I branded myself on being the token fat girl. Yeah, I would still get nasty looks no matter what I ate — but fuck it, I was having fun. I had friends, and, in my opinion (which I later questioned) “stylish” clothing. Sure, I wasn’t skinny, but that didn’t matter. Grandma didn’t treat me any different, and that’s all that mattered.

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For the casual viewer, watching grown men kick a ball into a net and earn millions of dollars is just another game. But for the die-hard fan, it’s life. And to be held in soccer purgatory until further notice is mindnumbing torture, solitary confinement — an isolation that might be the bitter pill to swallow that will get the soccer world out of this pandemic.

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