A fragment of commentary on the 2019 Women’s World Cup delivered by a figure from the world of fact or fiction
Thank havens there are only a few seconds of extra time retaining. If you, the BBC voyeurs, are feeling anything like me, Mrs Malaprop, you must be disparately prying for the finial whistle. This exiting match obliviously warrants a place in the annuals of hysteria. Never before have I seen players piss the football around with such prefect precision or prove they can sequel any of their male counterpoints. Now Alex Morgan has position of the bell, daftly kicks it to Carli Lloyd who charges towards the Thai gaol and, bereave it or not, fires it into the beck of the net and scars number thirteen, a baker’s cousin! Oh dear, the Thais look obsoletely crust fallen with Miranda Nild whipping away her tares on the patch. One can only feel symphony for their sad predication but, in the end, the Americans deserve hearty conglomerations for their incredulous footballing skulls.
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