It was the day of dreams. Ok, always open to the odd nightmare, but a day of sporting glory, or, obviously, not such glory, depending on… things. Most days in life without even having one massive sporting final, but yesterday there were two!!!, and a half.

Because first thing on the day’s agenda was MY tennis. Not that pretentious shit they play at Wimbledon with ball-boys/girls/things and Robinson’s Barley Water being served by morning-suited butlers, but proper, ‘grass roots’, in-the-park tennis, played by real men. Who fetch their own balls. And drink neat vodka in between the points. And thus did Spurs Paul and I ‘pre-enact’ the final which was to follow. I was Carlos Alacaraz, he was Katie Boulter. And it was brilliant. Magnificent. Two virtual gods of the game at our peaks. Held together with blood thinners, statins, anti-inflammatories and blue tack.

Then, after lunch, came that other game. The other Carlos Alcaraz playing everyone’s favourite pantomime baddie, Novak Djokovic. Not so much a match as a statement. A changing of the guard. An exhibition. Of how being 21 doesn’t solve all the problems in the world but it can be the absolute perfect age for pure physicality, stamina, strength and, as yet, injury-freeness. The only hard thing Carlos had to do was keep his cool. Because Djokovic has shown over the years that, brilliant an exponent of my game he might be, its mental strength which wins big games. And Carlos was simply magnificent. He broke Djokovic’s serve in the very first game and never looked back.

And then, at long last, the Euro football final. England vs Spain, in Berlin, everything set for the victory which has eluded us since 1966, all ripe for our ‘destiny’. Some of us were merely praying that an England win would see the end of the expression “it’s comin’ ‘ome” once and for all, because ‘it’ would have come ‘ome, so we could ban the phrase, making it punishable by prison sentence upon utterance. But alas, it wasn’t to be. I’m not sure England did a lot wrong, they just didn’t do enough right. And I felt for my boys. And for Gareth. Who deserved it if only to prove yet again what a total bellend is Gary Lineker. And I don’t really know how you put Harry Kane with Jude Bellingham, Phil Foden and Bukayo Saka, the best players in their respective leagues this season, and apparently prevent them from being brilliant. Yet consistently that’s what happened, other than a few moments of brilliance spread very thinly over the four weeks.

And now there’s NOTHING!!!!

Happy sport-free Monday

A xxxx