Well, the excitement in our house last night was positively palpable. Pulsating. Possibly psychologically psychedelic (I know, but I ran out of ‘p’-words which sound like ‘p’-words). It was pspectacular. Even Mel, not the world’s keenest football fan, was so moved by the occasion that she actually looked up from our latest jigsaw puzzle for seconds on end. During the second half. And the last 5 minutes of the first half. Before that there was quite literally nothing to distract her from sorting those little pieces. It was horrible.

Because Senegal started like men possessed. Almost as if they were a World Cup team intent on winning a round-of-16 knockout match! I mean; who does that? At one point during the (what felt like) 3rd hour of the first half, the daughter messaged me ‘this is like watching Spurs’, as England knocked the ball around, quite comfortably between the back 4, never venturing anywhere near the half way line. That was after Senegal had inevitably decided that ‘high press’ might be a good idea but if you’re knackered after 10 minutes, the rest of the game might become a problem. But still England looked like a team without a plan.

Then something happened. It was called ‘Jude Bellingham’ and he just sort of burst into life. A 19 year old kid running like a veteran, bouncing off tackles and he set up the game’s most unlikely scorer, Jordan Henderson, for a goal just before the 40 minute mark. Hooray. Nerves were settled (except for Spurs fans, ours never settle) we had a lead to take in at half time.

But the first half wasn’t over. Not by a long way. Bellingham again, powering his way upfield as England broke out of defence. Pass to Phil Foden on the left, first time to Harry Kane, powering up from the right and if you want an emphatic finish, Harry delivered. So we had a 2-nil lead to take in at half time.

We scored one more, Foden again, this time assisting Saka for a very classy goal.

And being a football fan, thus able to make a definitive judgment based on 5 minutes of play, but relying completely on hyperbole, the blinkering effects of national pride and alcohol, wishful thinking and a blind spot 6 miles wide, I would say Jude Bellingham is the best player in the world.

Because I just don’t get the hype about Kylian Mbappe. What’s all the fuss about? He’s French, FFS. Just because he’s explosively talented, unbelievably skilful, scores for fun, is fast as fuck-on-steroids and quite possibly the inheritor of Messi’s crown for brilliance, why is everyone making such a big deal?

Maybe he’ll get Covid before Saturday.

Happy “it’s comin’ ‘ome” Monday

A xxxx