IT’S TIME TO MAKE MORE MEMORIES!
SO, here we go. The World Cup is upon us. A month of wall-to-wall football, nights in watching Panama and Saudi Arabia, discovering gems playing in the Mexican leagues, while spotting Non-League teams on the England flags hung around the stadiums. At least we know the Three Lions will stay in the competition longer than a week this time, even if it’s just the fact that their second game is ten days after the opening match. Surely England will get out of the group this time? Surely? I’ve reached that age where, as the famous Baddiel and Skinner song says, ‘I’ve seen it all before’. Ah for the days of youthful ignorance. Where England football was more straightforward. They either won or lost. I either went to bed happy or crying my eyes out. That was when the Word Cup seemed once in a blue moon. Now the years rattle by. I have very vague memories of Italia 90 and remember the TV signal going down during the Brazil v Italy final in 1994. But the first World Cup where every kick is stored in the memory bank is France 98. It had it all for the 13-year-old me. The Brazil airport Nike advert, the PlayStation game, the sticker book, the new kit, Beckham’s free-kick against Colombia, Ronaldo, Zidane, Fantasy Football in the evening. England kick off this World Cup next Monday against Tunisia, just as they did in 1998. A baking hot Monday afternoon in Marseille presented a problem. School.
Piano
It was bang in the middle of lessons. Surely the teachers would let us watch it? Some did. Unfortunately for me, the TVs – we probably had three in the whole school, all on those big stands with wheels – had been taken by the football-savvy PE teachers. I had music. How did we watch the game, I hear you cry? We didn’t. Instead we sung Three Lions while the teacher plunked out the tune on the piano. It still ranks as one of the most disappointing afternoons of my life. When lessons changed over, word spread through the corridors that Alan Shearer had put England ahead. I saw the Paul Scholes’ goal on a portable TV some spoilt kid had brought in. I trudged home to watch the recording (VHS of course, no Sky+ in those days). Of course, we all know how that World Cup ended. Me in my bed trying not to cry, hoping that it was all a dream, that England had stopped the quick free-kick Argentina levelled from before the referee allowed Sol Campbell’s bullet header. It wasn’t to be. Nor was it 2002. At sixth form college by then, after the elation of beating Argentina and the demolition of Denmark, there was a feeling that this really was our year. An early morning dumping out at the hands of Brazil ended that hope. The start of college was postponed in preparation. They may as well have just cancelled the rest of the term. I still believed. Germany 2006 was the chance. With a student loan burning a hole in my back pocket, I snared a ticket to see England play Trinidad & Tobago – two days before the game.
Belief
Having begged someone to cover my shift at M&S, a mate hastily booked a flight to Frankfurt before a four-hour train journey to Nuremburg where we watched Germany beat Poland in the main square. On the morning of England’s game, we tracked down an outpost at the end of the train line to pick up the tickets we still weren’t sure were ours until in our hands. Of course, we all know how that World Cup ended. Then South Africa in 2010 and Brazil in 2014 came and went. To say the belief had started to wane would be an understatement. But there’s still so much to love about the World Cup. For many Non-League fans, following the Three Lions is the chance to cheer on the best players in the country. We aren’t worried by the inter-club rivalry Manchester United, Liverpool, Chelsea and Spurs fans bore us with during major tournaments. It’s a chance to stick the wallchart up and plot the course of the tournament with the fading dream that England will be penned into that final box marked Winner. Will it happen? Probably not. But we can still dream. Still marvel over players like Jamie Vardy, Jordan Pickford and Nick Pope being part of an England squad just a few years after they were playing in Non-League football. Australia’s James Meredith is the same. The 30-year-old Millwall defender was a big part of York City’s FA Trophy-Promotion double in 2012. Traditionally a left-back, then-Minstermen boss Gary Mills had him in central midfield by the end of that season as they beat both Newport County and then Luton Town at Wembley in the space of a week. On Saturday, Meredith will be part of the Socceroos’ side taking on tournament favourites France. I can’t wait.