And dominate they did. Re-energised and ready, Weir was leading from the front.
Two assists were provided in the first half, when she had a few sniffs of her own at goal, but it was after the break when the midfielder truly started banging on the door for a goal.
Andreatta’s side had, deservedly, fought back twice to level the game at 2-2 at half-time, but Euro 2025 hosts and quarter-finalists Switzerland, restored their lead swiftly into the second half.
Weir, along with numerous team-mates, had the opportunity to haul them back level again. No-one was more desperate than her to do so.
With each skied, skewed or saved shot, the midfielder appeared to grow in angst. Those in the stands certainly did.
Until, at two goals down and just under 15 minutes left, she slotted home. Dream, achieved. Or not.
Referee Abi Byrne was booed as she denied Weir, and Dunfermline, of their fairy tale moment for a handball in the build-up – the Scotland star said post-match she thought it was “unlucky” but was told “that’s the rule”.
It seemed an unspoken one that Weir was sure to have her moment, though. And in added time, it came.
A perfect pick-out from Martha Thomas presented Weir with the picture she’d envisioned from her early days in football – a sight, and shot, at goal at East End Park.
“It was such a cool moment for me to score in front of the Norrie McCathie stand, that has been a dream of mine since I was really young,” an emotional Weir told BBC Scotland.
“I’ve enjoyed every minute [of being here]. For me it’s been great and I think the girls have enjoyed it as well.
“My parents still live in Dunfermline, it’s still a massive part of my life so it really means a lot to be here.”
A few weeks ago Weir was in a red frock in France, walking the red carpet at the Ballon d’Or ceremony. On Tuesday, drenched, she was describing her goal in Dunfermline – a moment which “ranks right up there”.
East your heart out, Paris. The Kingdom of Fife rules.
The Scots will view the October and November friendly windows as preparation for next year’s World Cup qualification campaign, which begins in February.
Scotland have failed to qualify for the past three major tournaments, most recently missing out on this summer’s Euros following a play-off defeat by Finland last December.
Shortly after that loss, Pedro Martinez Losa left his job as head coach and Andreatta was appointed in April.
An experiment intended to rid “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” alum Brandi Glanville of a facial parasite left the former reality TV star with chemical burns.
In a short video posted to TikTok on Sunday that is a little startling and also a little painful-looking, Glanville, 52, said that she decided to use Nair to try to eradicate the parasite. However, the popular hair removal product aggravated her skin, leaving her with apparent chemical burns.
“I know I look attractive,” she joked. “Good news, you don’t have to spend a lot of money on peels and lasers anymore.”
During the clip, she referred to the parasite as “Caroline,” a possible reference to her “Real Housewives” rival Caroline Manzo. In January 2023, Manzo accused Glanville of sexual assault during filming. This led to both of them departing the Morocco set of “The Real Housewives Ultimate Girls Trip.” That was also where Glanville previously said she might have contracted the parasite.
Glanville has denied all claims Manzo has made against her, calling them absurd, Page Six reports.
In her TikTok video, Glanville claims the Nair successfully moved the parasite (“Caroline”) to a different part of her face upon application.
“Nair is the fountain of youth, I figured it out,” she said. “But I overdid it … seven minutes, don’t do it.”
The first time Glanville shared information regarding the parasite, she claimed that she had consulted “every doctor under the sun” but to no avail. The mysterious condition was said to have left her with frequent facial swelling and missing teeth.
She told ET in December 2024 that she’d suspected a parasite had made its way into her system after the filming in Morocco.
“We had food sitting out for hours on end, and some of it was meat,” she said, adding that medical complications began six months later.
Glanville claimed that she had since spent more than $70,000 on noninvasive procedures to pinpoint exactly what was going on. Notably, she was on IV antibiotics that alleviated swelling but proved to be too expensive.
“I’ve been on meds this whole year. I don’t socialize. I don’t go out,” she said at the time.
Murderland: Crime and Bloodlust in the Time of Serial Killers
By Caroline Fraser Penguin Press: 480 pages, $32 If you buy books linked on our site, The Times may earn a commission from Bookshop.org, whose fees support independent bookstores.
The first film I saw in a theater was “The Love Bug,” Disney’s 1969 comedy about a sentient Volkswagen Beetle named Herbie and the motley team who race him to many a checkered flag. Although my memory is hazy, I recall my toddler’s delight: a car could think, move and communicate like a real person, even chauffeuring the romantic leads to their honeymoon. Nice Herbie!
Or not so nice. A decade later, Stanley Kubrick opened his virtuosic “The Shining” with fluid tracking shots of the same model of automobile headed toward the Overlook Hotel and a rendezvous with horror. Something had clicked. Caroline Fraser’s scorching, seductive “Murderland” chronicles the serial-killer epidemic that swept the U.S. in the 1970s and ’80s, focusing on her native Seattle and neighboring Tacoma, where Ted Bundy was raised. He drove a Beetle, hunting for prey. She underscores the striking associations between VWs and high-yield predators, as if the cars were accomplices, malevolent Herbies dispensing victims efficiently. (Bundy’s vehicle is now displayed in a Tennessee museum.) The book’s a meld of true crime, memoir and social commentary, but with a mission: to shock readers into a deeper understanding of the American Nightmare, ecological devastation entwined with senseless sadism. “Murderland” is not for the faint of heart, yet we can’t look away: Fraser’s writing is that vivid and dynamic.
