This new realistic, pragmatic approach, with no snags or celebrity bodge-jobs, means that this time could be the one
We’re on our way. We are Tom’s 26. This time, more than any other time, this time. We’re going to find a way. Find a way to get it right. This time. Well, maybe. Next time is also good. And the time after that. You don’t like this time? We have other times. Hey, Spain are pretty good right now aren’t they.
There is an entire multilayered history of Englishness in the basic tone and mood of English World Cup excitement. It is easy to forget that when the 1982 squad, AKA Ron’s 22, released the song This Time, a tortured paean to finally erasing their own ancestral agony, England had actually won the World Cup only 16 years earlier.
This was like Spain winning it in 2010 and then doing a song next year saying, oh, finally, finally we’re going to assuage our endless generational failure. To be fair, Ron’s 22 did a brilliantly authentic job of it, faces set with funereal dignity, belting out their V‑necked Viking death hymn. But then, the English are born to feel this. It’s the safe space: wounded lions, comfort in longing, failure as epic drama, thwarted greatness as a form of national identity.
