Trivial Matters, or the Battle for England
September 2024
“Football Is The Most Important Of The Least Important Things In Life”
Arrigo Sacchi
Trivial Matters, or the Battle for England
A sun‑drenched summer day, a few years back. My family is at the stadium, playing our private mini match. An extremely important one. My son, daughter, husband and I.
A series of penalty shootouts is going on. I'm in goal, doing everything within my limited power: jumping, throwing, punching the ball away, despite the lack of proper gloves, not to mention any kind of protectors. But it was worth bruising my fingers and knees to hear such a compliment from my little son: “Mom, you defend like Joe Hart!”
Wow! When Joe was in top form, Leo Messi himself did not skimp on praise, describing the goalkeeper as a phenomenon.
Why England? Well, it’s typical love at first sight — or rather, at first strike into the goal.
June 11, 1986. Once upon a time in Mexico:
M, a little girl, is watching a match with her family. Of course, everyone is cheering for the white and reds. From the eighth minute, a player who isn’t ‘ours’ begins to dominate M’s attention. It is the striker with the number 10, Gary Lineker, who slides the ball into the net of Józef Młynarczyk. To make matters worse (for the household members and M’s compatriots), he does it two more times in the first half. With finesse and efficiency. As they say, the fox in the box, who found himself in a good moment, in a good place, makes great use of it.
The family is embittered, subdued, broken. M is curious, intrigued, captivated, M is changed. Forever. Although she liked Dariusz Dziekanowski, she cannot resist some inner fascination. She must be forgiven. I must be forgiven. I was very young when I “betrayed” my compatriots. For the first time…
Because in each subsequent clash of these two teams I would find myself on the wrong side of the barricade, that’s another matter. It’s stronger than me. I had to hide it more than once if the match was watched by a wider group of die‑hard fans. I put on a poker face when the White‑and‑Reds sent the ball into the net. In total, the Poles managed to draw six matches, so the “fault” is a bit smaller.
Coming back to the memorable game in Monterrey, little M is very impressed by the English sniper and the whole team. She does not understand, does not feel the pain of Poles after the defeat. It was not about a lack of patriotism. Anyway, it is difficult to talk about it in such a child. It was about the fascination with football. In a pure, round form.
This is how my support for the Sons of Albion began. Since that historic hat trick. Sympathy full of ups and downs. Battle with higher powers. Or windmills. There were disallowed goals, there were wrongly allowed goals for the opponent teams. There was crying and prayers. For the first time, M was kneeling, raising her begging gaze to the sky on a sandy country road before the rebroadcast of the England–Argentina match. There was a faith that could move mountains, that the replay would bring a different result. And a huge surprise that it didn’t. That the mountains stood unmoved, like stones. Like goalposts.
It is a difficult love. If only because England almost always lost on penalties. Out of 10 decisive series, at the moment, they have only 3 wins! (edit: 4 ????) There are great hopes, joys, disappointments — in a word, heart palpitations. Something I never felt about our national team.
The championships are ongoing, M is already at her grandmother’s in the countryside. In the yard, right next to the chicken coop, there is a ‘convenience’, but not just any outdoor toilet, which looks like it is about to collapse. (Little M often played with friend G or siblings in such a game that on the cards scattered on the table they placed, let’s call it nicely, an outhouse, then the cards were pulled carefully so as not to smash it, and whoever did not succeed “fell inside” to the accompaniment of thunderous laughter of fellow players.)
The privy described here was 'fancy', made of white brick, with a red door and the inscription Library made by one of the cousins - due to the pile of press stacked inside on a solid wooden board.
One day, while reading through one of these stacks of newspapers, M finds a black‑and‑white photo of Gary Lineker. The kind that you can hardly see anything up close, only dots (almost like dot painting). She tears out a valuable find and hides it among her treasures. Happy, as if she had a scratch card with a big win!
Today, Lineker is a respected commentator on BBC Sport. I enjoy watching the podcasts called Match of the Day or The Rest Is Football, where he stars alongside Alan Shearer and Micah Richards. It is a pleasure to read his brilliant posts on current football events.
Self‑deprecating and gifted with a sense of humour, in public, with charming embarrassment, he laughs at the fact that in his youth he had to wipe his shorts on the grass in front of the whole world when he had an unpleasant surprise during the first match at the 1990 World Cup.
He is a legend, a footballer who, despite almost 20 years on the pitch, was never shown a card! And in total, in five matches between England and Poland, he spoiled the mood of my compatriots not fewer than six times!
That fateful summer, England were knocked out in the quarter‑finals. What somewhat dried her crocodile tears was that Lineker became the top goalscorer. He also made it to the so‑called Best XI of this World Cup. Maradona’s dramatic, scandalous, ungodly hand delivered a sharp slap to M and the Three Lions. Years later, Gary forgave the Argentinean. M didn’t—I did, but only when Diego left this earthly realm.
Both four years later, at the Euro in sunny Italy, and in 2018, at the World Cup, in a country starting with R, whose name we do not want — and will not want — to pronounce for a long time, because they are worse than Lord Voldemort (for the most part), England took fourth place. Such pain! So close to being on a luxury yacht, and yet still overboard…
I barely noticed England failing to qualify for the 1994 World Cup — it was the year of Kurt Cobain, football receded into the background. It went out of bounds for me. (Interestingly, as I discovered years later, Jordan Pickford and Citizen Kane were born that year.)
Guilty pleasure:
Did I have satisfaction when the Germans were “cracking”? What am I talking about? Euro 2016. Quarter‑final — clash with Italy. Seven misses, including three of Joachim Löw’s protégés. Thomas Müller, Mesut Özil and Bastian Schweinsteiger missed their penalties one by one.
First of all, I was amazed (I wasn’t the only one), but yes, I felt “a little” contentment. I thought it was a “punishment”. For England. For the semi‑final in 1990 — then, as West Germany, they were infallible in the shootout. Ruthless and merciless. (Lineker scored a goal in regulation time and was the first to approach the penalty kicks. He was flawless, but Stuart Pearce and Chris Waddle failed to convert.)
For Euro 1996, when they again took the final away from the Three Lions in similar circumstances! (And the English were doing so well at the time! They defeated the Netherlands 4:1 and beat Spain on penalties!)
The only one who was not up to the task at the time was current coach Gareth Southgate. (In this match, in the third minute of the game, the goal was scored by the captain of the national team, Alan Shearer, Lineker’s successor in M’s heart. He was also the first to confidently approach the ball placed twelve yards from goal. Moreover, he became the top scorer of this Euro.)
Only partial satisfaction. The Germans won… The Italians “cracked” even more: Simone Zaza, Graziano Pellè, Leonardo Bonucci and Matteo Darmian. Which, given the history of England–Italy matches, felt somewhat compensating. They won because " Football is a simple game: 22 men chase a ball for 90 minutes and, in the end, the Germans always win ", as Gary Lineker used to say for a long time.
Interestingly, on the BBC, this gripping Italy – Germany thriller was commented on by Alan Shearer! I don't know what was going through his mind, but in the studio he behaved professionally: "An exciting match, high quality of play, drama, great tension."
Yes, yes...
By the way, it’s worth noting that there are other benefits to supporting the Three Lions besides football — listening to interviews with English players is, thanks to the variety of accents, an excellent language resource!
What can impress:
For example, 125 caps of Peter Shilton, who was 37 at the World Cup in Mexico — and to M he seemed like a grandfather!
