England’s women just won another European Championship.
That’s two in a row now, in case anyone’s still keeping score. This time they did it the hard way: extra time, penalties, injuries, and, of course, a rematch with Spain for added drama. The final in Basel was sold out and watched by millions.
A first major senior tournament win on foreign soil for any England side.
Naturally, the country will be talking about this for… well, probably about a week. Then we’ll go back to pretending the women’s game is a novelty. Unless, of course, someone hits a record.
It’s time for a Netflix documentary on the Lionesses. Not just because it would make great viewing (it would), but because that’s how sport cements its cultural footprint these days.
And frankly, if the sport won’t pay these players properly for what they’ve achieved, the least it can do is give them the same platform it gave Formula 1 drivers, Championship footballers and David Beckham’s golden retriever.
The Netflix effect is real — just ask Formula 1
There’s no need to speculate about whether a documentary would work. The evidence is already there.
Drive to Survive turned F1 into a cultural obsession among people who’d never watched a race. Sunderland ‘Til I Die brought global attention to a League One football club. Beckham reminded the nation why they once cared about sarongs and metatarsals. These series work because they’re built around people, not just performance.
“What used to be limited to stadiums or Sky Sports is now available on-demand, with all the emotional storytelling that makes content bingeable. For British fans, this has opened the door to sports they might’ve previously ignored, like F1 or the NFL. It’s no longer just about skill or national pride; it’s about character arcs, rivalries, and redemption stories,” says Sports Analyst, Joerg Nottebaum from McLuck.
And the Lionesses? They’ve got the stories, the stakes, the squad rotations, the backlash, the redemptions, the social media abuse, the injuries, the celebrations, and the penalty shootouts. The only thing missing is the camera crew.
But more to the point: the audience is already here. England’s semi-final win over Italy pulled in more than 10 million viewers on ITV. The Lionesses’ group stage match against Wales doubled the viewership of the men’s Club World Cup final, despite airing at the same time.
So let’s drop the “niche sport” argument once and for all.
Commercial growth is no longer a reason to wait
EURO 2025 brought in $149.3m (€128m) in revenue, ten times more than 2017. Sponsorships nearly tripled. Ticket sales broke records. Most matches sold out. Major brands like Visa, PepsiCo and Amazon joined because the numbers add up, not because of charity.
The data tells us the audience is showing up, advertisers are signing cheques, and media rights are climbing – yet the players are still expected to accept a fraction of what the men earn, all while being politely reminded how much progress has been made.
For winning the tournament in 2022, England received just over $2.33m (€2m), but the Euro 2025 champions take home up to $5.95 (€5.1m), when performance bonuses are added on top of a base participation fee of $2.1m (€1.8m) awarded to all teams at the tournament.
The total prize money on offer at the men’s Euro 2024 was $386.14m (€331m), with the champions Spain winning a maximum of $32.95m (€28.25m). The participation prize money for all 24 teams at the men’s Euros was $10.79m (€9.25m). The math doesn’t lie – it’s still not close.
And this is before we get into the reality that some Lionesses are still wearing ill-fitting boots because most retailers don’t stock women’s football footwear. Not as part of a sob story, just because the basic supply chain hasn’t caught up with the demand.
Imagine Harry Kane turning up to the Euros in boots a size too big and being told to “just get on with it.”
Sport thrives on legacy. That doesn’t happen by accident
A Netflix documentary would keep the momentum going in a space where women’s sport has traditionally been allowed to peak and fade. The men get nostalgia, documentaries, endless replays of 1966.
The women get a trophy and a news cycle, and then silence. Until the next tournament.
This is where the frustration lies. The players have done their part. They’ve won. Twice.
They’ve packed out stadiums, delivered record-breaking TV audiences, and attracted major commercial partners. Their success has fuelled digital engagement numbers most media platforms would envy. So why, in 2025, are we still stuck having pay gap conversations that belong in a decade-old briefing note?
Why are we still hearing the same tired excuse about “market value” and “interest levels” when the numbers (finally) are speaking loud and clear?
A documentary alone won’t solve that. But it helps. It builds emotional connection, commercial awareness, and lasting fandom. It shows young girls the route, shows the nation the reality, and shows sponsors what the sport is really worth.
And it keeps the pressure on governing bodies, broadcasters and brands to pay attention, and to pay up.
The story’s there. Someone just needs to tell it properly
The Lionesses are not a marketing opportunity waiting to happen.
They’re a proven product that the industry is still reluctant to invest in properly. That has to change; not gradually, not “in due course,” but now.
Because if the last few weeks have proven anything, it’s that the audience is here. The appetite is here. The numbers are here. And the legacy is ready to be written, assuming someone finally has the sense to fund it.
Let’s just hope the boots fit by then.
