When Jenni Hermoso walked on to the stage to receive her winners’ medal after Spain’s historic World Cup triumph at Stadium Australia, it should’ve marked the pinnacle of her career. Instead, the 33-year-old found herself embroiled in an unwanted celebration ... an invasive kiss on the mouth by the president of the Spanish Football Federation, Luis Rubiales.

Disgusted? Repulsed? Instinctively reaching for the hand sanitiser? All of the above? Of course, you were. Thankfully, the cameras were rolling, so you witnessed it. But what about when the world isn’t watching? What about when there are no cameras or crowds, and it’s our word against theirs? When it’s behind the scenes, we often say nothing.

I say “we” because, yes, I’ve witnessed it myself. As a woman occupying space in what has traditionally been a “man’s field”, I’ve observed and experienced the complete disregard for women that radiates from these breeding grounds of toxic masculinity.

From athletes uttering derogatory remarks about women, coaches and influential figures within major sporting organisations bullying and threatening females, to uncomfortable networking lunches and dinners with boozy boys clubs who can’t keep their hands to themselves. Just like Rubiales.

With so much at stake – careers, aspirations, reputations – mistreated women often sweep it under the proverbial rug and soldier on. “Don’t let the sexist bastards get ya down” and all that. For the love of football, Hermoso and female players and staff at Spanish football HQ have been suffering this sleazebag in silence for years.

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On that one night at Stadium Australia alone, he also celebrated the win with a grubby crotch grab in the vicinity of Queen Letizia and her teenage daughter, Sofia. And after planting the infamous kiss on Hermoso on stage, he proceeded to carry Athenea del Castillo around the field on his shoulders, as if he were the father of a naughty toddler who refused to leave the playground.

To behave in such a cavalier way on the world stage, I shudder to think how Rubiales, and others like him, act behind closed doors.

This needed to blow up. While I sympathise with the unwanted attention Hermoso is facing, it could, in fact, be a good thing. Yes, right now, it’s cast a shadow over Spain’s achievements, but it won’t in the long run. Nor can it take away from the resounding success of the entire tournament.