It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon in Basel, Switzerland. The streets are eerily still, everything pristine—chocolatiers, linen shops, and pasta-beer cafés neatly arranged in rows. On the surface, there’s no sign that tomorrow is the Women’s Euros 2025 final, where England will face Spain, arguably the world’s best team—or at least the bookies’ clear favorite (though, crucially, they’re not England). Maybe the tension simmers beneath the surface, in the tight smiles of passing fans.
Right now, the Lionesses are likely taking gentle walks, sipping coffee, or holding a quick pre-game meeting, former player Jill Scott tells me over Heinekens at a local hotel. At this stage, preparation is over—it’s too late for that. But she has no doubt they’ll be ready. Even during the tense semifinal against Italy, when hope seemed lost, she never doubted they’d pull through.
“I never believed they were going home—it was weird,” she says. “With one minute left, I turned to Beth Mead’s dad and said, ‘They’ll get one chance.’ As I spoke, Hemp crossed the ball and Michelle scored. Brilliant finish.” If—no, when—they win tomorrow (Jill’s certain of it), she says it’ll be an even greater achievement than their 2022 victory. The competition is fiercer now, the pressure higher.
By Sunday, Basel buzzes with energy as British fans flood in—men, women, kids, countless queer couples—faces painted, flags waving, kits proudly worn. But the Spanish supporters radiate confidence. Maybe it’s because our hotel is near their fan zone, or because they beat England in the 2023 World Cup final, but even the way they casually tuck their flag into a back pocket seems to say, Nice try, but we’ve got this.
Then I remember Jill’s unwavering belief—shared with me and others—that the Lionesses will win. And if anyone knows, it’s her, a former player from the last winning squad. That thought lingers as we head to the stadium, take our seats, and grip our makeshift Heineken cup-cans, eyes wide with anticipation.
The road here hasn’t been easy. England’s progress has been fueled by grit, determination, and sometimes last-minute luck. Players have endured racist abuse—leading defender Jess Carter to step back from social media—and relentless misogyny. A quick scroll through TikTok comments reveals men with England flags in their profiles seething over the Lionesses’ success. During Heineken’s Social Swap experiment, where Jill and Gary Neville traded accounts to live-tweet a Champions League match, Gary received replies like, “Get back in the kitchen, babe,” and “Best leave the football to the boys, luv.”
“It highlighted the sexism still in the sport,” Jill says, though she tries not to dwell on it. There are matches to win, trophies to lift, and the women’s game is growing fast. “Is there still work to be done? 100%.”
For now, though, all focus is on the final. At kickoff, every eye in the stadium is locked on the ball. When Spain’s Mariona Caldentey scores with a powerful header in the 25th minute, Jill, sitting two seats away, stays perfectly still.
“This means England are going to win,” someone murmurs.Behind me, the crowd roars with a meaning I instinctively understand. That’s England for you—they give and they take away, and no team should let their guard down this early. Spain, on the other hand, moves with an eerie speed. Their players zip past, never seeming to tire, and watching them up close, their movements almost seem superhuman—the way their legs twist and turn.
But England has surprised everyone with how well they’re playing. Hannah Hampton dives across the net, and our players are clever, even solid in defense at times. When Alessia Russo scores the equalizer in the second half, the energy in the stadium shifts, and Jill’s words echo in my mind: when we win.
The penalty shootout is nerve-wracking—it must have been agonizing for those watching at home—and I’m gripping my own hair like I might actually vanish into the ground if they lose. But when Hampton saves Aitana Bonmatí’s penalty—arguably the best female footballer in the world, with near-perfect precision—it suddenly feels possible: we might just win the Euros twice in a row.
Then Chloe Kelly steps up, and among the British fans, there’s a quiet confidence. We’ve seen this before—that purposeful walk to the spot, the little hop, the faint smirk. She scores, just as we knew she would, and the crowd erupts. Sweet Caroline blares from the speakers, the podium rolls out, fireworks light up the sky. It all feels surreal. Wait… did we really just do that? I ask no one in particular. Wait… what?!
Photo: Getty Images
It’s a cliché to say everyone’s a winner—especially when it’s not true (we won!). But in women’s football, a sport banned for decades until 1971, there’s something bigger to celebrate beyond the trophy. Spain could have easily taken it. Later, on a packed tram through Basel, my face smeared with face paint, I hear that this tournament broke records—the best-attended Women’s Euros ever, unprecedented global interest, and over 400 million viewers even before the final.
“I played for England for 16 years and feel lucky to have seen women’s football grow,” Jill told me the day before. “It makes me smile every time… We should pause and reflect more. The change in the last 20 years is night and day.”