53 goals in 120 appearances for Wayne Rooney’s national team.
Hart’s fortitude. All heart. Joe (actually Charles) Hart — a two‑time Premier League champion — won the Golden Glove four times as the goalkeeper with the most clean sheets in a season (a feat in which he was matched only by Petr Čech)!
Premier League all‑time top scorers: Alan Shearer — 260 goals, Harry Kane — 206, Wayne Rooney — 208, Andy Cole — 187. Then Frank Lampard — 177 goals, Robbie Fowler — 162, Michael Owen — 150 (which gives us as many as seven Englishmen in the top ten!)
I don’t need such statistics to justify my fascination with England, but it’s nice that they support it — solid, like Doric columns.
Song of Songs:
The best, most touching football ‘anthem’ in the world is undoubtedly You Will Never Walk Alone. Traditionally performed by fans of Liverpool, the team associated with the band Gerry and the Pacemakers, but not only. Among others, it is loved and embraced by the fans of Celtic and Borussia Dortmund. No wonder — it affects me almost like the Ballad of the Little Knight, written to the music of Wojciech Kilar and sung during volleyball matches in Poland, or maybe even more. Okay, more! It sweeps you away like an ocean wave does to surfing enthusiasts, causing goosebumps and watery eyes. If this song comes up and “you don’t feel in your heart compelled to sing, you’re dead inside!” (this is what Rob Thomas said at one of the concerts, before performing Elton John’s Tiny Dancer. I’m borrowing his words here.)
This is the beautiful side of football. The one I choose to follow. It’s like what my grandmother once wrote as an inscription in my diary: “Go where you hear singing, people have good hearts there, remember that bad people never sing.”
But football also has its dark face, its Lord Vader or even the already mentioned Voldemort — why not, let’s call it by its name: fanatical fans, indiscriminate swearing and calling names of supporters of the opposing team (not to mention the referees), fights, abuse of alcohol or other substances, and at the organizational level: deals, corruption, match‑fixing, etc., etc. Football Poker is not just a movie. And not a comedy. However, we will not look into these dark alleys. Let’s stay on the light side of the Force, with the naivety and innocence of M.
English fans (in general) have not earned the best reputation in the world. (Fortunately, not everyone. I, for example… I am exemplary.) On the other hand, the team — as if in spite of it all, or as compensation for the brawls, aggression and booed anthems — often won Fair Play awards, which M always diligently noted — another ace up her sleeve whenever someone dared to question — or even mock — her chosen ones.
The cup at their fingertips (or at the goalkeeper’s gloves and the footballer’s feet):
Year 2021. European Championships, the final: “Mine” against Italy at Wembley! England take an early 1–0 lead. Unbelievable luck in the second minute of the match. Later, England get tired, the Italians equalise. And unfortunately, like in a nightmare, like the regenerating heads of the Hydra — the dreaded penalties. I go downstairs because I can’t bear to watch.
A lot has happened in my life since Mexico ’86 and other World Cups, also outside of sports. So I didn’t think that I would care that much more. And yet. Old love never dies. I found out that they lost after hearing an outburst of joy from my son, who was cheering for the “Makarony,” to say it not‑so‑nicely.
Later, I calmly watched the penalty kicks. I don’t hold a grudge against the boys, nor against the coach for putting such young players on the field. Marcus Rashford, Jadon Sancho and 19‑year‑old Bukayo Saka missed, but it could have been anyone. It is commonly believed that penalties are a lottery. You can learn how to take them, but the mind is the mind — it plays tricks even on the best. When you watch, you can often see a split second before who will miss. Football is a state of mind. When the Germans and Italians did not score at the aforementioned Euro in France, I laughed not out of malice (who could accuse me of it?), but to take away the stress of all the penalties England had missed.
Bittersweet moments:
Gareth Southgate’s great class after the game. First, he congratulated his rival, then he put his ‘fatherly’ arm around his team. The captain, Harry Kane, and other players also did so, comforting the crying Saka and each other. One for all, all for one! When you walk through a storm Hold your head up high…
And there were moments of great hope in this final. Like the very beginning of the match, when Luke Shaw opened the scoring and the door to victory with an accurate shot. And Pickford saved two penalties nicely… Ah! Fingers got caught and hearts were broken…
M could approach football very emotionally; she clutched a small, worn‑out leather cross (her eternal talisman) during a match played by her favourites, especially in sensitive situations around the goal. When she had a bad day, she sometimes thought — mind you — that England lost because she was rooting for them or decided not to watch because it would bring them bad luck! It’s M — small and slightly larger, still prone to drama. Not me. But I’m happy to see that I’m still involved when ‘mine’ are playing. I feel everything deeply;
I don’t hold my emotions back — I let them run like wild horses.
Flashbacks, the Lampard's goal disallowed:
World Cup 2010 in South Africa. Germany – England. In the thirty-ninth minute, the ball sent by Frank Lampard bounces off the crossbar and goes over the goal line, the referee, as useless as a broken boot , fails to catch it. Apparently, he grabs his head later. So what – much too late. And M would have twisted his head for him. Like an eco cap.
The goal can be seen mercilessly on replays, frame by frame. "The biggest mistake since Maradona's hand." "One of the biggest scandals in the history of football" the press headlines screamed. It still hurts. In the end, the Three Lions lost 4:1, but then, with the score 2:2, the fate of the match could have gone differently. If only the referee had decided that the ball had crossed the line, which was probably seen by everyone except him! In those years, there was no VAR, which can sometimes be irritating when you don't know whether to enjoy the goal or not. And to tell the truth, it disrupts the flow of the game. But then he would have saved the honor of the Uruguayan referee.
World Cup 2010 in South Africa. Germany–England. In the thirty‑ninth minute, the ball sent by Frank Lampard bounces off the crossbar and goes over the goal line; the referee, as useless as a broken boot, fails to catch it. Apparently, he realized it later — too bad, much too late. He grabbed his head in disbelief. M would have twisted it off… like an eco cap.
The goal can be seen mercilessly on replays, frame by frame. “The biggest mistake since Maradona’s hand.” “One of the biggest scandals in the history of football,” the press headlines screamed. It still hurts. In the end, the Three Lions lost 4:1, but with the score at 2:2, the fate of the match could have rolled differently. If only the referee had ruled that the ball had… rolled across the line — which was probably seen by everyone except him! In those years, there was no VAR, which can sometimes be irritating when you don’t know whether to enjoy the goal or not. And, to tell the truth, it disrupts the flow of the game. But then it would have saved the honour of the Uruguayan referee.
World Cup in Brazil, 2014, the Lions fail to get out of Group D, finishing in the inglorious last place! (So — in other words — deep in the dark D…)
On June 26, Facebook brought back from oblivion the following post about this misfortune: “It’s a pity that Suarez didn’t bite in the match against Costa Rica — I have nothing against Costa Rica, but at least he wouldn’t play in the match against England.”
Luis Suárez, also known as ‘Dracula’, scored 2 goals at the time, which ultimately plunged my favourites. He ‘only’ bit poor Giorgio Chiellini in the match against Italy, for which he was suspended for 4 months. (It was a repeat offence; he left an imprint on the skin of another opponent before the championships.)
Braveheart from 2020:
England–Scotland, 0:0, a fantastic clash in the pouring rain, I believe the best match of that championship! Not a moment’s respite. A gallop from goal to goal. Action after action. Match statistics: shots on target: 9–11, ball possession: 60–40%, distance covered: 104.4 km — 105.2 km.
