It’s always brilliant to wake up on the morning that England play their first game at a major tournament. To see the familiar “Time for the talking to stop - The Guardian” and “England must deliver - The Times” and “If you Fuck Up, you can stay out there - The Sun” headlines and to know that soon the nation will gather round TV sets and once again hand over our dreams to twenty-three young rich fellas who, we hope have the same dreams we do. Because surely, this time, it might actually go the way we want it to go.
Opening games are in some ways the best of the lot. Sure, I’d like to be waking up in four weeks time looking forward to a final against one of the footballing superpowers having already beaten a couple on the way. By which time of course the entire nation will be at a virtual standstill, supermarkets may well be running low on alcohol and although we’d still be in the Euros, we might well be out of the EU. But for an opening game, everyone is in the same boat. England are currently unbeaten at the top of our group on alphabetical order. It may not get any better than this.
Today, it’s Russia, a team myself and most armchair fans know very little about. I’d assume they’re well drilled and indifferent to cold weather but other than that I’m in the dark. I know they used to have the same manager that we did and I know he almost bankrupted the Russian FA. I also know that the combined age of their centre half pairing is approximately one hundred and fifteen which is roughly the same as our entire team. Surely we can’t balls this up.
I do wish some of our fans weren’t so stupid. For the second night running, police fired tear gas at drunken England fans and the wounded victim status is starting to grate. Spend the whole day drinking, sing disgusting songs about not surrendering to the IRA, taunt the hosts, cheer when Romania score a goal, start throwing chairs about and then get all irate when the police pile in. I’m sure some innocent fans were caught up in the violence and I feel sorry for them. But there is a dark side to supporting England and it pisses me right off.
Wales are playing today as well and I’d imagine the mood there is even more excited than here. They last played in a major tournament in 1958 (around the time the Russian centre backs were born) so it’s possible that of the thirty-thousand Welsh people who’ve travelled to France, not one has been to a major finals beforehand. I want them to win today so that (assuming we do as well) a draw will be enough for both of us to virtually qualify for the last sixteen.
At least the whole thing kicked off without a hitch. The opening ceremony was as bonkers as most opening ceremonies are but that’s sort of the point. If you can’t have ballerinas licking giant lollipops at your own party, when can you have them? The game resulted in a win for the hosts which I think every tournament needs. There were a lot of nerves inside the Stade De France but they did what they had to do. I sort of felt sorry for the Romanians because they deserved something from the game but then Dimitri Payet hit one of the sweetest shots I’ve ever seen and that was that.
It’s hard to come up with many events in life than can match a last minute winner. And when it’s possibly the goal of the tournament and it happens in your national stadium on the opening day, well no wonder he was in tears when he came off. We’ve all seen what he can do in the Premier League so we knew he was a class act but this was special. Now it’s our turn. Come on England!
Saturday, 11 June 2016
Friday, 10 June 2016
Finally!
The Euro 2016 finals kick off later today. I’ve been waiting weeks to write that. I said yesterday that the waiting is the worst bit but having seen England in tournaments before, there’s something to be said for enjoying every minute of the build up. Because tomorrow night, England will step onto the pitch against Russia and the agony will begin. In other news, I’ve drawn France in the office sweepstake. I didn’t get them the first time but since I’m the only one who works in my office, I just kept doing it until I drew the favourites.
I’ve been reading today that the tournament organisers have been slightly red faced to discover that the mascot, called Super Victor, shares its name with a popular sex toy. I would love to have been in the meeting where that bit of information came out. I guess there’s nothing to be done at this point but if I was going to provide a name for anything, I’d probably do a quick google search first. And if that name also happened to be the name of a popular sex toy, I might consider an alternative.
Meanwhile, all is calm around the England camp before their first game tomorrow. When I say all is calm, what I mean is that absolutely anything could’ve happened but I haven’t heard about it. There could have been a knife fight between Roy Hodgson and Gary Neville but we’ll only learn about it after they’ve come back home. The news is tightly controlled. All that happens is once a day, they wheel out a player to trot out a few cliches and platitudes before the hacks. Yesterday, it was Joe Harts turn and it’s without doubt one of the more boring interviews I’ve read thus far. I don’t even need to tell you what he said. It contained amongst other things the words disappointment, determination and togetherness. You can piece the rest together yourselves.
