Women In Sport: Why the Swiss Women’s 7–1 Defeat Isn’t the Disaster Social Media Thinks It Is

In recent days, headlines and comment sections alike have been ablaze with news that the Swiss Women’s National Football Team were beaten 7–1 in a behind-closed-doors friendly. The match, which only came to public attention after leaked highlights surfaced on TikTok, has sparked a wave of online mockery and vitriol — much of it dripping with thinly veiled misogyny. You’d think, from the tone of some reports, that women’s football had just collapsed entirely, and that chauvinism was now doing door-to-door rounds at dawn, belting out “Misogynistic Days Are Here Again”.

The context? Switzerland’s senior women’s side faced a boys’ under-15 team from FC Lucerne — a club based in the same country. The scoreline was indeed heavy. A national team of professional athletes lost convincingly to teenagers. Cue the inevitable chorus of comments: “Back to the kitchen,” “So much for equality,” and the ever-predictable “It’s a man’s world” — usually from people who’ve clearly missed the second half of what James Brown actually said.

But let’s step back for a moment and look at this properly. What really happened here — and why do women’s national teams continue to play against boys’ sides?

The match itself ended 7–1. Midfielder Leila Wandeler was quick to say afterwards, “The result didn’t matter.” And in truth, she’s right. In professional sport, a friendly’s purpose isn’t glory — it’s growth. Friendlies are essentially high-intensity training sessions: the coach experiments with formations, tactics, and players. To take such risks during competitive fixtures would be managerial suicide.

Now, if that much thought goes into how you play, equal thought must go into who you play. Clubs often announce off-season friendlies against teams of varying levels. Insiders know that a game versus much weaker opposition usually features academy players or first-team members returning from injury. But for national sides, the situation is trickier. Players only gather for a few weeks each year, so every minute counts. Coaches must instil a tactical identity — often different from players’ club systems — in a fraction of the time. And since international fixtures rarely mix new opponents due to tournament formats, variety must be found elsewhere. Enter: the boys’ teams.

Why not play against professional men? Because nobody would learn anything. The physical gap would be so vast it would render the exercise meaningless. The U-15s, on the other hand, represent a sweet spot — skilful, physically developing players on the cusp of elite academy football. Many will soon be training with senior squads, having already spent years perfecting the same systems used by their professional clubs.

And yes, those matches often end with the women losing heavily. But it’s important to remember that these teenage boys are not small. Many are already taller, faster, and stronger, and some are older than the “U-15” label suggests. Yet the women don’t always lose — they just don’t make the news when they win. Victories are ignored because, apparently, they don’t fit the narrative.

So why do it at all? Think of it like training with ankle weights. The Romans once used heavy wooden swords so that real combat felt lighter and faster. The same principle applies here: test yourself against stronger opposition to sharpen skill, speed, and resilience. These boys have no interest in being beaten by women — which adds an edge that pushes both sides harder. The scoreline is incidental.

Still, there’s a fine line. If every session ends in a drubbing, learning can turn to demoralisation. Coaches must walk that tightrope carefully, pushing players just beyond their limits without breaking their spirit — especially once the press gets wind of the result.

Thankfully, that’s not our job to solve. But for the players, one hopes Wandeler’s words ring true: “The result didn’t matter.”

And then there’s another layer — one that says a lot about how women’s sport is still reported. Every outlet that ran this story fixated on one name: Alisha Lehmann. A forward for Switzerland and Juventus, she also happens to be the most-followed female footballer on Instagram. She’s talented, successful, and, yes, photogenic. None of that should be a problem — until you read the headlines: “World’s Sexiest Footballer Loses 7–1.”

Lehmann isn’t even the team captain. Yet she was plastered across every story, reduced to a click-bait caricature simply because she’s conventionally attractive. Apparently, it’s not enough to ridicule women’s sport — one must also objectify its players while doing so. “Lads, fancy a laugh? Check out the scoreline — and her.”

It’s tired. It’s lazy. And it says far more about the state of sports journalism than it ever could about women’s football.