In added time, there was a huge commotion in front of the English goal. Where’s the ball? The players surrounding it, sitting on the pitch after the collision, hold their hands up so as not to touch it, which looks comical. It was as if it were a rotten egg. “To be honest, I love draws like this,” the commentator concludes.
Speaking of Euro 2020 — which, due to the pandemic, was played a year later — in the round of 16 England knocked Germany out, beating them 2–0 with goals from Raheem Sterling and Harry Kane. Luke Shaw and Jack Grealish, in particular, played a significant role in this success and, according to many journalists, “put on a real show.” “So good, so good!” Judging by the history of meetings between these two teams, the side from Lineker’s “theorem” had more often come out on top — a theorem he himself, nota bene, finally shattered after this match. Only now! And he could have done it many years earlier!
Wanting to indulge myself, I watched a recap of the 2001 qualifiers — the one the press called the “Waterloo of German football.” Pure joy — comparable to eating a cup of strawberry ice cream in the middle of the night: Munich, England knock Germany out 5–1! Although the hosts took the lead in the sixth minute, their nightmare began immediately afterwards. Michael Owen, hailed by The Observer as a “creator of history,” struck beautifully three times in total. Somewhere between his goals, Steven Gerrard fired a phenomenal shot from 25 metres, and Emile Heskey put an end to Oliver Kahn’s torment. Ah!
“You can’t play football better than the English players did on Saturday,” summed up Sir Geoffrey Charles Hurst, the first player in history to score a hat‑trick in a World Cup final (the one in 1966 — still the only one England have won…).
The match was refereed by the famous Kojak himself, Pierluigi Collina. The referee of referees, always impeccably prepared, addressed players by name. He would have noticed Lampard’s goal — because, as they say, he’s got VAR in his eyes.
Owen, whose star shone very brightly but briefly, tipped the scales in the Ballon d’Or race against the Spaniard Raúl with this performance. Since then, no other Englishman has managed to win the Ballon d’Or — and not only because between 2007 and 2018 it circulated exclusively between Ronaldo and Messi…
I don’t support the Polish national football team, because they simply don’t have what our volleyball team has — and I’m very fond of that one. Not because they win countless trophies, but because of the way they are, let’s say, mentally. In fact, they succeed precisely because they are who they are, even though the line-up keeps changing.
Admitting in your own country — where plenty of Sarmatians straight out of the 1670s still roam — that you don’t cheer for “our boys” is like scoring an own goal. A painful one. As long as I have a pen — my ball — I can write whatever I want. And for as long as I can remember, there’s been no such thing as humility among our footballers. Instead, there’s something else I’m not particularly fond of: plain pride and conceit. It’s a generalisation, sure, but that’s the picture of the team that emerges for me. Everyone can see the horse for what it is — Arabian, Trojan, or our very own nag…
Take, for example, the recent clash with England (well, “recent” — this text has been written in long intervals over the last two years, so from today’s perspective it’s already, let’s say, outdated). One of our players (I won’t name names) behaved like a simpleton. Like a tipsy, cheerful wedding guest whose only tools are his elbows and a bit of shoving. He took a particular liking to an Englishman who had just been transferred for a substantial sum. As if out of jealousy. It looked really bad — poorly, as my students would say.
But perhaps that’s enough — I’m getting too close to our own penalty area, and this could be considered a serious foul. I might even get a red card. There are good moments that make “our boys” happy, but this isn’t a story about them. In short: it’s not my tale.
At school, about five or six years ago, during one of my English classes, I told my students about the wax museum in London and mentioned that you can see, for example, David Beckham there (who hadn’t played for quite a few years by then). One of the students opened his eyes wide and asked in disbelief: “You know SUCH footballers?” Me: “Of course!” He jumped out of his seat, ran to the desk and, visibly moved, shook my hand, saying: “Respect! Respect!”
Self‑boasting:
At home, I often talk like an expert in a TV studio. And I know what I’m talking about. I understand football itself very well, as well as the teams — not only national sides, but clubs too. I always fill in the tables during the championships. You could say I wear the trousers — or rather, the football shorts — at home. I’m a careful observer of matches, I draw accurate conclusions, and this is no time for modesty: I present dry facts, I write The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing but the Truth. ???? But I’ll allow myself one confession here — something even my family doesn’t know. I don’t always see the offside. Or, to put it differently: I often don’t see it. Well, you can’t be perfect…
A little expertise:
Johan Cruyff: “Football is a game you play with your mind.” You need it to read the game; to have the courage to take the initiative; to play as a team; to communicate; and to stay focused. A similar thought appears in Dennis Bergkamp’s words: “Behind every kick of the ball there has to be a thought.”
Training that focuses on the mechanical repetition of movements and behaviours on the pitch is key, but equally critical is working on understanding and interpreting the game.— the ability to process information quickly, apply rules and strategies, and making the right decisions on the pitch, especially under pressure. In other words: footballing intelligence. Cole Palmer has it, as do Luke Shaw, Kyle Walker and Trent Alexander‑Arnold. Some people are born with it; others have to develop it. I haven’t discovered America — but then again, neither did Columbus.
A striker who is a star player and simply waits in the penalty area for passes to tap in and add another goal to his tally is a mistake. Certainly not Harry Kane, who, by the way, is an excellent captain — involved in the team’s overall play, hardworking and inspiring. He is also, so to speak, very British and dignified, looking almost like a member of the royal family. ????
Very English too, but in a different way — a bit like someone straight out of Guy Ritchie’s Snatch — is Phil Foden, who “always looks as if he’s asking his mum if he can go out and play, and she says no because dinner is almost ready,” as someone recently wrote on Facebook.
The legendary Beckham, who wore the captain’s armband for six years, was also considered a strong leader. Between 1996 and 2009, he played 115 matches for the national team.
(We won’t go into his club achievements here.) His wife Victoria, a former Spice Girl, and his charity work add to his charm — but they’re not his real brand. Nor are Adidas, Armani or Gillette. His true trademark is precise passing and the positive influence he had on the whole team and the game.
A quick play:
The Three Lions stand for power, pride and courage. They are the oldest national team in the world, and their future looks bright. In their most recent campaign they won eight out of ten matches and drew the other two. We’re talking about the qualifiers for the 2024 European Championship, in which England scored 16 goals and conceded just 2 — the best goal difference in the entire qualifying round. And they rubbed Italy’s nose in it, beating them 3–1.
They have plenty of excellent players — there’s no shortage of choice — to name just a few: Jordan Pickford, Kieran Trippier, John Stones, Harry Maguire, Luke Shaw, Declan Rice, Jude Bellingham, Raheem Sterling, Mason Mount, Bukayo Saka, Kyle Walker, Harry Kane, Phil Foden and Jack Grealish.
Have I ever been happy when someone scored against “my” England?
Yes — very much so! Facebook has just reminded me:
24.06.2018: “Bravo Panama! This joy of a goal at 6–1 is priceless!” ????
As it later turned out, I wasn’t the only one! A delighted Gary Lineker wrote on Twitter: “First time I can recall being chuffed with a goal scored against England as Baloy scores Panama’s first ever World Cup goal!”