The fans have been arriving in large numbers and there’s been a bit of trouble in Marseilles. I’ve travelled to England away games in the past and whilst some of our lot have been known to drink too much beer and sing offensive songs (”Isis where are you” apparently), it’s also the case that police overseas can be a bit trigger happy when it comes to English football fans. I understand that if you’ve recently been the subject of large scale terrorist attacks, you may well be more than a tad jumpy but I’d like to think that everyone will calm down once the football starts. This might be over optimistic.
While we’re on the subject of misplaced optimism, there’s been a survey taken of fans across all twenty-four competing countries asking about their teams prospects in the tournament. Amazingly, a whopping 34% of England fans surveyed said that their team can triumph in France. I’d love to know who these people are. Not a single one of the England fans I know thinks we’ll get anywhere near to winning the tournament. What this means is that somewhere on this island, there are large groups of England supporters where the majority think that we’ll win the thing. I’d love to live my life like them. Floating about in a state I think they call it happiness but I’d say it’s more delusion. France to win it for me and England to make a decent fist of it and go out in the quarter finals. Probably on penalties.
I’ve been reading today that the tournament organisers have been slightly red faced to discover that the mascot, called Super Victor, shares its name with a popular sex toy. I would love to have been in the meeting where that bit of information came out. I guess there’s nothing to be done at this point but if I was going to provide a name for anything, I’d probably do a quick google search first. And if that name also happened to be the name of a popular sex toy, I might consider an alternative.
Meanwhile, all is calm around the England camp before their first game tomorrow. When I say all is calm, what I mean is that absolutely anything could’ve happened but I haven’t heard about it. There could have been a knife fight between Roy Hodgson and Gary Neville but we’ll only learn about it after they’ve come back home. The news is tightly controlled. All that happens is once a day, they wheel out a player to trot out a few cliches and platitudes before the hacks. Yesterday, it was Joe Harts turn and it’s without doubt one of the more boring interviews I’ve read thus far. I don’t even need to tell you what he said. It contained amongst other things the words disappointment, determination and togetherness. You can piece the rest together yourselves.
The fans have been arriving in large numbers and there’s been a bit of trouble in Marseilles. I’ve travelled to England away games in the past and whilst some of our lot have been known to drink too much beer and sing offensive songs (”Isis where are you” apparently), it’s also the case that police overseas can be a bit trigger happy when it comes to English football fans. I understand that if you’ve recently been the subject of large scale terrorist attacks, you may well be more than a tad jumpy but I’d like to think that everyone will calm down once the football starts. This might be over optimistic.
While we’re on the subject of misplaced optimism, there’s been a survey taken of fans across all twenty-four competing countries asking about their teams prospects in the tournament. Amazingly, a whopping 34% of England fans surveyed said that their team can triumph in France. I’d love to know who these people are. Not a single one of the England fans I know thinks we’ll get anywhere near to winning the tournament. What this means is that somewhere on this island, there are large groups of England supporters where the majority think that we’ll win the thing. I’d love to live my life like them. Floating about in a state I think they call it happiness but I’d say it’s more delusion. France to win it for me and England to make a decent fist of it and go out in the quarter finals. Probably on penalties.
Thursday, 9 June 2016
Waiting
Finally, after the interminable eleven days when we had no football and had to settle for watching Andy Murray lose again to Novak Djokovic, we’re almost here. Three games a day for the next two weeks may seem excessive to some but there’s over an hour between games for basic hygiene and nourishment needs. And who, if they’re honest, hasn’t dreamed of the chance to watch the best eleven footballers in Hungary take on the best eleven (or possibly only eleven) footballers in Iceland?
I must say that when UEFA decided on a twenty-four team format for these Euros, I was sceptical. It just seemed like a money making exercise and I was shocked, as I think we all were, that a football executive could possibly be involved in such a crude attempt to wring more cash out of a major tournament. But the qualifiers were far more interesting than they’ve ever been in the past and some unfamiliar teams have made the finals (Albania, Iceland, Northern Ireland). And most importantly, there are twenty more games to watch.
