Coming towards the end of an international weekend in which England stuck five past Andorra, nestled neatly between New Caledonia and the Dominican Republic at 156th in the FIFA rankings. There are 54 nations below Andorra, with San Marino there at the very end in 210th. The match was notable as the first England International to be refereed by a woman, the Ukranian Kateryna Mosul, who, by all accounts, had a good game. I didn’t see it, having had enough football excitement at Muglet Lane, where Maltby Main were held 1-1 by a decent Barton Town side, the notable feature here being Barton’s astonishingly angry manager, who did well to get through the match without spontaneously combusting, saved from this likelihood perhaps only by getting himself sent off. Following that, I foresook England for the delights of a Northern Soul night near Doncaster. It’s all glamour!
Not seeing England play is a bit of a feature of my life. I just can’t get that interested. Possibly, this is a product of the age I just happen to be. Born in ‘64, so that pretty much everythiing in my living memory has just been a bit of a disappointment; dreary in the 70s, tainted by thuggery on the terraces in the 80s, Stupid levels of hype and unrealistic expectation since then. Honourable exception being 1990 when at least Forest were well represented and we had a fantastic song.
The biggest influence of England on my football life of late has been a loathing of international breaks. Partly, because they always seem to come at the wrong time for Forest. Maybe there‘s never a right time for Forest. Or maybe everyone thinks the same about their team. There’s been a fair bit of debate on Twitter over the weekend. People miss club football. Some have expressed clearly that they do not care about England. Others that England matter to them more than their club. And all shades in between. It’s been quite heated, some of it!
I struggle with England because of with my relationship with patriotism and nationalism. I’ll happily concede to loving seeing England do well at cricket and I’ve loved the recent brilliance of British cyclists, something I’d never expected to live to see. The England football team has always felt like someone else’s team though. Let’s be clear, I’m not decrying all England supporters as racist and xenophobic. That’s patently not true. But to me, the England team have always represented that element more than anything else. It’s represented a different set of values to those that I hold dear. I’ve envied foreign friends’ (and let’s include the rest of Britain here too) much easier relationships with their national teams. I’ve been embarrassed too often at many of the reactions to both victories and defeats, including this year’s Euros. As far as I’m aware, cricket fans tend not to put through the windows of local curry houses after a defeat to India or Pakistan. Our local Italian suffered that fate this Summer though. I’m passionate about the cycling, but have experienced no urge, ever, to twat a Belgian after a disappointing result for Team Sky in the Tour of Flanders.
As an aside, but definitely related, at least in my own mind, I’m not sure I’ve ever got over regular taxi rides home to Willesden from working night shifts in Mitcham back in the late 80s - a long journey at the best of times, a bloody long journey in a mini cab with a creepy, pervert, racist. John, car 53, liked to go via Paddington, round and round Paddington, to watch the “ladies of the night”, who he lectured me were there to lead men astray and needed to be smitten. On reflection, I should’ve reported him for that alone. To add to John’s charm though, he was remarkably, horribly racist. He followed England, home and away and Chelsea, home and away. John 53 would not recognise goals scored by black players. They just did not count. John Barnes did not score that goal against Brazil. Closer to home, the 5 career goals defender Clive Wilson scored for Chelsea did not count. John 53 would quote results without Wilson’s goals included. ”Won 1-0, I see John.” “No, nil-nil, I don’t count goals scored by blacks.” Now, clearly John 53 was deranged, but he left his mark and somehow came to represent England fans, certainly of that time, for me. Not right and not fair, I accept, but that’s how it was.
Until recently, it’s been a struggle to accept patriotism as a positive thing. A couple of reads have led me to reconsider. Firstly, Billy Bragg’s The Progressive Patriot makes a strong case for positive English patriotism, based on pride in that part of our history that has battled for fairness, inclusion and support for the underdog. A patriotism that’s also based on widening its bounds to newcomers and “broadening the definition of what it is to belong”. David Kynaston, whose excellent political/Aldershot Town FC diary Shots In The Dark pretty much inspired this diary/blog, also thinks about this a great deal. He talks about celebrating shared positive values and a patriotism defined as someone in Cornwall, for example, caring about someone in Liverpool losing their job. I can relate to these ideas.
In which case, I feel that I should be able to get behind the current England team. On the face of it, at least, enough of this crop of players seem to share many of my core values about diversity, inclusion and social justice. They represent a modern open-minded 21st century England in a way that the Government, for example, categorically do not. Clearly, they’re not a squad of Marxist revolutionaries, but they do genuinely seem to represent decency. They are citizens of the world, plying their trade in a massively multi-cultural environment where what matters is talent and effort. Overlooking the insane money, success for them would surely be a victory for those decent values, simultaneously making those who support the team but oppose those values look foolish and hypocritical.
I think I’ve realised that this is my time to try to get more interested and to back England. I’ll give it a shot. Next problem then, to engage with a World Cup which really should not be hosted in Qatar…
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