You Have to Approach Football with Heart
Once, a very exhausted little boy came running home for a drink: “Mom, I just played a match — Portugal vs. USA! Portugal won 100 to 3!” “Really? And why did the Americans score only 3 goals?” “Well, there were two, but in extra time they got one more. Actually, it was 101, but I called offside — I just didn’t feel like counting that high anymore!”
In little M’s home, her father rooted for France. Once, in sheer joy that Michel Platini had scored in an important match, he kicked his legs — braced on a stool — with such enthusiasm that he broke it clean in two.
As for the enthusiastic, euphoric, explosive joy of my son, back when he was just a little boy, celebrating Real Madrid’s many victories — I won’t even try to describe it. That would be harder than climbing Kilimanjaro. One Christmas Eve, several years ago, he wanted to put the laptop on his lap to kill two birds with one stone: join the family dinner and watch Real’s match. And another time, when he couldn’t watch because it was far too late, he put on his royal team’s kit and declared he would “cheer in his sleep.”
My daughter, around twelve at the time and a huge Barcelona fan, once refused to enter the Santiago Bernabéu Stadium while visiting Madrid, considering it a disgraceful betrayal of the Pride of Catalonia.
My husband, regardless of the weather, drives over 80 kilometers to attend Stal Mielec’s matches. At home, no matter where you look, the team’s logo is there — on mugs, shirts, pillows, towels. They even “haunt” you when you open the fridge — their branded olives are actually quite tasty!
These are just a few examples of how trivial football really is. ????
To sum up, it can be beautiful and surprising, and at times, it can be very unfair. In the recent Champions League quarter-final between Manchester City and Real Madrid, the Citizens were the better side. Admittedly, the Royal Whites scored an impressive goal in the twelfth minute, but for the rest of the match they did little more than defend against a truly strong opponent. In the fifty-seventh minute, City finally broke through that Częstochowa‑style defence. Nevertheless, everything was decided by… penalties — and I dare say the people’s attempt to overthrow the king ultimately failed.
As I write this, my son is already a serious, almost seventeen‑year‑old, playing for a local team that I naturally support wholeheartedly. I enjoy going to their matches. Recently, I also started taking photos, and I’ve become quite absorbed in it. Photography is one of my hobbies, and even with fairly modest equipment you can capture striking shots: passion, commitment, and the struggle of the game. The young lad is doing quite well. I try to explain to him that those who truly have a chance are the ones who understand that training and playing must be approached holistically. Healthy eating and proper sleep above all! “The kind of fuel you put in determines how the car will run.” I didn’t come up with that myself (I read it in a book about nutrition for young footballers that I gave him), but I fully agree. Does he listen? Well… he’s a teenager.
But I’m not giving up — perhaps the day will come when he pushes away crisps or gummy sweets with the same gesture Cristiano Ronaldo used when he removed the Coca‑Cola bottles from his table at a press conference.
The entry ends on April 18, 2024. Absorbed once again by work at school, I put this text back in the drawer — this time for almost two months. The Euros began. There are not many players left in the English squad whom I had previously written about as forming a very strong team.
For years their fans have been singing that “football’s coming home.” Apparently, not at this tournament. The two matches played by the Lions so far have been dull, full of schoolboy errors. Not everything can be blamed on a poor pitch. It’s not only blades of grass clinging to their boots, but fatigue as well. After the final whistle in the most recent clash with Belgium, the players simply collapsed onto the turf like flies sprayed with insecticide.
From what we can see, they are weary and faded like late‑June poppies.
And yet, so far, they are leading their group. The glimmer of hope in the tunnel comes from the goals of Jude Bellingham and Harry Kane.
Today I came across this meme:
Southgate: “You know what to do?” Gallagher: “No.” Southgate: “Me neither. Tell Jude I said hi!”
(Though it would have been better: Tell Jude I said hej ????)
À propos:
Hey Jude. (addressing the whole team)
Hey Jude, don’t make it bad
Take a sad match and make it better
Remember to let it into your heart
Then you can start to make it better
However the ball rolls for the Sons of Albion from here on, I’ll keep running after it anyway.
So will M ????.
Postscript
We spent a week by the Polish seaside. Open air and Open’er Festival… music and waves washed football slightly out of sight. Still, I did get to watch the England–Switzerland match. At first, without much emotional investment. If they win, they win; if not, so be it — that’s what I kept telling myself. But when Bukayo Saka scored that wonderful equaliser, and then converted his penalty, emotions took over. Lineker admitted he had tears in his eyes too, and Alexander-Arnold — who stepped up to take the final penalty — made him cry! (Such a charming headline appeared on one website, clearly translated automatically from the original.) All penalties scored! And Pickford made a save! Something truly beautiful! (Hence the edit on the first page ????).
The joy and appreciation of England reaching the semi‑final grew gradually — much like my husband’s feelings after his first Pearl Jam concert. He told me that with each passing day after the event, he liked the performance more and more.
I had a good nose for that Hey Jude! I’ve just seen an Adidas commercial featuring roughly that very fragment of the song: Jude restores people’s hope (including David Beckham’s) at the very last moment by scoring a goal. I could have written to advertising agencies straight away — I’d be rich by now! Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum…
As it turns out, the advert was prophetic — it was made before his epic overhead‑kick goal in the ninety‑fifth minute of the match against Slovakia! (It had escaped my notice earlier, because I hardly ever watch television and always mute the commercials. This time it simply popped up on Facebook — we all know how that works: I search for a new carpet, and for the next few days they’re “flying” across every possible website…)
From time to time I watch snippets from the England camp at this tournament. I wish every team — especially local ones — had access to such facilities and activities. In addition to strictly football‑related training, there’s a swimming pool, tennis, stationary cycling, golf, cricket, and even yoga! Of course, there are physiotherapists, masseurs, dietitians, and so on, but also games, shared confidences, and communal singing, including sessions with Ed Sheeran.
From the very beginning I said that Spain were the favourites — befitting a self‑proclaimed expert. From their very first group match. I repeated it after every subsequent game played by La Furia Roja. I failed to foresee just one thing… that in the grand final they would prove their excellent form against my Englishmen.
The O2 Arena, London. The American band The Killers pause their concert so that, together with the huge crowd, they can watch on the giant screen the moment when the Three Lions advance to the final. This is the very essence of football’s magic and the beautiful emotions it can evoke. In that excited crowd, for those few minutes, everyone was a football fan — no one wanted to stick out like a sore thumb, even if they normally have absolutely no interest in it. Videos of the moment are circulating online, bringing half‑smiles and stirring more emotion than the memorable courtroom scene in the film The Quack. Confetti rained down from the stage, and the final whistle carried the emotional force of a declaration: “Ladies and gentlemen, Your Honour, this is Professor Rafał Wilczur!”
La Grande Finale
Let’s be honest: the Sons of Albion didn’t stand much of a chance in this match. Even when Palmer scored the equaliser in a distinctly “Spanish” style. Pickford pulled out all the stops, saving shot after shot, and was rightly named in several Teams of the Tournament — including the one chosen by the champions themselves. Quite simply: Spain were better. Attacking football prevailed.
Once again, I turn to the authority of Lineker — after all, the man with whom this whole personal battle for England began. I check his opinions instinctively, as if consulting an old friend — in good times and in bad.
Besides, I don’t indulge in reading online comments. If I do, only sparingly, because despite some thoughtful or positive contributions (true of any topic), far too many people consistently choose to show their worst side. Reading the bile and mindless hate eventually leaves me, sadly, agreeing in my own mind with Nick Cave: “People just ain’t no good.”
