But as we celebrate this side’s footballing brilliance, there’s a deeper, more unsettling reality simmering beneath the surface. One we can’t keep ignoring: England still has a problem when it comes to Black players.

Cast your mind back to 2021. The men’s team reaches the Euros final at Wembley – a young, vibrant squad brimming with promise, pushing Italy to the edge. Then, in a flash, the mood turns toxic. Following missed penalties, Bukayo Saka, Jadon Sancho, and Marcus Rashford are racially abused en masse. What should’ve been a moment of collective pride became another reminder of who bears the brunt when the dream collapses.

Now, as the Lionesses charge towards history, the signs are repeating.

Jess Carter, a senior figure in the squad, has been forced off social media after receiving racial abuse. Michelle Agyemang, a teenage revelation who’s dragged England through knockout rounds with back-to-back match-saving goals, has barely received her flowers. No front pages. No major plaudits. No player of the match awards. Not even a mention in a congratulatory message from the Royal Family – a glaring omission that speaks volumes.

Lauren James, England’s most exciting talent, continues to dazzle. But whenever something goes wrong – a missed penalty, a quiet performance – there’s a creeping sense that the backlash is never far behind. It’s a tightrope only Black players seem to walk. One stumble, and the love turns cold.

What we’re witnessing – again – is the exhausting cycle of being a Black player in an England shirt. You break through and shine, like Michelle. You stumble, even slightly, and the spotlight turns harsh, like Lauren. Then you face abuse, like Jess.

None of this is surprising anymore. In fact, it’s painfully familiar. As Michelle continues to rise, former players, pundits, and fans have already started calling for her protection. Because we know what could come. When Lauren’s name trends after a mistake, we’re not just talking football — we’re bracing for 2021 all over again.

Women’s football in England is often painted as a progressive utopia. But in many ways, the inequalities in the game are magnified here. Just look at the glaring lack of Black players at senior level. Remember how Eni Aluko and Lianne Sanderson were treated when they dared to speak out about racism. Recall the abuse Khadija Shaw and Taylor Hinds faced last season — and how little institutional support followed.

This isn’t just about football. It’s about society. Black women are routinely placed at the intersection of scrutiny and neglect — celebrated when convenient, discarded when not.

At some point, we have to ask: why is this still happening? Why does representing your country as a Black player come with the looming threat of abuse? Why must your very presence be political?

The game is whitewashed. That’s not new. What’s worse is how Black excellence — when it shows up — is so often ignored, diminished, or punished. We are far beyond the days of symbolic gestures and empty campaigns. The kneeling is over. The racism isn’t.

And if you thought it was bad in the men’s game, it’s even more insidious here.

Real change is overdue. For Jess. For Lauren. For Michelle. For every young Black girl watching these women, daring to dream, but quietly fearing the moment that dream might be turned against them.

Black women in football deserve better.

@MayowaQuadri_