At Camp England, the players seem to be taking turns to talk to the media. I guess it’s like penalties. For the first five days the player will volunteer for media duties and will stride purposefully forward to the press conference but later on, they’ll look like they’d rather stick needles in their eyes. Yesterday, it was Chris Smalling making the case for the defence. You never know how things might work out (Arsenal once went on a ten match run in the Champions League without conceding a goal with Mathieu Flamini at left back) but can anyone honestly say they’re filled with confidence at the thought of Kyle Walker, Danny Rose, Chris Smalling and Gary Cahill (or John Stones) lining up against Antoine Griezsman or Alvaro Morata or Gareth Bale? Even writing that gives me the chills.
I guess these things go in cycles. Ten years ago in Germany, our four centre backs were John Terry and Rio Ferdinand (probably wouldn’t happen now), Jamie Carragher and Sol Campbell but our attacking line up contained amongst others Stewart Downing, Aaron Lennon, Jermaine Jenas and Peter Crouch.
I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Chris Smalling speak before and I was surprised how thin and reedy his voice was. I’d expect that from a winger but not from a 6ft 3” centre half. It didn’t fill me with confidence. He said that English defenders were tactically aware which contradicted what I’ve been hearing all season which is that players in England don’t know how to defend anymore. I guess we’re about to find out.
The other player to have a chat was young Marcus Rashford. I think there’s now some sort of bylaw which states that Rashford cannot be mentioned without also referring to the fact that he’s young. “Young Rashford!” Like Young Winston only Marcus probably won’t go on to be Britain’s wartime Prime Minister. But then could Winston Churchill bend his runs to stay onside? Anyway, Marcus, the youngest player at Euro 2016 (born October 31 1997 - after Tony Blair was elected!) said that it feels like a dream being in France. And that makes sense because the last time he stood up to speak in front of an audience, it was probably a school assembly. But a series of unfortunate injuries to team mates has seen him given the chance and he’s grabbed it with both of his incredibly youthful hands.
So here we are. We’re almost ready to begin. I know all the cliches about stocking up on beer in the fridge but I’m confident that the supermarkets have seen this event coming for some time and have stocked up for me. I’ll go and get some when I run out. Or I might send my eldest child. There isn’t much time between the end of one game and the beginning of the next.
I must say that when UEFA decided on a twenty-four team format for these Euros, I was sceptical. It just seemed like a money making exercise and I was shocked, as I think we all were, that a football executive could possibly be involved in such a crude attempt to wring more cash out of a major tournament. But the qualifiers were far more interesting than they’ve ever been in the past and some unfamiliar teams have made the finals (Albania, Iceland, Northern Ireland). And most importantly, there are twenty more games to watch.
At Camp England, the players seem to be taking turns to talk to the media. I guess it’s like penalties. For the first five days the player will volunteer for media duties and will stride purposefully forward to the press conference but later on, they’ll look like they’d rather stick needles in their eyes. Yesterday, it was Chris Smalling making the case for the defence. You never know how things might work out (Arsenal once went on a ten match run in the Champions League without conceding a goal with Mathieu Flamini at left back) but can anyone honestly say they’re filled with confidence at the thought of Kyle Walker, Danny Rose, Chris Smalling and Gary Cahill (or John Stones) lining up against Antoine Griezsman or Alvaro Morata or Gareth Bale? Even writing that gives me the chills.
I guess these things go in cycles. Ten years ago in Germany, our four centre backs were John Terry and Rio Ferdinand (probably wouldn’t happen now), Jamie Carragher and Sol Campbell but our attacking line up contained amongst others Stewart Downing, Aaron Lennon, Jermaine Jenas and Peter Crouch.
I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Chris Smalling speak before and I was surprised how thin and reedy his voice was. I’d expect that from a winger but not from a 6ft 3” centre half. It didn’t fill me with confidence. He said that English defenders were tactically aware which contradicted what I’ve been hearing all season which is that players in England don’t know how to defend anymore. I guess we’re about to find out.
The other player to have a chat was young Marcus Rashford. I think there’s now some sort of bylaw which states that Rashford cannot be mentioned without also referring to the fact that he’s young. “Young Rashford!” Like Young Winston only Marcus probably won’t go on to be Britain’s wartime Prime Minister. But then could Winston Churchill bend his runs to stay onside? Anyway, Marcus, the youngest player at Euro 2016 (born October 31 1997 - after Tony Blair was elected!) said that it feels like a dream being in France. And that makes sense because the last time he stood up to speak in front of an audience, it was probably a school assembly. But a series of unfortunate injuries to team mates has seen him given the chance and he’s grabbed it with both of his incredibly youthful hands.