So, football didn’t come home this year. That is — it did, but not in the blaze of glory some had expected. (Although, truth be told, they didn’t really expect it either — almost until the very end they ripped the team and the manager to shreds, only to then dream of bathing in champagne.) As for Gareth Southgate’s decision to step down, I respect it completely. He chose the perfect moment. And in doing so, he silenced most of his critics. One would have to be wilfully ignorant not to recognise his contribution to English football.
For me, the glass is half full. These aren’t finalists who lost to Spain — they are runners‑up of Europe. And twice over. (The Italians barely made it out of their group.) So, bravo!
Wanting to savour what I consider a great success just a little longer — to turn the phrase around until it gained the sweetness and fluffy volume of candy floss — I typed it into a search engine. Copilot “spoke up”:
“Yes, that’s true! England finished as runners-up at the European Championship after losing 1–2 to Spain in the Euro 2024 final. The match took place on 14 July 2024 in Berlin. Spain secured the title thanks to a late goal by Mikel Oyarzabal. Did you watch the match? What were your impressions?”
I hesitated for a moment, then found the courage to confess:
“I cried because England lost…” ????
Copilot: “I understand how disappointing that must have been. England played really well and came very close to winning. Sport can sometimes be truly emotional and full of surprises. Is there anything that could lift your mood?”
“No.”
“I understand. I’m glad I could talk with you! Have a nice day!”
Artificial intelligence, AI, “claims” it is not “capable of feeling joy, sadness, or any other emotions,” yet as it turns out, it shows more empathy than most people on internet forums.
“I’m not that old, am I?”
As for my “old” friend — 63-year-old Gary, who looks fantastic and sports a hairstyle in the shade favoured by Gandalf the Grey-and-White — he recently told, with a mix of embarrassment and disbelief, an anecdote about how, on a crowded underground train, a young woman offered him her seat… and how people who recognised him started giggling.
That’s all, really. And if necessary, I apologise for the English phrases scattered throughout (this text was originally written by me in Polish), but they sound as natural to me as a hot dog, and I prefer not to translate them. Besides, they “make a difference,” as our sports commentators like to say these days. ( this text was origially written by me i Polish)
And for dessert — a Facebook post from 2010 (!):
My high-school friend Dominika:
“Dear M, are you a football fan? Because your profile looks very professional.”
“Football Is The Most Important Of The Least Important Things In Life”
Arrigo Sacchi
Trivial Matters, or the Battle for England
A sun‑drenched summer day, a few years back. My family is at the stadium, playing our private mini match. An extremely important one. My son, daughter, husband and I.
A series of penalty shootouts is going on. I'm in goal, doing everything within my limited power: jumping, throwing, punching the ball away, despite the lack of proper gloves, not to mention any kind of protectors. But it was worth bruising my fingers and knees to hear such a compliment from my little son: “Mom, you defend like Joe Hart!”
Wow! When Joe was in top form, Leo Messi himself did not skimp on praise, describing the goalkeeper as a phenomenon.
Why England? Well, it’s typical love at first sight — or rather, at first strike into the goal.
June 11, 1986. Once upon a time in Mexico:
M, a little girl, is watching a match with her family. Of course, everyone is cheering for the white and reds. From the eighth minute, a player who isn’t ‘ours’ begins to dominate M’s attention. It is the striker with the number 10, Gary Lineker, who slides the ball into the net of Józef Młynarczyk. To make matters worse (for the household members and M’s compatriots), he does it two more times in the first half. With finesse and efficiency. As they say, the fox in the box, who found himself in a good moment, in a good place, makes great use of it.
The family is embittered, subdued, broken. M is curious, intrigued, captivated, M is changed. Forever. Although she liked Dariusz Dziekanowski, she cannot resist some inner fascination. She must be forgiven. I must be forgiven. I was very young when I “betrayed” my compatriots. For the first time…
Because in each subsequent clash of these two teams I would find myself on the wrong side of the barricade, that’s another matter. It’s stronger than me. I had to hide it more than once if the match was watched by a wider group of die‑hard fans. I put on a poker face when the White‑and‑Reds sent the ball into the net. In total, the Poles managed to draw six matches, so the “fault” is a bit smaller.
Coming back to the memorable game in Monterrey, little M is very impressed by the English sniper and the whole team. She does not understand, does not feel the pain of Poles after the defeat. It was not about a lack of patriotism. Anyway, it is difficult to talk about it in such a child. It was about the fascination with football. In a pure, round form.
This is how my support for the Sons of Albion began. Since that historic hat trick. Sympathy full of ups and downs. Battle with higher powers. Or windmills. There were disallowed goals, there were wrongly allowed goals for the opponent teams. There was crying and prayers. For the first time, M was kneeling, raising her begging gaze to the sky on a sandy country road before the rebroadcast of the England–Argentina match. There was a faith that could move mountains, that the replay would bring a different result. And a huge surprise that it didn’t. That the mountains stood unmoved, like stones. Like goalposts.
It is a difficult love. If only because England almost always lost on penalties. Out of 10 decisive series, at the moment, they have only 3 wins! (edit: 4 ????) There are great hopes, joys, disappointments — in a word, heart palpitations. Something I never felt about our national team.
The championships are ongoing, M is already at her grandmother’s in the countryside. In the yard, right next to the chicken coop, there is a ‘convenience’, but not just any outdoor toilet, which looks like it is about to collapse. (Little M often played with friend G or siblings in such a game that on the cards scattered on the table they placed, let’s call it nicely, an outhouse, then the cards were pulled carefully so as not to smash it, and whoever did not succeed “fell inside” to the accompaniment of thunderous laughter of fellow players.)
The privy described here was 'fancy', made of white brick, with a red door and the inscription Library made by one of the cousins - due to the pile of press stacked inside on a solid wooden board.
One day, while reading through one of these stacks of newspapers, M finds a black‑and‑white photo of Gary Lineker. The kind that you can hardly see anything up close, only dots (almost like dot painting). She tears out a valuable find and hides it among her treasures. Happy, as if she had a scratch card with a big win!
Today, Lineker is a respected commentator on BBC Sport. I enjoy watching the podcasts called Match of the Day or The Rest Is Football, where he stars alongside Alan Shearer and Micah Richards. It is a pleasure to read his brilliant posts on current football events.
Self‑deprecating and gifted with a sense of humour, in public, with charming embarrassment, he laughs at the fact that in his youth he had to wipe his shorts on the grass in front of the whole world when he had an unpleasant surprise during the first match at the 1990 World Cup.
He is a legend, a footballer who, despite almost 20 years on the pitch, was never shown a card! And in total, in five matches between England and Poland, he spoiled the mood of my compatriots not fewer than six times!
That fateful summer, England were knocked out in the quarter‑finals. What somewhat dried her crocodile tears was that Lineker became the top goalscorer. He also made it to the so‑called Best XI of this World Cup. Maradona’s dramatic, scandalous, ungodly hand delivered a sharp slap to M and the Three Lions. Years later, Gary forgave the Argentinean. M didn’t—I did, but only when Diego left this earthly realm.
