Football’s Coming Home… Except When It Doesn’t

Just Passing Through Podcast

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Episode 154
England. The country that gave the world the beautiful game, only to continually break our hearts with it. Supporting the England football team is like riding an emotional rollercoaster that’s perpetually stuck in a loop of thrilling climbs and devastating drops. It's an exercise in both loyalty and masochism, and the recent Euro final against Spain was no exception.

There we were, once again, donning our Three Lions jerseys, our faces painted with the St. George's cross, and our hearts full of hope. The anticipation was palpable. Could this be the year? Could we finally bring football home? Spoiler alert: No. Football has its bags permanently packed for Spain, it seems.

As the game kicked off, there was a collective roar from living rooms and pubs across the nation. We were ready, our spirits high and our faith unshakable. Fast forward to the second half, and there we were, watching Cole Palmer equalize. "Here we go again," we thought, "this is it, the comeback kings are back." But then, in typical England fashion, we conceded late, and our dreams were dashed once more.

The post-match scenes were as predictable as the plot of a soap opera. Grown men in Gareth Southgate waistcoats crying into their pints, kids asking their parents why football hates England, and everyone else wondering why we put ourselves through this emotional wringer every couple of years. Being an England supporter is energy-sapping work, akin to running a marathon with lead boots on.

We invented this game, for crying out loud! The irony is rich. It’s like we’re the chefs who created a Michelin-starred dish but keep burning it in our own kitchen. Other nations must look at us with a mix of sympathy and amusement, much like you’d watch someone who insists on assembling IKEA furniture without the instructions.

Every tournament, we dust off our flags, dig out our vintage '66 World Cup jerseys, and declare that this is our year. We put our hopes and dreams into players who promise much but deliver heartbreak. Harry Kane, our noble captain, might as well be called the Duke of Disappointment at this point. It’s not his fault, of course. The lad does his best, but it's hard to lead a charge when the universe seems to have a vendetta against your team.

And then there’s Gareth Southgate, the man with the plan, the waistcoat-wearing wonder who has restored our faith and then shattered it with the same devastating efficiency. He’s the dad who promises a trip to Disneyland but takes you to the local funfair instead. We love him, we hate him, we want him to stay, and we want him to go. It’s complicated, like any long-term relationship.

So why do we keep coming back for more? Why do we subject ourselves to this endless cycle of hope and despair? Because we’re England fans, that’s why. It’s in our DNA to believe that one day, somehow, we’ll get it right. That the stars will align, the gods of football will smile upon us, and we’ll finally win that elusive trophy.

Until then, we’ll keep cheering, keep believing, and keep getting our hearts broken. We’ll toast to the highs, cry through the lows, and come back for more. Because that’s what it means to be an England supporter. And who knows? Maybe next time, football really will come home. Or maybe not. Either way, we’ll be there, waving our flags and daring to dream.
Music:
Shirley Bassey - History Repeating
The Jam - A Town Called Malice

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