I’m starting to believe! It could happen!! It’s coming home!!! Though, realistically, how could it be ‘home’ for a trophy that’s never even visited here? Ok, its coming to OUR home, but the implication is that its going where it belongs. And all trophies belong here. Somewhere near Golders Green.
So I’m believing, but not really sure whether I care yet. Even though it was an incredible result yesterday. And ‘incredible’ in that you really couldn’t believe that such a lacklustre bunch of underperformers could have ever pulled a win out of quite literally nothing. We were abysmal. Dire. No shots on goal. Midfielders asleep. Defenders caught checking their Instagram feeds during corners. It was so bad I went and made a chicken pie.

I cook to relieve stress. And to eat, obviously. I like eating. Not sure I like watching England. And when I came back to the tv half an hour later (pie now ready for the oven and looking really good, even if the fucking pastry split putting the ‘lid on’), we were still 1 nil down with about 20 minutes to go.

This was not Spain we were playing. Thankfully because that would have been a blood bath. Nor France, Germany or Belgium. No. We were playing Slovakia. Our second bunch of Slovs in a week. And this one, like the last one, belong firmly in the ‘second tier’ of teams. Nations which are so low on the rankings that they never try to win games, in any meaningful sense. They just try to stop other teams from winning. The Italian model. Horrible to watch. And they hope that at some point they get a break and can possibly score. Which they did yesterday. And if that doesn’t happens, they’re basically playing for a penalty shoot-out from minute 1.

But class will show and up steps the physical embodiment of footballing ‘class’, Jude Bellingham. Having slept through the entire second half, and most of the first, Mr ‘Walk-on-Water’ waits until the 5th and final minute of injury time to score a quite wonderful goal to send the game to extra time.

And in the very first minute of that Harry Kane, the man who’d squandered more chances in that match than in any 10 year period of his wonderful career, popped up with what would become the winner. And we all sang ‘Sweet Caroline’ because…

Spain played later on. I didn’t go to make any more pies. Didn’t need to. They were fabulous to watch. A pleasure on the eye. Pies are pleasure elsewhere and a tad more calorific.

So watch Spain. The healthier alternative.

Happy Monday

A xxxx