Both four years later, at the Euro in sunny Italy, and in 2018, at the World Cup, in a country starting with R, whose name we do not want — and will not want — to pronounce for a long time, because they are worse than Lord Voldemort (for the most part), England took fourth place. Such pain! So close to being on a luxury yacht, and yet still overboard…
I barely noticed England failing to qualify for the 1994 World Cup — it was the year of Kurt Cobain, football receded into the background. It went out of bounds for me. (Interestingly, as I discovered years later, Jordan Pickford and Citizen Kane were born that year.)
Guilty pleasure:
Did I have satisfaction when the Germans were “cracking”? What am I talking about? Euro 2016. Quarter‑final — clash with Italy. Seven misses, including three of Joachim Löw’s protégés. Thomas Müller, Mesut Özil and Bastian Schweinsteiger missed their penalties one by one.
First of all, I was amazed (I wasn’t the only one), but yes, I felt “a little” contentment. I thought it was a “punishment”. For England. For the semi‑final in 1990 — then, as West Germany, they were infallible in the shootout. Ruthless and merciless. (Lineker scored a goal in regulation time and was the first to approach the penalty kicks. He was flawless, but Stuart Pearce and Chris Waddle failed to convert.)
For Euro 1996, when they again took the final away from the Three Lions in similar circumstances! (And the English were doing so well at the time! They defeated the Netherlands 4:1 and beat Spain on penalties!)
The only one who was not up to the task at the time was current coach Gareth Southgate. (In this match, in the third minute of the game, the goal was scored by the captain of the national team, Alan Shearer, Lineker’s successor in M’s heart. He was also the first to confidently approach the ball placed twelve yards from goal. Moreover, he became the top scorer of this Euro.)
Only partial satisfaction. The Germans won… The Italians “cracked” even more: Simone Zaza, Graziano Pellè, Leonardo Bonucci and Matteo Darmian. Which, given the history of England–Italy matches, felt somewhat compensating. They won because " Football is a simple game: 22 men chase a ball for 90 minutes and, in the end, the Germans always win ", as Gary Lineker used to say for a long time.
Interestingly, on the BBC, this gripping Italy – Germany thriller was commented on by Alan Shearer! I don't know what was going through his mind, but in the studio he behaved professionally: "An exciting match, high quality of play, drama, great tension."
Yes, yes...
By the way, it’s worth noting that there are other benefits to supporting the Three Lions besides football — listening to interviews with English players is, thanks to the variety of accents, an excellent language resource!
What can impress:
For example, 125 caps of Peter Shilton, who was 37 at the World Cup in Mexico — and to M he seemed like a grandfather!
53 goals in 120 appearances for Wayne Rooney’s national team.
Hart’s fortitude. All heart. Joe (actually Charles) Hart — a two‑time Premier League champion — won the Golden Glove four times as the goalkeeper with the most clean sheets in a season (a feat in which he was matched only by Petr Čech)!
Premier League all‑time top scorers: Alan Shearer — 260 goals, Harry Kane — 206, Wayne Rooney — 208, Andy Cole — 187. Then Frank Lampard — 177 goals, Robbie Fowler — 162, Michael Owen — 150 (which gives us as many as seven Englishmen in the top ten!)
I don’t need such statistics to justify my fascination with England, but it’s nice that they support it — solid, like Doric columns.
Song of Songs:
The best, most touching football ‘anthem’ in the world is undoubtedly You Will Never Walk Alone. Traditionally performed by fans of Liverpool, the team associated with the band Gerry and the Pacemakers, but not only. Among others, it is loved and embraced by the fans of Celtic and Borussia Dortmund. No wonder — it affects me almost like the Ballad of the Little Knight, written to the music of Wojciech Kilar and sung during volleyball matches in Poland, or maybe even more. Okay, more! It sweeps you away like an ocean wave does to surfing enthusiasts, causing goosebumps and watery eyes. If this song comes up and “you don’t feel in your heart compelled to sing, you’re dead inside!” (this is what Rob Thomas said at one of the concerts, before performing Elton John’s Tiny Dancer. I’m borrowing his words here.)
This is the beautiful side of football. The one I choose to follow. It’s like what my grandmother once wrote as an inscription in my diary: “Go where you hear singing, people have good hearts there, remember that bad people never sing.”
But football also has its dark face, its Lord Vader or even the already mentioned Voldemort — why not, let’s call it by its name: fanatical fans, indiscriminate swearing and calling names of supporters of the opposing team (not to mention the referees), fights, abuse of alcohol or other substances, and at the organizational level: deals, corruption, match‑fixing, etc., etc. Football Poker is not just a movie. And not a comedy. However, we will not look into these dark alleys. Let’s stay on the light side of the Force, with the naivety and innocence of M.
English fans (in general) have not earned the best reputation in the world. (Fortunately, not everyone. I, for example… I am exemplary.) On the other hand, the team — as if in spite of it all, or as compensation for the brawls, aggression and booed anthems — often won Fair Play awards, which M always diligently noted — another ace up her sleeve whenever someone dared to question — or even mock — her chosen ones.
The cup at their fingertips (or at the goalkeeper’s gloves and the footballer’s feet):
Year 2021. European Championships, the final: “Mine” against Italy at Wembley! England take an early 1–0 lead. Unbelievable luck in the second minute of the match. Later, England get tired, the Italians equalise. And unfortunately, like in a nightmare, like the regenerating heads of the Hydra — the dreaded penalties. I go downstairs because I can’t bear to watch.
A lot has happened in my life since Mexico ’86 and other World Cups, also outside of sports. So I didn’t think that I would care that much more. And yet. Old love never dies. I found out that they lost after hearing an outburst of joy from my son, who was cheering for the “Makarony,” to say it not‑so‑nicely.
Later, I calmly watched the penalty kicks. I don’t hold a grudge against the boys, nor against the coach for putting such young players on the field. Marcus Rashford, Jadon Sancho and 19‑year‑old Bukayo Saka missed, but it could have been anyone. It is commonly believed that penalties are a lottery. You can learn how to take them, but the mind is the mind — it plays tricks even on the best. When you watch, you can often see a split second before who will miss. Football is a state of mind. When the Germans and Italians did not score at the aforementioned Euro in France, I laughed not out of malice (who could accuse me of it?), but to take away the stress of all the penalties England had missed.
Bittersweet moments:
Gareth Southgate’s great class after the game. First, he congratulated his rival, then he put his ‘fatherly’ arm around his team. The captain, Harry Kane, and other players also did so, comforting the crying Saka and each other. One for all, all for one! When you walk through a storm Hold your head up high…
And there were moments of great hope in this final. Like the very beginning of the match, when Luke Shaw opened the scoring and the door to victory with an accurate shot. And Pickford saved two penalties nicely… Ah! Fingers got caught and hearts were broken…
M could approach football very emotionally; she clutched a small, worn‑out leather cross (her eternal talisman) during a match played by her favourites, especially in sensitive situations around the goal. When she had a bad day, she sometimes thought — mind you — that England lost because she was rooting for them or decided not to watch because it would bring them bad luck! It’s M — small and slightly larger, still prone to drama. Not me. But I’m happy to see that I’m still involved when ‘mine’ are playing. I feel everything deeply;
I don’t hold my emotions back — I let them run like wild horses.
Flashbacks, the Lampard's goal disallowed:
World Cup 2010 in South Africa. Germany – England. In the thirty-ninth minute, the ball sent by Frank Lampard bounces off the crossbar and goes over the goal line, the referee, as useless as a broken boot , fails to catch it. Apparently, he grabs his head later. So what – much too late. And M would have twisted his head for him. Like an eco cap.
