Well that’s it, all over. Until the 2026 World Cup, when we fans and commentators will get carried away again – deluded, frustrated, elated, potty.
I have enjoyed watching the faces of the players these last few weeks, especially when the final whistle blows. For 90-odd minutes they have been determined, serious automatons showing no weakness – then suddenly they collapse, in ecstasy or despair. All human emotions are there.
Did the fans and media ruin it for England, with all the abuse and beer thrown at the England team, the bad language from Gary Lineker, the calls for Harry to be dropped? Were England weighed down by all the criticism, losing their confidence, heart, the plot and the ball? Or were they just not good enough, as the fans and media have been saying for most of the past four weeks? Or the last 58 years.
They did well in the semi-final against Holland, giving us hope. But in the final they were back to their usual: square passing, poor touches, hesitant and tired-looking, not pressing, with star players such as Kane and Phil Foden doing little. Cole Palmer, sent on late, did score and for a few moments our eyes lit up and hearts started beating, poor deluded souls that we are. Then Spain scored again, and that was it.
Spain’s extra day of rest: was that the reason they won? Nope. Just an excuse.
Was the England camp too big? There were 26 players and more than 40 staff – performance coaches, analysts, soft-tissue therapists, nutritionists, chefs, beauticians. I made up the last, but not the rest. Did they get in each other’s way, competing to massage Harry’s furrowed brows?
Best haircut: Spain’s weedy Marc Cucurella with the wild soaraway hair. He says he grew it long so his mum could spot him on the pitch.
Best headline: the Daily Mirror after England’s semi-final win, which meant they would play Spain in the final: “Olé, Watkins”. The same day the Times front page had “Glory for England”. Pathetic. And not true. Glory would only come if they won the final. Fat chance.
Tesco and others did some adverts boasting they were closing for the final, giving their hard-working staff the evening off. How kind, how caring. Ignoring how they would have had no customers anyway.
Interesting Euro names. Nico Williams should have been playing for Wales, not Spain, with that name. His family are from Ghana. And Denzel Dumfries should’ve been playing for Scotland, not Holland. His dad came from the Dutch Caribbean island of Aruba where there are loads of folks called Dumfries. Despite being called Davies, I am Scottish. And lived for a time in Dumfries.
Real winners. England’s publicans. Pubs were given a late licence for England games, with some offering free pints for every England goal. The boss of the supermarket Iceland estimated that on the final weekend beer sales went up 250 per cent.
Another winner – Keir Starmer. Clearly it was Labour what won it, as young Joe Biden observed. Sir Keir was at the final. Free ticket I assume, which I hope he declares. He is, though, a real football fan and player, turning out in Kentish Town, London. David Cameron used to say he followed Aston Villa United, or was it West Ham Rovers? It’s a shame Keir follows Arsenal – boo. Harold Wilson was the last Labour PM to be a real football fan. I once interviewed him and he boasted, as ever, about his amazing memory, reeling off the details of Preston North End beating his team, Huddersfield Town, 1-0 in the 1938 Cup final. Tony Blair, while MP for Sedgefield, proclaimed his long support for Newcastle United, and it was apocryphally reported that he had claimed to remember watching Jackie Milburn play for the Magpies, even though by the time Wor Jackie retired Blair was only four years old and living in Australia with his family.
Ah well, roll on 2026 and our next Golden Generation…
[See also: England are rubbish again, but I make my own Euros entertainment]
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This article appears in the 17 Jul 2024 issue of the New Statesman, The American Berserk