Three Lions

I was deeply saddened by England’s elimination in the World Cup semi final to Croatia today. Not only had I bought my first England shirt since 2006 ahead of Russia ’18, I decided to go “all in” emotionally after our routine 2-0 win against Sweden in the quarter-finals. 

Throughout the group stages I was just happy we hadn’t made fools of ourselves. The win against Colombia was lucky. When we made short work of Sweden, however, I began dreaming.

I haven’t followed the goings on in England over the past month too closely, but, given the world of social media that we live in today I’ve no doubt society was awash with “memes” which resurrect the lyrics to England’s most famous World Cup song: This Time more than any other time.

Once England made it past Colombia I was surely tempted to fly back to England to soak up the experience. Australia, after all, is never a great place to watch a World Cup from given their lack of passion for the sport. After Sweden, I was overcome with a deep sense of envy at my countrymen rejoicing as England  - this new, positive England – marched on through the competition. I needed to be amongst a crowd of shirtless drunkards throwing expensive cups of beer into the air whenever we scored.

I was so jealous that when my old chum Michael (see Kombi-ah, my lord)told me he had decided to fly home for the semi-final I went off on a five-minute rant:

“You’re not thinking properly, Michael,” I said. “Is it really worth going all the way back there just for the semi-final and possible final?”

“Like I said,” he snivelled in his nasally Northern accent. “My dad’s been given less than a month to live. I have to go back.”

“But you could wait until we’re out of the Cup.”

“The doctor said he may not last the week.”

“You’re being a rash,” I said, jabbing his bony chest.

“I’ve already booked my flight; I leave tomorrow,’ he whined.

I contemplated having to watch England v Croatia on my own and it made my blood boil. How I wished one of my family member’s was terminally ill.

Michael tried to contact me during the game. Of course he did. He sent me a whimpering message via Whatsapp straight after Kieran Trippier scored the opening goal. I pictured him in a crowded pub celebrating and singing that most famous of English football chorus’s

…more than any other time this time, we're going to find a way, find a way to get away this time…

Everyone’s arms locked in unison, the whole pub swaying.

I wanted England to win. Of course I did. Yet the human mind works in mysterious ways. Equal to my desire for England to win was for Michael not to enjoy being over there to see us reach the final. Yet no sooner had England reverted to type and surrendered its lead, those feelings of longing and homesickness (and wishing ill of Marc) disappeared. 

Turns out I wasn’t missing anything significant and that Marc had flown all that way for nothing. Apart from his dad, that is.