Vol. 1, No. 3: Slobberknockers & Buttonhooks photo

Coming in ClutchDivyasri Krishnan

transcript of salvaged coverage of the FIFA Women’s World Cup Final

They call her the Pocket Rocket, the Nutmeg Queen. Look at how she flies! Exploding into the space, making mincemeat out of the Matildas. She’s hungry for the ball, John. You bet she is. Keeps her head up, makes the pass to Rapinoe. They call her Leggy Jane, Booty Judy. Do they? I can see why. What glutes. Look how she gets her foot under the ball, cross-field pass to Press. Sexy, just sexy. Who says women’s soccer is boring, eh, gents? That’s right. Keep your eye on how she plays with those defenders, my God. Here’s to hoping she doesn’t bat for the other team. Right on, John. Seems like the whole team’s lesbian at this point. You think there’s something in the water? Don’t care, Rick, I just like watching them. Ooh, bad connection, and the ball’s changed possession. She came too far out of position there, scrambling to get back, look at those legs pump. Pity she barely breaks 5’2. And Sauerkraut makes the tackle, and it’s good! Sauerkraut? Sauerbrunn. Oh, yes. Close enough. I hear she’s pushing forty. You think she might retire? Well, it’d be smart— End it while you’re on top, you mean? Can’t play good soccer when you’re going through menopause. And our young star’s back on top, receiving a truly excellent punt from A.D Franch—was she offsides there? I think so, but no whistle. That’s quite a lot of ground she’s got to cover, only thirty seconds left of extra time, folks. You think she can make it? I respect the effort, but even Kante couldn’t make that. Curves don’t translate into speed, I’m afraid... my God. John. John, are you seeing this? She’s eating up that field, really eating it up, Jesus, are her legs growing? They are, they’ve gotta be four, no, six feet alone now. Like tentacles, oh my god, you getting this? Zoom in! No, out now, a little bit, more—she’s filling up the frame? Folks, she’s touching either side of the field now, she’s raking her fingers through the stands, the ball’s gone, she’s tearing up the turf, she’s going past the goal— Rick? Rick, get back, she’s headed for us... My God, it’s coming right at us, it’s not stopping, somebody stop it, somebody—!