I’ve never really been bothered by football. I detest nationalism and hooliganism—I’m not a big fan of England as a whole, as it happens—and the sport itself is rarely of interest. I’ll keep half an eye on a game if it’s on in a pub, or if my fiancée’s dad is watching his team play, but the only time my interest is piqued is around a big competition—when everyone gets into the swing of things, and appears to firmly believe that “it’s coming home.”
Right now, though, I’m hooked.
After beating Denmark in the semi-final of the European Championship, England does have a real chance at glory on Sunday. If so, it would be the first time the national team has won in a major tournament since 1966. Even better: This current team seems genuinely socially conscious and considerate, as does their manager, Gareth Southgate, for whom this tournament is a shot at redemption, too.
It’s of little surprise then that so many are backing this England team. To see that win was to momentarily see a sense of unity and celebration spring up, and long after the final whistle blew on Wednesday night, the air outside my London home was thick with jubilant roars and car horns blaring.
As I drew closer to the local high street, the electricity in the air intensified: Neighbors perched on doorsteps with curious smiles on their faces, and a trickle of people pointed to the source of the cacophony. Drunk, jubilant fans were re-enacting some imagined Baroque painting—think Rubens’ “Massacre of the Innocents,” though with subjects who were shitfaced and wearing football shirts—hurling themselves alongside honking cars and scooters and spraying beer over one another.
My COVID-induced fear of large gatherings led me quickly home, though with a smile on my face. In the context of several lockdowns and general pandemic misery, it’s nice to, for once, have some sporting success to get behind. For all the years of hopelessly bleating “it’s coming home,” maybe it actually will this year.
Words + PhotoLily Waite