World Cup Fever and Hopeless English Optimism
Every two years, I promise myself I won’t do it to myself again. After every single international tournament, it’s the same bitter disappointment, as though a dream has been snatched. And every time I let myself believe, however fleetingly, that victory is possible. Feasible, even.
And then we go out on penalties. John Terry sobs and the fans who made the long journey watch dejectedly as opposition fans celebrate an overwhelming combination of elation and relief at a shootout win. That’s a feeling that’s elusive to the long suffering English contingent.
It’s at that point that I order another drink and tell myself, “I’m not getting involved next time.” And I even believe it myself.
It’s about January of a tournament year that my resolve begins to wane. At the strike of midnight at New Year I found myself reminding my other half that it’s a tournament year and clinking glasses in celebration. And then when Easter arrives we up the excitement a notch. By the time the domestic Premier League season finishes, I’m positively jubilant, though sensible in my expectations of the team.
Now here we are. It’s World Cup start day. We’re 2 days from England’s first game. I’ve dug out the earrings….
I’ve found the face paint, I’ve bought the shirt, I’ve hung the flag and bought the bunting.
And of course I don’t believe we’ll win it. Of course we won’t. I mean, it’s highly unlikely isn’t it? Not impossible, of course… but highly unlikely. But unlikelier things have happened. So maybe, just maybe…
Have a fantastic World Cup, folks 🙂