Yes, it all endedin tears.But they gave us pride–and brought the whole nation together
We had so much hope, we’re so empty now. But ...
So, THAT’S it. We lost. England won’t be in the World Cup final and Croatia will meet France. We’re bitterly disappointed. of course we are.
There was such joy at that early goal, such a feeling that we were in control, creating chance after chance and in pole position to win.
But then one goal went in at our end, then another, before the final minutes dribbled away to the inevitable.
And how utterly bereft we felt afterwards. So empty after so much hope — even expectation.
But what an incredible ride our team has given us over this past few weeks.
Let’s be honest, few of us really expected England to get anywhere near the semi-finals, and it’s been joyful surprise after surprise as Gareth Southgate’s young team claimed the scalps and pressed onwards.
They looked so good, so efficient and mature, and so untroubled by the marauding tactics of some of their opponents. Few other teams have outclassed them for skill or effort.
In fact, for the past few weeks, it has felt as though we’ve been seeing the birth of a new England generation, one that doesn’t promise a lot and deliver little, but one that can play at the very highest level.
We can’t be anything but proud and hopeful for the future for them, a team that included at least three players who a month ago would only have been known well by the supporters of the clubs for which they play.
Had they won last night and then gone on to beat France in the final they would have been national heroes for ever. But to be knocked out of the competition at this stage is no disgrace.
They still have a third-place play-off on Saturday against Belgium, but to most of us they will come home as winners nevertheless — winners of the hearts and dreams of all of us who have enjoyed their adventure with them.
Because, while they were the ones at the sharp end, the World Cup wasn’t just about those on the pitch. It was about us, too, as across the nation we united in supporting them.
THE FLAGS of St George and the bunting in shops, on cars and in public places — along with the mass euphoria when the games have been shown in parks and on beaches — have given the entire country carnival fever.
And as we look around this July morning it isn’t long faces of despair that we’re seeing, but smiling faces of acceptance at a battle well fought and nobly lost.
England has rarely been more divided than in this era of Brexit uncertainty, mistrust and fear. As Gareth Southgate remarked at a media conference yesterday: ‘our country has been through some difficult moments recently in terms of its unity.’ But sport, he added, has the power to unite us. It does indeed.
As we’ve found, the England team’s efforts have made us feel good about ourselves, so don’t let any killjoy ever again tell you that football is just a game played at the highest level by overpaid mercenaries. It’s much, much more than that.
It’s a lingua franca, a meeting place for usually friendly minds and cultures. Wherever you go in Europe or South America, the Far East or parts of Africa it’s a conversational opener.
The World Cup may be a competition of opposing skills, athleticisms and strengths, but as a game it unites far more than it divides. Think of the Wild Boars, the boys’ football team in Thailand entombed for more than two weeks at Chiang Rai.
With some of them not even in their teens, the fact that they were a football team endeared them to parents everywhere. Most of us have known schoolboy teams just like them. And, of course, one of them was wearing a red England shirt.
Now those boys are safe above ground to watch, like us, the World Cup final on Sunday, and choose which team to support — France or Croatia.
of course even writing the names of those two teams is a painful reminder of what so nearly was. And for those of us who remember watching the final of 1966, it’s starting to feel as if we will never see such a day again.
In many ways, after this defeat I feel even luckier to be able to remember watching TV on that epochal day at the old Wembley Stadium when we first heard: ‘Some people are on the pitch. They think it’s all over. It is now!’ Brought up to play rugby at school, it was only when I was in the deep end of that cauldron of football obsession called Liverpool that I was converted to a new passion.
ALAS, a long vale of disappointment lay ahead. Four years later, after having captain Bobby Moore unfairly accused of stealing a bracelet, goalkeeper Gordon Banks got food poisoning in the 1970 Mexico finals, while it was an astonishing display by a Polish goalkeeper that made sure we didn’t even reach the finals four years later.
Worse was to come. In 1986, Diego Maradona’s ‘Hand of God’ cheating did for us, then in 1990 Gazza dissolved into tears. Penalties were the biggest problem. We just couldn’t win the shootouts, with even the now rightfully much lauded Gareth Southgate missing one at the Euros in 1996.
Happily, he seems to have rectified that in the England team he manages.
Who knows what will happen in the play-off on Saturday? Do we even care any more? Probably, for most of us, not very much, other than to hope that it is a good game and the better team wins.
In a few weeks’ time the football season will start, and the heroes of Russia — and the England team are heroes — will have returned to their clubs to play, in the main, against each other.
And as the autumn and the rain returns, some may ask if all the World Cup hoopla and excitement was worth it.
To which I would say, of course it was. Not only did it make a glorious, happy summer even sunnier, it showed a pride and unity of loyalty throughout the country.
And now we know that, for the first time in some years, England has a pretty good, young team. Roll on 2022.