Nice middle-class Remainers, I salute you!
It is a poignant fact that HFB (Homo Fanaticus Britannicus) is more at ease with losing than winning. “The despair I can bear, it’s the hope I can’t stand,” wailed John Cleese in Clockwork, perhaps the best thing ever said about English football that wasn’t about football. Decades of suffering, of dashed chances, of missed penalties (Gareth Southgate, mortifying error in Euro ’96, now making amends as the manager) have schooled Himself to greet any good performance as a momentary lapse. “Don’t forget we’ve only played the two least experienced teams in the tournament,” he cried on Sunday as England’s third, or possibly fourth, goal zipped past Panama’s goalie.
Even so, I could tell his “Don’t get excited, disaster will be along again in a minute” defence was starting to crumble. “Why does their team have such dirty players?” I asked, bringing in the ginger beer and spotting a defender who appeared to be doing the Argentine tango with poor Harry Kane. “Shhh. Don’t complain. We’ve got another penalty.”
England’s 6-1 victory made a beautiful summer’s day utterly glorious in my view. But HFB was already finding reasons to fret. He thinks Belgium, whom we play tomorrow, could win the whole tournament. When I told him we’re supposed to be going to a school concert on Thursday, he laughed like a madman. Even worse, the matches will soon become less frequent, depriving him of his daily fix. “I’m already thinking I have to wait four years until the next World Cup,” he admitted mournfully. And they say women are irrational, mood-swinging creatures. We have nothing on HFB. They think it’s all over… and we’re not in the quarterfinals yet.