So here we are. We’re almost ready to begin. I know all the cliches about stocking up on beer in the fridge but I’m confident that the supermarkets have seen this event coming for some time and have stocked up for me. I’ll go and get some when I run out. Or I might send my eldest child. There isn’t much time between the end of one game and the beginning of the next.
Wednesday, 8 June 2016
Hail to the Chief
So I spent an hour yesterday evening talking to a mate about England’s best formation and line up for the upcoming tournament. Because I have absolutely nothing better to do than to discuss the finer points of whether we’d be better off going with a 4 3 3, a 4 4 2 or playing a 4 5 1 whilst ensuring that the full backs get forward. And what is our best pairing at centre half. And is Rooney best suited to playing the Number ten role. And should Jack Wilshere start even though he’s played only one hundred minutes more top level football this season than I have. As you can imagine, if there would have been anyone else in the room who wasn’t interested in football, they’d have left after five minutes (it’s possible this happened and we didn’t notice).
You won’t be surprised to hear that we didn’t really come to a consensus but even if we had, getting our conclusions to Roy Hodgson would be difficult to say the least. Two days before the start of Euro 2016, he’s probably got other things to think about aside from what two random blokes with no top level managerial experience between them might have to say about his team selection and tactics. To be honest, if he showed any interest whatsoever, I’d start to doubt his credentials for the job.
One thing we did agree on was how hard the England managers job is and why on earth would anyone want it. Sure there’s the pots of cash but the pressure must be immense. And of course there are the free tickets to any game you want to watch but I’d assume that if the FA were considering you for the job, you probably wouldn’t have trouble getting tickets anyway. But seriously, who would want to take a job when you know that firstly, pretty much everyone else in the country thinks they can do that job just as well or slightly better than you? I’m not sure there’s any other job where that’s the case. If some bloke comes to mend my washing machine, I don’t have endless discussions with my mates about how I’d mend the washing machine given the chance. I just let him mend it. That’s his job.
Secondly, if you’re England manager, you also know that there’s a good chance that at some point, you probably won’t be able to leave your house or pop down the shops without getting dirty looks from random strangers. Now I have some experience in this department having once done a terrible gig on the QE2 and then having to stand in the breakfast queue the next morning. It was upsetting but, short of throwing myself over the side, there was nothing I could do.
Lastly, unless you’re very good and very lucky, you know that it will end in failure, ignominy and disappointment and you’ll be a national figure of fun, compared to root vegetables and possibly unemployable for two or three years at the least. You may well have to go abroad to get work and there’s no guarantees. Why put yourself through it?
I guess everyone goes into it thinking they’ll be the one to turn things around, revive England’s fortunes and lead us into the promised land. Even though experience suggests otherwise. I imagine they go to sleep at night thinking of telling substitutions late in games, thrilling comebacks, trophies, medals, glowing newspaper headlines, open top bus parades and the new years honours list. They probably don’t imagine standing in the pissing rain at Wembley getting dogs abuse for using an umbrella.
Anyway, Roy seems like a decent bloke. He’s massively experienced and he knows way more about football than anyone I know and I’m sure he’s spent many hours discussing the same things me and my mate did last night. Only with much more insight and awareness. He’s probably better prepared than a lot of England managers and he’s got a young hungry squad with some serious attacking talent. Maybe this is the year. But only if he talks to me before the tournament starts.
You won’t be surprised to hear that we didn’t really come to a consensus but even if we had, getting our conclusions to Roy Hodgson would be difficult to say the least. Two days before the start of Euro 2016, he’s probably got other things to think about aside from what two random blokes with no top level managerial experience between them might have to say about his team selection and tactics. To be honest, if he showed any interest whatsoever, I’d start to doubt his credentials for the job.
One thing we did agree on was how hard the England managers job is and why on earth would anyone want it. Sure there’s the pots of cash but the pressure must be immense. And of course there are the free tickets to any game you want to watch but I’d assume that if the FA were considering you for the job, you probably wouldn’t have trouble getting tickets anyway. But seriously, who would want to take a job when you know that firstly, pretty much everyone else in the country thinks they can do that job just as well or slightly better than you? I’m not sure there’s any other job where that’s the case. If some bloke comes to mend my washing machine, I don’t have endless discussions with my mates about how I’d mend the washing machine given the chance. I just let him mend it. That’s his job.
