UEFA EUROs 2024 Final
Sunday 14 July 2024
Played in Berlin
England Away Game #161
German Beer Ticks up to #151
That's it then. We're done. You'll have all seen it. A lot of you on the Tele. You'll have your opinions. That's the deal isn't it. Everyone has their piece of the England team.
Spain didn't let us play for long periods. We gave the ball away too often and too easily. Sat deep. The Spanish players had a lot of space at times. And we generally lacked energy and oooofffftttt towards the top of the park. Sounds awful when I write it like that.
But, of course, it felt different in the ground. We did stay in the game. What a fucking feeling when Palmer's goal went in. But. That's it then.
The manager? My main issue is I definitely DON'T want a foreign manager. We've been down that road before. This is international football. We showcase what we've (the English) got. And if it's not good enough, we can be upset, we can moan, we can build a better showcase. We've developed our top level structure to showcase foreign talent. And to rely on celebrity managers. The same three being appointed on a merry go round. It's fucking mental.
I like Southgate. He embodies what I think it's like to be English. Calm, polite, thoughtful, supportive, self aware. He's the (correct) antidote to the arrogant, entitled, vein popping, pundit repeating pricks. Of which there were many in Berlin I'm afraid.
If he had stayed. I could have lived with that. He's gone. I can live with that. If he's replaced by who is judged to be the next English England manager. I can live with that. If he's replaced by a foreign manager. I'll have to live with that.
What do we do now?
We try to get confirmation that England Under 21 game in September is being played at The Ballymena Showgrounds. That'll be a good ground tick. And we decide whether it's best to stay in Belfast, Derry, or Ballymena itself. Before finding a way to get to Dublin for England's Nations League game the day after. That's what we fucking do, mate.
I've actually become a little bit of a celebrity in the German grounds, among the England fans.
“Why's that Phil? Because you've been going since 1983? Because you were at the 1988 EUROs and this is your second go-a-round in Germany. Third if you count the World Cup. Are other fans finally beginning to recognise your elder statesman gravitas? Are they Blog readers, wanting to say how much the Blog has cheered them up through the tournament? Is that why you're becoming a little bit of a celebrity?”
“No mate. It's the Selfies.”
The Carrier Bag Firm have to get into these stadiums early. Avoid the pushing and shoving on the trains. Get through security and tickets before it turns into a mad rush. Claim our own seat. And defend it against Mr Sit Where You Like.
We often find ourselves in with other earlies. Some of them (bless), could be their first England game. Some of them, their 101st, bumping into friends they haven't seen since Qatar. Some of them have their flags. Tom & Ally On Tour. RIP Jinxy. Hallam FC. Lest We Forget. We See Things You'll Never See. Bring Back Fingering (!!!). Slogans is what I'm saying.
And, many of them will want the Photey. For the Facebook. For the Insta. For the hell of it. For the moment. They will stand on the steps. They will see a cuddly old fella. And they will say;
“Would you mind taking a photo of us, Pal?”
“Of course, do you want it this way round, or this? Shall I get the scoreboard in the back? Shufty in a bit so I can get all of you and the flag in. I'll take a few. So you can choose the best one. Look like you're enjoying yourselves for fuck sake. Here we go…”
From their perspective, they see a vulnerable individual, trying his best, poking at their phone screen, for all he's worth, tap, tap, tap.
“There you go. I think there'll be some good ‘uns in those. Have a good night. It's Coming Home…”
What they don't yet realise is, for some of those photos, I've flicked their phone onto Selfie Mode, slightly changed my bewildered old man concentrating face into POUTY FACE and selfied myself into their reel.
Later. They will check their phone. And they will see. And they will firstly think - who the fuck. And then they will think - how the fuck. And mainly - why the fuck. They will process it all, the photos with the flag, the photos with their mates, and the photos of my pout. And they will smile. And they will think…
“The fucker…”
And, at the Final in Berlin, one of them will walk up my aisle. Glance my way. Double take. Stare a bit to make sure. Attract my attention;
“Hey mate, I've got a great photo of you on my phone…”
He will show me. We will both giggle. He will go and get the others who were at the photoshoot. And they will all shake my hand. England fans across the generations. The baton is passed. See you in Ballymena.
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