England v Sweden

You know when you first had a bottled alcoholic drink and discovered that if you smashed your bottle on the neck of your mates bottle, it would erupt and he would have a very uncomfortable 10 seconds trying to contain the fizzy explosion in his mouth? Was a good game when I was 16 (and drinking illegally!)

Remember that game you played with your mates where the purpose was to stealthily punch them in the testicles? No, I struggle to recall that too.

Well, for the first half last night I was becoming very irritated by a group of lads in front of me in the pub doing the very two things I talk about above. Andy Carroll’s spectacular header (he used all his Deirdre muscles, according to my mate) relieving me of growing annoyance. It was a solid, but unspectacular 45 minutes. I could not see us scoring another, and predicted an attempt at shutting up shop, only for Zlatan Ibrahimovic to equalise.

I was furiously BBM’ing my brother and mate, first reaffirming my ‘It’s got 1-1 written all over it’ stance, and then blaming Joe Hart for the Swedish second goal (I felt he should have been able to come and claim the cross).

The half an hour that followed however was the most enjoyable - but at the same time, nervy - England performance I recall for quite some time. 5-1 v Germany was the game thrown at me, and I probably agree. The spirit the team showed to get back into the game, and the decision by Hodgson to bring on Walcott (a man heavily criticised by many, including me) was fantastic. I was unofficially part of Team Redknapp before the appointment, but I’m not sure Harry would have made the great tactical decisions that Hodgson did, and for that he deserves enormous credit.

The pub (Crib Bar, Ripley), filled with young men wearing boots suitable for mining in, went crazy for the equaliser; even more so for the winner. Songs were being sung about there being 10 German bombers in the air (why?!?!) and the lads in front of me had stopped annoying me. England produced something I no longer expected of them – excitement, passion (even from the coaching staff), and a victory over a bogey team.

Over 16 million people watched the game in their homes, and upwards of 30million in pubs. My Facebook and Twitter feeds were filled with folk (a lot of whom don’t even understand the offside rule – nothing wrong with that, it’s difficult. First phase, second phase, etc) expressing their delight and patriotism. It makes me wonder just how on earth we would cope if we won the sodding thing. A bank holiday, a week of national celebrations, Sir Roy Hodgson, etc…

I said to my mother: “How would this country cope if we actually won the thing?”, to which her reply came in two parts, a) “We wont” and b) “You seem to forget I was alive when we won in 1966”.

I can’t imagine the aftermath of 1966. I have told myself that football didn’t matter as much back then, simply because it’s hard to comprehend. I’m told I am as wrong as wrong can get, not for the first time.

We’ll get murdered by Spain in the quarters anyway, so enough of the enthusiasm and optimism. Come on England!