Secondly, if you’re England manager, you also know that there’s a good chance that at some point, you probably won’t be able to leave your house or pop down the shops without getting dirty looks from random strangers. Now I have some experience in this department having once done a terrible gig on the QE2 and then having to stand in the breakfast queue the next morning. It was upsetting but, short of throwing myself over the side, there was nothing I could do.
Lastly, unless you’re very good and very lucky, you know that it will end in failure, ignominy and disappointment and you’ll be a national figure of fun, compared to root vegetables and possibly unemployable for two or three years at the least. You may well have to go abroad to get work and there’s no guarantees. Why put yourself through it?
I guess everyone goes into it thinking they’ll be the one to turn things around, revive England’s fortunes and lead us into the promised land. Even though experience suggests otherwise. I imagine they go to sleep at night thinking of telling substitutions late in games, thrilling comebacks, trophies, medals, glowing newspaper headlines, open top bus parades and the new years honours list. They probably don’t imagine standing in the pissing rain at Wembley getting dogs abuse for using an umbrella.
Anyway, Roy seems like a decent bloke. He’s massively experienced and he knows way more about football than anyone I know and I’m sure he’s spent many hours discussing the same things me and my mate did last night. Only with much more insight and awareness. He’s probably better prepared than a lot of England managers and he’s got a young hungry squad with some serious attacking talent. Maybe this is the year. But only if he talks to me before the tournament starts.
Tuesday, 7 June 2016
Feel the Fear
Morning. I might be misreading the situation but doesn’t everything seem rather calm at the moment? The team arrived in Chantilly yesterday and there was very little fuss. There were police outriders accompanying the coach from the airport and then a brass band, a couple of local dignitaries and some curious locals. And that was it. Seems about right. There’s enough fuss made over football at the best of times but this seemed more appropriate. Imagine if Euro 2016 was on Sky.
I also like that they’re staying in a small town. I’m not saying that the players will be frequenting the local patisseries or mooching round the art gallery which apparently houses one of France’s most important collection of old masters. It’s just good that it’s there if only to remind them that important though this football tournament is, life goes on.
Although in France, the trains might not go on. There are a couple of militant rail unions, run no doubt by a French version of Bob Crow and they’re threatening to disrupt the tournament over their demands that they couldn’t possibly work for longer than fifteen hours a week. I might have got the details slightly wrong here but this is the gist of it. And as well as that, some neo-nazi nut was arrested on the Poland-Ukraine border. He was planning to target synagogues, mosques and other public buildings before and during the championships. He had a cache of weapons, a couple of hundred pounds of explosives and twenty-five balaclavas. It’s not just me who finds the balaclavas funny yes?
Back on planet football, there’s a lot of talk about fear this morning. Roy Hodgson has talked about England playing without fear and we can all get on board with that. I think the idea is for the England players to play like they did when they were kids and let’s face it, for Marcus Rashford, this really wasn’t so long ago. Playing professional sport, particularly in a major tournaments like Euro 2016 is a serious business. But if they can somehow forget that there’s fifty-million people desperately willing them on and if they mess up, ready to turn on them when they get home, perhaps they can enjoy themselves. Easier said than done.
By the way, when it comes to fear, Roy wants to take a look at himself as well. There seems to be a lot of talk about our new attacking mindset but if we’re playing three up front and the two strikers have to make sure they don’t neglect their defensive duties, then we’re not really playing three up front are we? At this point, I was going to say that one can’t imagine Brazilian strikers being told not to neglect their defensive duties but then I remembered they lost 7-1 to Germany in the World Cup semi-final so perhaps that’s not the best example.
Roy also talked about the players not being distracted by club or external issues. I imagine he’s talking about Jamie Vardy who at this point is sitting in his luxury hotel having to think about one of the bigger decisions in his life when he just wants to be playing football for his country. We all know it’s not easy deciding on a full English or continental breakfast but I guess he’s got people around him he can trust so I hope he makes the right choice.
Roll on Friday.
