belgium. And that was it; at least so I thought.

But apparently some pervert dug up my pictures from somewhere and uploaded them on his site. There I am now, sweet little eighteen, with blue-white-red colored cheeks, blowing innocent kisses at the photographers amid silicon-pumped soccer bunnies. There’s not much I can do about it because the FIFA holds the rights to the pictures. We can only hope that Jordan Henderson soon decides to search the web for a new WAG. And that he ignores the silicon jugs and chooses the cute pseudo-French girl.

Last week's sexcolumn: Mr. Tiny

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