She structures her narrative chronologically, conveyed in present tense, newsreel-style, evoking the Pacific Northwest’s woodsy tang and bland suburbia. Fraser came of age on Mercer Island, adjacent to Lake Washington’s eastern shore, across a heavily-trafficked pontoon bridge notorious for fatal crashes. Like the Beetle, the dangerous bridge threads throughout “Murderland,” braiding the author’s personal story with those of her cast. A “Star Trek” geek stuck in a rigid Christian Science family, she loathed her father and longed to escape.
In Tacoma, 35 miles to the south, Ted Bundy grew up near the American Smelting and Refining Co., which disgorged obscene levels of lead and arsenic into the air while netting millions for the Guggenheim dynasty before its 1986 closure. Bundy is the book’s charismatic centerpiece, a handsome, well-dressed sociopath in shiny patent-leather shoes, flitting from college to college, job to job, corpse to corpse. During the 1970s, he abducted dozens of young women, raping and strangling them on sprees across the country, often engaging in postmortem sex before disposing their bodies. He escaped custody twice in Colorado — once from a courthouse and another time from a jail — before he was finally locked up for good after his brutal attacks on Chi Omega sorority sisters at Florida State University.
Fraser depicts his bloody brotherhood with similar flair. Israel Keyes claimed Bundy as a hero. Gary Ridgway, the prolific “Green River Killer,” inhaled the same Puget Sound toxins. Randy Woodfield trawled I-5 in his 1974 Champagne Edition Beetle. As she observes of Richard Ramirez, Los Angeles’ “Night Stalker”: “He’s six foot one, wears black, and never smiles. He has a dead stare, like a shark. He doesn’t bathe. He has bad teeth. He’s about to go beserk.” But the archvillain is ASARCO, the mining corporation that dodged regulations, putting profitability over people. Fraser reveals an uncanny pattern of polluting smelters and the men brought up in their shadows, prone to mood swings and erratic tantrums. The science seems speculative until the book’s conclusion, where she highlights recent data, explicitly mapping links.
Caroline Fraser laments the lack of accountability that the wealthy Guggenheim family has faced for operating a company that spewed toxins in Tacoma air for decades.
(Hal Espen)
Her previous work, “Prairie Fires,” a biography of Laura Ingalls Wilder, won the Pulitzer Prize and other accolades. The pivot here is dramatic, a bit of formal experimentation as Fraser shatters the fourth wall, luring us from our comfort zone. While rooted in the New Journalism of Joan Didion and John McPhee, “Murderland” deploys a mocking tone to draw us in, scattering deadpan jokes among chapters: “In 1974 there are at least a half a dozen serial killers operating in Washington. Nobody can see the forest for the trees.” Fraser delivers a brimstone sermon worthy of a Baptist preacher at a tent revival, raging at plutocrats who ravage those with less (or nothing at all).
Her fury blazes beyond balance sheets and into curated spaces of elites. She singles out Roger W. Straus Jr., tony Manhattan publisher, patron of the arts and grandson of Daniel Guggenheim, whose Tacoma smelter may have scrambled Bundy’s brain. She mentions Straus’ penchant for ascots and cashmere jackets. She laments the lack of accountability. “Roger W. Straus Jr. completes the process of whitewashing the family name,” she writes. “Whatever the Sackler family is trying to do by collecting art and endowing museums, lifting their skirts away from the hundreds of thousands addicted and killed by prescription opioids manufactured and sold by their company — Purdue Pharma — the Guggenheims have already stealthily and handily accomplished.” Has Fraser met a sacred cow she wouldn’t skewer?
Those beautiful Cézannes and Picassos in the Guggenheim Museum can’t paper over the atrocities; the gilded myths of American optimism, our upward mobility and welcoming shores won’t mask the demons. “The furniture of the past is permanent,” she notes. “The cuckoo clock, the Dutch door, the daylight basement — humble horsemen of the domestic Apocalypse. The VWs, parked in the driveway.” “Murderland” is a superb and disturbing vivisection of our darkest urges, this summer’s premier nonfiction read.
Cain is a book critic and the author of a memoir, “This Boy’s Faith: Notes from a Southern Baptist Upbringing.” He lives in Brooklyn, New York.
With the boxing world in mourning this week, there was a poignant moment when those in attendance applauded a 10-bell salute in memory of boxer Georgia O’Connor, who died aged 25 on Thursday.
O’Connor lost her battle with cancer and was a hugely popular figure among her fellow fighters.
The event was hosted by relative newcomers GBM, in what was the promotional outfit’s first stadium card and world-title headliner.
After each fight on the main undercard went to points, Harper made her ring walk at the late time of 23:10 BST.
Nicknamed ‘Belter’, she entered to Gerry Cinnamon’s folk song with the same title.
Several fans had already left, but those who remained gave her a hero’s welcome.
The gulf in class was apparent as early as the first minute when a left hook from Harper drew chants of “Yorkshire” from the crowd.
The former super-featherweight and light-middleweight champion pinned Zimmermann on the ropes and was landing to the head and body.
Hamburg’s Zimmermann had won all 13 professional bouts, having only started boxing aged 37, but in Harper she faced someone who had gone toe-to-toe with world-class operators such as Natasha Jonas and Alycia Baumgardner.
Zimmermann’s will to win did not match her talent as she rushed in her punches and struggled to make any openings.
She did land a solid uppercut in the sixth as a dejected Harper began to cut a frustrated figure.
Blood poured down from Zimmermann’s head after the accidental head clash in the final round, but Harper – who before the fight said she would be disappointed with a points win – could not find the telling blow.