I also like that they’re staying in a small town. I’m not saying that the players will be frequenting the local patisseries or mooching round the art gallery which apparently houses one of France’s most important collection of old masters. It’s just good that it’s there if only to remind them that important though this football tournament is, life goes on.
Although in France, the trains might not go on. There are a couple of militant rail unions, run no doubt by a French version of Bob Crow and they’re threatening to disrupt the tournament over their demands that they couldn’t possibly work for longer than fifteen hours a week. I might have got the details slightly wrong here but this is the gist of it. And as well as that, some neo-nazi nut was arrested on the Poland-Ukraine border. He was planning to target synagogues, mosques and other public buildings before and during the championships. He had a cache of weapons, a couple of hundred pounds of explosives and twenty-five balaclavas. It’s not just me who finds the balaclavas funny yes?
Back on planet football, there’s a lot of talk about fear this morning. Roy Hodgson has talked about England playing without fear and we can all get on board with that. I think the idea is for the England players to play like they did when they were kids and let’s face it, for Marcus Rashford, this really wasn’t so long ago. Playing professional sport, particularly in a major tournaments like Euro 2016 is a serious business. But if they can somehow forget that there’s fifty-million people desperately willing them on and if they mess up, ready to turn on them when they get home, perhaps they can enjoy themselves. Easier said than done.
By the way, when it comes to fear, Roy wants to take a look at himself as well. There seems to be a lot of talk about our new attacking mindset but if we’re playing three up front and the two strikers have to make sure they don’t neglect their defensive duties, then we’re not really playing three up front are we? At this point, I was going to say that one can’t imagine Brazilian strikers being told not to neglect their defensive duties but then I remembered they lost 7-1 to Germany in the World Cup semi-final so perhaps that’s not the best example.
Roy also talked about the players not being distracted by club or external issues. I imagine he’s talking about Jamie Vardy who at this point is sitting in his luxury hotel having to think about one of the bigger decisions in his life when he just wants to be playing football for his country. We all know it’s not easy deciding on a full English or continental breakfast but I guess he’s got people around him he can trust so I hope he makes the right choice.
Roll on Friday.
Monday, 6 June 2016
Bound for Glory!
It’s a beautiful monday afternoon here in London and I’m writing this as the England squad fly out from Luton dreaming of glory. Personally, I think Luton airport is not a place conducive to glorious dreams but I guess the England squads flying experience is slightly different to mine.
You can really feel the build up now. The papers are full of it and social media is also starting to chat. I think there’s just an impatience now to get going. Even though we probably know what’s coming. Do I think England can win the Euros? Yes. We have some great attacking talent and the team is young and hungry. Do I think they will? Almost certainly not. Our defence isn’t good enough and there are five or six teams who have more experience and better players. And another ten teams where there’s not much in it. And the rest aren’t that bad.
If I’m honest, all I want is some enjoyment. Some pleasure from watching England play football in a major tournament. I’ve sat through most of the qualifiers and quite a few of the friendlies so I think I deserve my reward. A couple of big wins against proper teams. Something to shout about. Hope. Instead of my regular feeling that supporting England through a tournament will turn out to be a short but painful endurance test. The feeling that whilst every other team, including teams from tiny countries with no football history who only recently got boots and nets, are playing twenty-first century football, we’re still chugging along doing the same things we’ve always done.
In other news, Wayne Rooney has said that England need to be nastier (I think the word I’d use is streetwise but perhaps he actually meant nastier) and Eric Dier has mentioned how we need a more intelligent edge to win free kicks and wind people up. Predictably, Roy Hodgson has rejected calls for England to be cynical and said that he won’t be spending time teaching players to feign injury. To be fair, an image of the squad looking on while Roy Hodgson rolls about on the ground like Pepe is hard to conjure up so I wouldn’t want him to teach that. I’d rather get someone specialist in for that sort of job.
I have mixed feelings about the dark arts. I know they can sometimes work but you know, I’m English. Which is not to say that I’d be absolutely mortified if Jamie Vardy went down to win a soft penalty against Portugal for example in the last minute of the quarter final. I may look at my friends and think we got away with one there but that feeling would pass. Until someone did it to us in the semi-final and I’d rage against foreign footballers and their cynical ways.
Anyway, with breaks for tea and biscuits and taking the dog for a walk, I’m still writing this as the England team have landed and they have the nations hopes with them. Good luck lads. Bring us back something nice.
