I thought ‘real’ men didn’t watch women’s football – how wrong I was

I wasn’t going to watch it. But after witnessing the Lionesses triumph against Australia, I now can’t wait for Sunday’s final. I’m a convert. What took me so long?

After some gentle feminine pressure, I did the right thing and put my full support behind our brave Lionesses and watched the historic World Cup clash against hosts Australia.

I’m glad I did, and mended my old attitudes. I shouldn’t have needed to be told. It was a superb 90 minutes, and, for the chauvinists amongst us, further proof (were it needed), that the women’s game – and indeed this particular team – is more than a match for the men’s.

Unlike the boys, they did not disappoint and were full of skill, audacity and – most importantly – heart.

It was best displayed after Australia’s Sam Kerr equalised with a fine strike from 30 yards out. As the cliche has it, goals change games and for a while the home side were suitably emboldened – but the Lionesses recovered their composure and retained their lead after about 10 minutes. The Matildas fouled up, but there was nothing inevitable about Lauren Hemp’s finish. It was a masterclass in recovery.

The Lionesses didn’t quit when they slipped behind, and they showed that indefinable quality of a real will to win, a certain confidence and a resilience less often glimpsed among their male counterparts.

The women’s team seemed better organised than the England men’s team usually do. Folk who know much more about it than me can perhaps discern and isolate the “Lioness factor”. They might also explain why the women’s team is much less diverse than the men’s – something that always needs addressing, wherever we find it.

In any case, it was a historic moment in England’s sporting story and I’m pleased that I witnessed it, albeit on telly.

For some reason – it is illogical – I have to say I’d paid little attention to the women’s game, even after their stunning victory in the Euros last year. Innate sexism, perhaps.

For my part, I feel I have taken a first step on a journey of residual sexist redemption, and one that I hope will result in full salvation. For too long, I – and too many others – have been missing out on what turns out to be the better half of the English game.

My loss, it would seem. For what it’s worth, I would like to take this opportunity to apologise to Hemp, Sarina Wiegman, Alex Greenwood, Ella Toone, Alessia Russo, Mary Earps and all the other heroes – before long, one hopes, all will be duly honoured by the King on behalf of the nation with damehoods all round.

Equal pay, compared to the men’s team, is probably too much to hope for. But lavish rewards and recognition are the least the country can do if they do indeed end 57 “years of hurt” (as the song goes) when the Lionesses beat Spain on Sunday. It’s going to be quite the day, a real national moment. The Prince of Wales had better get himself down-under – fast – to honour the achievement.

So I can’t wait for Sunday, and I will shortly buy my first ticket for a women’s match – Leicester against Everton in a couple of weeks. I’m a convert. What took me so long?