England’s dreaming

England could be out of the European Championships by Saturday evening. Whatever.

It was during the 2006 World Cup that I had my epiphany - the 59th minute of England’s win or bust match against Ecuador to be precise. The moment when David Beckham’s trademark free-kick curled into the bottom right-hand corner of the ‘Ecuador-roonian’ net – as Ron Atkinson might have called it. The moment when everyone in the north London pub where I was watching the game erupted – but not me. Not wanting to spill my plastic pint of premium had nothing to do with my lack of exultation, no longer being arsed whether England won or lost had everything to do with it.

It was the years of drip, drip, drip disappointment that did it for me. The years of over-hyped England players – from Hoddle to Terry via Seaman - and their unfulfilled potential. If that potential was ever really there.

The corrosive effect on my spirits means I no longer care whether England qualify for Euro 2008. Ok, I do care, but in the sense that I care when my newsagent runs out of Hula Hoops. I’m irritated. For 60 seconds. It’s not something I get passionate about.

Unlike England footballers, who always telling us how very passionate they are. England vice captain Steven Gerrard - great club player, mediocre international (ditto: every other ‘world class’ England player since 1966, bar Shilton, Gazza and Rooney) – can big up how much the players want to go to Euro 2008, but do it on the pitch, fella. Then talk about it.

But England players always talk a good game. They should do – who else, other than Cabinet ministers, gets so much practise at giving vacuous soundbite into microphones? Problem is, out on the pitch, England always disappoint. Penalty shoot-out defeats, failure to qualify for finals, hurried, frantic football, or, worse, the mind-numbing attempts at playing a ‘possession’ game – these are defining images after 30 years of watching England on TV. Yes, on TV, because another reason for my apathy about the national team is the prospect of having to rub shoulders with England supporters.

Pre-Euro 96, England followers were the scourge of Europe with tear gas spraying, plastic chairs flying and mobs charging. Pain in the arse, if you wanted to watch the match and get home sans an A&E visit. Then the hoolies got old and, like Z-list Henry Hills, wrote books about their criminal activities.

Post Euro-96, following England is safer, thank god, but in a different way, no better. England fans in 2007 still boo foreign national anthems for appearances sake, but are generally peaceable. But now they blow repetitive tunes into brass instruments, wave foam hands, dress up as Crusader knights (bring on another holy war!) and sing – unforgivably - rugby songs in between hurling abuse at Steve McClaren. Or Sven. Or even Beckham before he became untouchable.

But England fans should forget abusing McClaren or whipping boy Lampard if England don’t make it to Switzerland and Austria. They should just chill, not get worked up, and wait until England provide a team worth getting worked up over. That’s what I’m doing. Though if England do qualify I may crack open a celebratory pack of Hula Hoops.

JAMES LAMB