You can really feel the build up now. The papers are full of it and social media is also starting to chat. I think there’s just an impatience now to get going. Even though we probably know what’s coming. Do I think England can win the Euros? Yes. We have some great attacking talent and the team is young and hungry. Do I think they will? Almost certainly not. Our defence isn’t good enough and there are five or six teams who have more experience and better players. And another ten teams where there’s not much in it. And the rest aren’t that bad.
If I’m honest, all I want is some enjoyment. Some pleasure from watching England play football in a major tournament. I’ve sat through most of the qualifiers and quite a few of the friendlies so I think I deserve my reward. A couple of big wins against proper teams. Something to shout about. Hope. Instead of my regular feeling that supporting England through a tournament will turn out to be a short but painful endurance test. The feeling that whilst every other team, including teams from tiny countries with no football history who only recently got boots and nets, are playing twenty-first century football, we’re still chugging along doing the same things we’ve always done.
In other news, Wayne Rooney has said that England need to be nastier (I think the word I’d use is streetwise but perhaps he actually meant nastier) and Eric Dier has mentioned how we need a more intelligent edge to win free kicks and wind people up. Predictably, Roy Hodgson has rejected calls for England to be cynical and said that he won’t be spending time teaching players to feign injury. To be fair, an image of the squad looking on while Roy Hodgson rolls about on the ground like Pepe is hard to conjure up so I wouldn’t want him to teach that. I’d rather get someone specialist in for that sort of job.
I have mixed feelings about the dark arts. I know they can sometimes work but you know, I’m English. Which is not to say that I’d be absolutely mortified if Jamie Vardy went down to win a soft penalty against Portugal for example in the last minute of the quarter final. I may look at my friends and think we got away with one there but that feeling would pass. Until someone did it to us in the semi-final and I’d rage against foreign footballers and their cynical ways.
Anyway, with breaks for tea and biscuits and taking the dog for a walk, I’m still writing this as the England team have landed and they have the nations hopes with them. Good luck lads. Bring us back something nice.
Sunday, 5 June 2016
The Journey begins
Like a lot of people, I’m just about to embark on a month of watching a lot of football. People who know me would say that I could write this sentence at the beginning of any month in any year since around 1970 and I take their point. I watch a fair bit of football. Not as much as my friend Sean who regularly goes to watch his team live and then comes home and watches the entire game again. And possibly the highlights later on if it’s been a particularly good day. But still a fair bit of football.
Of course, the month I’m about to embark on involves England playing in a major tournament and that’s a completely different level of pain from my club team. I’ve watched all the tournaments that England have been involved in since the European Championships in 1980 and as we all know, every single one of them have ended in crushing disappointment. 1986, 1990 and 1996 were particularly bad but they’ve all let me down one way or the other.
Of course I keep coming back for more. I essentially have no choice. What else am I going to do for a month? I might watch a bit of tennis and cricket but if there’s a major football tournament happening, I can’t just pretend that I’m not interested. That being the case, I thought I’d write a daily blog for my own and hopefully your amusement. I’m not getting paid for it but I’m sure I’ll find some consolation in being slagged off on social media for expressing an opinion.
As this is the first instalment, I thought I’d lay down a few ground rules for what you might expect.
No tactical analysis - I’ll try and stick with this one even though amongst football fans, I like to think I have an above average understanding of the game. But then, which of us doesn’t? We all think that we could manage a football team as well as or better than people who manage football teams for a living. Essentially, we think that just because we’ve watched thousands of hours of something, that means we’ll be good at doing that thing. If that was the case, I’d make an excellent lesbian lover. And I’d also speak passable German.
Now I come to think about it, there are no other ground rules.
So here I am again on the brink of another roller coaster ride which will inevitably end in disillusion and bitterness and the feeling that I really should invest my energy into something more rewarding. Like paying attention to my family. Or learning to play the piano. What I’m saying is I really should know better.
The trouble is that even though I’m no longer twelve years old but into my fifties, I have an optimistic outlook and I travel hopefully into each tournament. Even though I watched the warm up game against Portugal last week with a weary sense of deja-vu and that sinking feeling I get around a week before a major tournament when I realise our manager has no idea what our best team/formation might be. Even though we’ve only taken seven defenders and I’m not sure about any of them. And even though I’ve been watching England for forty years and it ALWAYS goes tits up, in spite of all of this, I can’t help feeling that you never know. Since Leicester City won the league title, we can all truly say that miracles do happen. Maybe something magical will unfold in France from next week and Wayne Rooney will lift the trophy in Paris in July after we thrash the Germans in the final. Stranger things have happened. Not much stranger I’d admit but still.