The goal can be seen mercilessly on replays, frame by frame. "The biggest mistake since Maradona's hand." "One of the biggest scandals in the history of football" the press headlines screamed. It still hurts. In the end, the Three Lions lost 4:1, but then, with the score 2:2, the fate of the match could have gone differently. If only the referee had decided that the ball had crossed the line, which was probably seen by everyone except him! In those years, there was no VAR, which can sometimes be irritating when you don't know whether to enjoy the goal or not. And to tell the truth, it disrupts the flow of the game. But then he would have saved the honor of the Uruguayan referee.
World Cup 2010 in South Africa. Germany–England. In the thirty‑ninth minute, the ball sent by Frank Lampard bounces off the crossbar and goes over the goal line; the referee, as useless as a broken boot, fails to catch it. Apparently, he realized it later — too bad, much too late. He grabbed his head in disbelief. M would have twisted it off… like an eco cap.
The goal can be seen mercilessly on replays, frame by frame. “The biggest mistake since Maradona’s hand.” “One of the biggest scandals in the history of football,” the press headlines screamed. It still hurts. In the end, the Three Lions lost 4:1, but with the score at 2:2, the fate of the match could have rolled differently. If only the referee had ruled that the ball had… rolled across the line — which was probably seen by everyone except him! In those years, there was no VAR, which can sometimes be irritating when you don’t know whether to enjoy the goal or not. And, to tell the truth, it disrupts the flow of the game. But then it would have saved the honour of the Uruguayan referee.
World Cup in Brazil, 2014, the Lions fail to get out of Group D, finishing in the inglorious last place! (So — in other words — deep in the dark D…)
On June 26, Facebook brought back from oblivion the following post about this misfortune: “It’s a pity that Suarez didn’t bite in the match against Costa Rica — I have nothing against Costa Rica, but at least he wouldn’t play in the match against England.”
Luis Suárez, also known as ‘Dracula’, scored 2 goals at the time, which ultimately plunged my favourites. He ‘only’ bit poor Giorgio Chiellini in the match against Italy, for which he was suspended for 4 months. (It was a repeat offence; he left an imprint on the skin of another opponent before the championships.)
Braveheart from 2020:
England–Scotland, 0:0, a fantastic clash in the pouring rain, I believe the best match of that championship! Not a moment’s respite. A gallop from goal to goal. Action after action. Match statistics: shots on target: 9–11, ball possession: 60–40%, distance covered: 104.4 km — 105.2 km.
In added time, there was a huge commotion in front of the English goal. Where’s the ball? The players surrounding it, sitting on the pitch after the collision, hold their hands up so as not to touch it, which looks comical. It was as if it were a rotten egg. “To be honest, I love draws like this,” the commentator concludes.
Speaking of Euro 2020 — which, due to the pandemic, was played a year later — in the round of 16 England knocked Germany out, beating them 2–0 with goals from Raheem Sterling and Harry Kane. Luke Shaw and Jack Grealish, in particular, played a significant role in this success and, according to many journalists, “put on a real show.” “So good, so good!” Judging by the history of meetings between these two teams, the side from Lineker’s “theorem” had more often come out on top — a theorem he himself, nota bene, finally shattered after this match. Only now! And he could have done it many years earlier!
Wanting to indulge myself, I watched a recap of the 2001 qualifiers — the one the press called the “Waterloo of German football.” Pure joy — comparable to eating a cup of strawberry ice cream in the middle of the night: Munich, England knock Germany out 5–1! Although the hosts took the lead in the sixth minute, their nightmare began immediately afterwards. Michael Owen, hailed by The Observer as a “creator of history,” struck beautifully three times in total. Somewhere between his goals, Steven Gerrard fired a phenomenal shot from 25 metres, and Emile Heskey put an end to Oliver Kahn’s torment. Ah!
“You can’t play football better than the English players did on Saturday,” summed up Sir Geoffrey Charles Hurst, the first player in history to score a hat‑trick in a World Cup final (the one in 1966 — still the only one England have won…).
The match was refereed by the famous Kojak himself, Pierluigi Collina. The referee of referees, always impeccably prepared, addressed players by name. He would have noticed Lampard’s goal — because, as they say, he’s got VAR in his eyes.
Owen, whose star shone very brightly but briefly, tipped the scales in the Ballon d’Or race against the Spaniard Raúl with this performance. Since then, no other Englishman has managed to win the Ballon d’Or — and not only because between 2007 and 2018 it circulated exclusively between Ronaldo and Messi…
I don’t support the Polish national football team, because they simply don’t have what our volleyball team has — and I’m very fond of that one. Not because they win countless trophies, but because of the way they are, let’s say, mentally. In fact, they succeed precisely because they are who they are, even though the line-up keeps changing.
Admitting in your own country — where plenty of Sarmatians straight out of the 1670s still roam — that you don’t cheer for “our boys” is like scoring an own goal. A painful one. As long as I have a pen — my ball — I can write whatever I want. And for as long as I can remember, there’s been no such thing as humility among our footballers. Instead, there’s something else I’m not particularly fond of: plain pride and conceit. It’s a generalisation, sure, but that’s the picture of the team that emerges for me. Everyone can see the horse for what it is — Arabian, Trojan, or our very own nag…
Take, for example, the recent clash with England (well, “recent” — this text has been written in long intervals over the last two years, so from today’s perspective it’s already, let’s say, outdated). One of our players (I won’t name names) behaved like a simpleton. Like a tipsy, cheerful wedding guest whose only tools are his elbows and a bit of shoving. He took a particular liking to an Englishman who had just been transferred for a substantial sum. As if out of jealousy. It looked really bad — poorly, as my students would say.
But perhaps that’s enough — I’m getting too close to our own penalty area, and this could be considered a serious foul. I might even get a red card. There are good moments that make “our boys” happy, but this isn’t a story about them. In short: it’s not my tale.
At school, about five or six years ago, during one of my English classes, I told my students about the wax museum in London and mentioned that you can see, for example, David Beckham there (who hadn’t played for quite a few years by then). One of the students opened his eyes wide and asked in disbelief: “You know SUCH footballers?” Me: “Of course!” He jumped out of his seat, ran to the desk and, visibly moved, shook my hand, saying: “Respect! Respect!”
Self‑boasting:
At home, I often talk like an expert in a TV studio. And I know what I’m talking about. I understand football itself very well, as well as the teams — not only national sides, but clubs too. I always fill in the tables during the championships. You could say I wear the trousers — or rather, the football shorts — at home. I’m a careful observer of matches, I draw accurate conclusions, and this is no time for modesty: I present dry facts, I write The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing but the Truth. ???? But I’ll allow myself one confession here — something even my family doesn’t know. I don’t always see the offside. Or, to put it differently: I often don’t see it. Well, you can’t be perfect…
A little expertise:
Johan Cruyff: “Football is a game you play with your mind.” You need it to read the game; to have the courage to take the initiative; to play as a team; to communicate; and to stay focused. A similar thought appears in Dennis Bergkamp’s words: “Behind every kick of the ball there has to be a thought.”
Training that focuses on the mechanical repetition of movements and behaviours on the pitch is key, but equally critical is working on understanding and interpreting the game.— the ability to process information quickly, apply rules and strategies, and making the right decisions on the pitch, especially under pressure. In other words: footballing intelligence. Cole Palmer has it, as do Luke Shaw, Kyle Walker and Trent Alexander‑Arnold. Some people are born with it; others have to develop it. I haven’t discovered America — but then again, neither did Columbus.
