The women play a game tethered to truth, to what actually happens
En los campos de Suiza, el fútbol femenino ofrece hoy un espejo incómodo para el juego masculino: mientras las mujeres compiten con una fidelidad casi arcaica a lo que ocurre realmente sobre el césped, los hombres han perfeccionado el arte de la simulación hasta convertirlo en un lenguaje propio. La brecha no es solo técnica ni táctica, sino filosófica —una divergencia sobre qué significa jugar, y para quién se juega.
- La final del Mundial de Clubes en Nueva Jersey se convirtió en un escaparate de todo lo que enferma al fútbol masculino: teatralidad, malos modales y una puesta en escena política que eclipsó al deporte.
- Los jugadores masculinos han desarrollado una gramática del engaño —caídas calculadas, gestos de dolor fingido— que sus rivales replican por pura supervivencia competitiva, arrastrando el juego hacia una carrera de deshonestidad.
- En contraste, el Europeo femenino llena estadios suizos con un fútbol anclado en lo real: menos teatro, más juego, una autenticidad que el espectador reconoce aunque no siempre sepa nombrarla.
- Sin embargo, aparece una señal de alerta: algunas jugadoras, incluso Alexia Putellas, empiezan a imitar los rituales teatrales masculinos en el lanzamiento de penaltis, importando el peor hábito del juego que pretenden superar.
- Lucy Bronze, en cambio, ejecutó su penalti decisivo con la determinación directa de quien juega para marcar, no para actuar —un gesto pequeño que resume la encrucijada entre autenticidad y performance en la que se encuentra el fútbol femenino.
Sigmund Freud tiene poco crédito hoy en los departamentos de psicología, pero la idea de que «la mente está en guerra consigo misma» resulta sorprendentemente útil para entender la fractura entre el fútbol masculino y el femenino. El contraste, en este verano de 2025, es tan nítido que resulta difícil mirar hacia otro lado.
El reciente Mundial de Clubes en Estados Unidos ofreció un retrato fiel del estado del juego masculino. Real Madrid llegó proclamando que aquel era el título más importante de la década y se marchó humillado. La final en Nueva Jersey fue otra cosa: Gianni Infantino y Donald Trump compartiendo palco, Chelsea celebrando una victoria que el propio Trump se adjudicó como propia, y sobre el campo, una exhibición de simulaciones, codazos y caídas estudiadas. Los hombres han aprendido a interpretar la lesión como se interpreta a Hamlet, y sus rivales han aprendido la misma lección. El resultado es una espiral de desautenticidad.
Mientras tanto, en Suiza, el Europeo femenino transcurre ante estadios llenos con algo que el fútbol masculino ha ido abandonando: la verdad del juego. Las mujeres compiten en un terreno donde lo que ocurre importa más que lo que se aparenta. Hay menos teatro, menos colapsos calculados, una relación más honesta con el resultado de cada acción.
Pero hay una grieta. El penalti —ese momento de máxima presión y máxima visibilidad— empieza a infectarse. Incluso Alexia Putellas ha adoptado los saltitos y los juegos psicológicos que definen la ejecución masculina. La excepción fue Lucy Bronze: en la semifinal, se acercó al punto de penalti y lo lanzó como lo habría hecho Johan Neeskens, con propósito y sin adornos. Lo metió. Ahí reside el verdadero conflicto interno del fútbol femenino: no en teorías freudianas obsoletas, sino en la elección entre jugar al fútbol y representarlo.
Sigmund Freud may be gathering dust in university psychology departments these days, but the father of psychoanalysis might have something useful to say about the widening gap between men's and women's football. The comparison is instructive, and fortunate for anyone who actually wants to watch the game.
Psychology professor Paul Bloom from the University of Toronto has argued in his recent book that some of Freud's core ideas—particularly the notion that "the mind is at war with itself"—still hold water. Most of Freud's other theories, Bloom acknowledges, are simply nonsense. The field has moved on. And for lovers of football, it's a relief that his ideas about female psychology have been thoroughly discredited and abandoned.
The contrast between men's and women's football right now makes the point vividly. Take the recent Club World Cup in the United States, a tournament that felt more like theater than sport. Real Madrid, having endured a disastrous season, arrived claiming this was the most important title of the decade. They left humiliated, their participation barely qualifying as a training session. The final in New Jersey became a masterclass in everything wrong with the modern men's game: FIFA chief Gianni Infantino presiding alongside Donald Trump, who celebrated Chelsea's victory as though he'd won it himself. The whole affair reeked of bad manners and worse football. Players threw themselves to the ground at the slightest contact. Cucurella nearly lost his hair to an opponent's hands. Every header attempt became an excuse to flail at opponents' heads. The men have learned to perform injury the way actors perform Hamlet, and their rivals have responded by learning the same tricks—a race to the bottom of authenticity.
Meanwhile, in Switzerland, the women's European Championship is unfolding in packed stadiums with something the men's game has largely abandoned: genuine football. Whether you prefer this style or not is a matter of taste, but the difference is unmistakable. The women play a game tethered to truth, to what actually happens on the pitch, rather than to suspicion and deception. There's less diving, less theater, less of the calculated collapse that has become routine in men's football.
There is, however, one troubling sign. The women are beginning to adopt one particularly bad habit from the men: the penalty kick. Even Alexia Putellas, one of the tournament's best players, has started imitating the theatrical nonsense that defines men's penalty execution—the little hops, the dance steps, the psychological games. But then there's Lucy Bronze, the English defender. Perhaps shaped by her years playing in Barcelona, she stepped up to take a crucial penalty in the semifinal and executed it the way Johan Neeskels would have: with purpose, with directness, with the intention to score rather than to perform. She buried it. That's where the real internal conflict lies—not in Freud's outdated theories, but in the choice between authenticity and theater, between playing football and playing at football.
Citas Notables
The mind is at war with itself— Paul Bloom, citing Freud's enduring psychological insight
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does the article keep returning to Freud? He seems almost incidental to the main point.
He's the hook, really. The writer is saying that Freud believed the mind is at war with itself—and that's exactly what's happening in men's football. The theatrics, the diving, the performance of injury. It's a mind divided between playing the game and manipulating it.
But women's football isn't immune to this, is it? The article mentions Putellas doing the same penalty dance.
Exactly. That's the warning. The women's game has stayed cleaner so far, more honest. But they're starting to catch the infection. It's not inevitable, though—Bronze shows there's still a choice.
The Club World Cup section feels almost angry. Is that fair?
It should feel angry. A tournament that was supposed to be about football became a circus. Trump celebrating like he'd won, Infantino presiding, Real Madrid humiliated. The writer is saying: this is what happens when the game stops mattering more than the spectacle.
What's the actual argument here? That women's football is better?
Not exactly. It's that women's football is still tethered to the game itself, while men's football has become something else entirely. The women haven't yet learned to weaponize every contact, every fall, every moment. But they're learning.
So the future is bleak?
Not necessarily. The article ends with Lucy Bronze taking a penalty the right way—with intention, not performance. That's a choice. The question is whether enough players will keep making it.