I honestly don’t know if it’s better to be this way or not. I have friends who are all doom and gloom already and the tournament hasn’t even started. “We’ll never get out of the group” they say or “Rooney can’t play in a team behind Vardy and Kane” they opine on the basis of sixty minutes of football, or even “why isn’t Andy Carroll in the squad?” on the basis of one decent game he played for West Ham against Arsenal. They may well be right but who wants to be right? Give me a large dollop of naive optimism followed by a grim dose of reality any day of the week.
So, I’ll post once a day from now until the end of the tournament and I’ll keep going even if England get knocked out. You might not want to read it any more but as a comic who’s been to the Edinburgh festival, I’m more than used to performing to an empty room. In the next few days, I’ll get into the nitty gritty of the tournament and I may even make a prediction based on nothing more than gut feeling and personal prejudice. But in the meantime, hello.
Of course, the month I’m about to embark on involves England playing in a major tournament and that’s a completely different level of pain from my club team. I’ve watched all the tournaments that England have been involved in since the European Championships in 1980 and as we all know, every single one of them have ended in crushing disappointment. 1986, 1990 and 1996 were particularly bad but they’ve all let me down one way or the other.
Of course I keep coming back for more. I essentially have no choice. What else am I going to do for a month? I might watch a bit of tennis and cricket but if there’s a major football tournament happening, I can’t just pretend that I’m not interested. That being the case, I thought I’d write a daily blog for my own and hopefully your amusement. I’m not getting paid for it but I’m sure I’ll find some consolation in being slagged off on social media for expressing an opinion.
As this is the first instalment, I thought I’d lay down a few ground rules for what you might expect.
No tactical analysis - I’ll try and stick with this one even though amongst football fans, I like to think I have an above average understanding of the game. But then, which of us doesn’t? We all think that we could manage a football team as well as or better than people who manage football teams for a living. Essentially, we think that just because we’ve watched thousands of hours of something, that means we’ll be good at doing that thing. If that was the case, I’d make an excellent lesbian lover. And I’d also speak passable German.
Now I come to think about it, there are no other ground rules.
So here I am again on the brink of another roller coaster ride which will inevitably end in disillusion and bitterness and the feeling that I really should invest my energy into something more rewarding. Like paying attention to my family. Or learning to play the piano. What I’m saying is I really should know better.
The trouble is that even though I’m no longer twelve years old but into my fifties, I have an optimistic outlook and I travel hopefully into each tournament. Even though I watched the warm up game against Portugal last week with a weary sense of deja-vu and that sinking feeling I get around a week before a major tournament when I realise our manager has no idea what our best team/formation might be. Even though we’ve only taken seven defenders and I’m not sure about any of them. And even though I’ve been watching England for forty years and it ALWAYS goes tits up, in spite of all of this, I can’t help feeling that you never know. Since Leicester City won the league title, we can all truly say that miracles do happen. Maybe something magical will unfold in France from next week and Wayne Rooney will lift the trophy in Paris in July after we thrash the Germans in the final. Stranger things have happened. Not much stranger I’d admit but still.
I honestly don’t know if it’s better to be this way or not. I have friends who are all doom and gloom already and the tournament hasn’t even started. “We’ll never get out of the group” they say or “Rooney can’t play in a team behind Vardy and Kane” they opine on the basis of sixty minutes of football, or even “why isn’t Andy Carroll in the squad?” on the basis of one decent game he played for West Ham against Arsenal. They may well be right but who wants to be right? Give me a large dollop of naive optimism followed by a grim dose of reality any day of the week.
So, I’ll post once a day from now until the end of the tournament and I’ll keep going even if England get knocked out. You might not want to read it any more but as a comic who’s been to the Edinburgh festival, I’m more than used to performing to an empty room. In the next few days, I’ll get into the nitty gritty of the tournament and I may even make a prediction based on nothing more than gut feeling and personal prejudice. But in the meantime, hello.
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