A striker who is a star player and simply waits in the penalty area for passes to tap in and add another goal to his tally is a mistake. Certainly not Harry Kane, who, by the way, is an excellent captain — involved in the team’s overall play, hardworking and inspiring. He is also, so to speak, very British and dignified, looking almost like a member of the royal family. ????
Very English too, but in a different way — a bit like someone straight out of Guy Ritchie’s Snatch — is Phil Foden, who “always looks as if he’s asking his mum if he can go out and play, and she says no because dinner is almost ready,” as someone recently wrote on Facebook.
The legendary Beckham, who wore the captain’s armband for six years, was also considered a strong leader. Between 1996 and 2009, he played 115 matches for the national team.
(We won’t go into his club achievements here.) His wife Victoria, a former Spice Girl, and his charity work add to his charm — but they’re not his real brand. Nor are Adidas, Armani or Gillette. His true trademark is precise passing and the positive influence he had on the whole team and the game.
A quick play:
The Three Lions stand for power, pride and courage. They are the oldest national team in the world, and their future looks bright. In their most recent campaign they won eight out of ten matches and drew the other two. We’re talking about the qualifiers for the 2024 European Championship, in which England scored 16 goals and conceded just 2 — the best goal difference in the entire qualifying round. And they rubbed Italy’s nose in it, beating them 3–1.
They have plenty of excellent players — there’s no shortage of choice — to name just a few: Jordan Pickford, Kieran Trippier, John Stones, Harry Maguire, Luke Shaw, Declan Rice, Jude Bellingham, Raheem Sterling, Mason Mount, Bukayo Saka, Kyle Walker, Harry Kane, Phil Foden and Jack Grealish.
Have I ever been happy when someone scored against “my” England?
Yes — very much so! Facebook has just reminded me:
24.06.2018: “Bravo Panama! This joy of a goal at 6–1 is priceless!” ????
As it later turned out, I wasn’t the only one! A delighted Gary Lineker wrote on Twitter: “First time I can recall being chuffed with a goal scored against England as Baloy scores Panama’s first ever World Cup goal!”
You Have to Approach Football with Heart
Once, a very exhausted little boy came running home for a drink: “Mom, I just played a match — Portugal vs. USA! Portugal won 100 to 3!” “Really? And why did the Americans score only 3 goals?” “Well, there were two, but in extra time they got one more. Actually, it was 101, but I called offside — I just didn’t feel like counting that high anymore!”
In little M’s home, her father rooted for France. Once, in sheer joy that Michel Platini had scored in an important match, he kicked his legs — braced on a stool — with such enthusiasm that he broke it clean in two.
As for the enthusiastic, euphoric, explosive joy of my son, back when he was just a little boy, celebrating Real Madrid’s many victories — I won’t even try to describe it. That would be harder than climbing Kilimanjaro. One Christmas Eve, several years ago, he wanted to put the laptop on his lap to kill two birds with one stone: join the family dinner and watch Real’s match. And another time, when he couldn’t watch because it was far too late, he put on his royal team’s kit and declared he would “cheer in his sleep.”
My daughter, around twelve at the time and a huge Barcelona fan, once refused to enter the Santiago Bernabéu Stadium while visiting Madrid, considering it a disgraceful betrayal of the Pride of Catalonia.
My husband, regardless of the weather, drives over 80 kilometers to attend Stal Mielec’s matches. At home, no matter where you look, the team’s logo is there — on mugs, shirts, pillows, towels. They even “haunt” you when you open the fridge — their branded olives are actually quite tasty!
These are just a few examples of how trivial football really is. ????
To sum up, it can be beautiful and surprising, and at times, it can be very unfair. In the recent Champions League quarter-final between Manchester City and Real Madrid, the Citizens were the better side. Admittedly, the Royal Whites scored an impressive goal in the twelfth minute, but for the rest of the match they did little more than defend against a truly strong opponent. In the fifty-seventh minute, City finally broke through that Częstochowa‑style defence. Nevertheless, everything was decided by… penalties — and I dare say the people’s attempt to overthrow the king ultimately failed.
As I write this, my son is already a serious, almost seventeen‑year‑old, playing for a local team that I naturally support wholeheartedly. I enjoy going to their matches. Recently, I also started taking photos, and I’ve become quite absorbed in it. Photography is one of my hobbies, and even with fairly modest equipment you can capture striking shots: passion, commitment, and the struggle of the game. The young lad is doing quite well. I try to explain to him that those who truly have a chance are the ones who understand that training and playing must be approached holistically. Healthy eating and proper sleep above all! “The kind of fuel you put in determines how the car will run.” I didn’t come up with that myself (I read it in a book about nutrition for young footballers that I gave him), but I fully agree. Does he listen? Well… he’s a teenager.
But I’m not giving up — perhaps the day will come when he pushes away crisps or gummy sweets with the same gesture Cristiano Ronaldo used when he removed the Coca‑Cola bottles from his table at a press conference.
The entry ends on April 18, 2024. Absorbed once again by work at school, I put this text back in the drawer — this time for almost two months. The Euros began. There are not many players left in the English squad whom I had previously written about as forming a very strong team.
For years their fans have been singing that “football’s coming home.” Apparently, not at this tournament. The two matches played by the Lions so far have been dull, full of schoolboy errors. Not everything can be blamed on a poor pitch. It’s not only blades of grass clinging to their boots, but fatigue as well. After the final whistle in the most recent clash with Belgium, the players simply collapsed onto the turf like flies sprayed with insecticide.
From what we can see, they are weary and faded like late‑June poppies.
And yet, so far, they are leading their group. The glimmer of hope in the tunnel comes from the goals of Jude Bellingham and Harry Kane.
Today I came across this meme:
Southgate: “You know what to do?” Gallagher: “No.” Southgate: “Me neither. Tell Jude I said hi!”
(Though it would have been better: Tell Jude I said hej ????)
À propos:
Hey Jude. (addressing the whole team)
Hey Jude, don’t make it bad
Take a sad match and make it better
Remember to let it into your heart
Then you can start to make it better
However the ball rolls for the Sons of Albion from here on, I’ll keep running after it anyway.
So will M ????.
Postscript
We spent a week by the Polish seaside. Open air and Open’er Festival… music and waves washed football slightly out of sight. Still, I did get to watch the England–Switzerland match. At first, without much emotional investment. If they win, they win; if not, so be it — that’s what I kept telling myself. But when Bukayo Saka scored that wonderful equaliser, and then converted his penalty, emotions took over. Lineker admitted he had tears in his eyes too, and Alexander-Arnold — who stepped up to take the final penalty — made him cry! (Such a charming headline appeared on one website, clearly translated automatically from the original.) All penalties scored! And Pickford made a save! Something truly beautiful! (Hence the edit on the first page ????).
The joy and appreciation of England reaching the semi‑final grew gradually — much like my husband’s feelings after his first Pearl Jam concert. He told me that with each passing day after the event, he liked the performance more and more.
I had a good nose for that Hey Jude! I’ve just seen an Adidas commercial featuring roughly that very fragment of the song: Jude restores people’s hope (including David Beckham’s) at the very last moment by scoring a goal. I could have written to advertising agencies straight away — I’d be rich by now! Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum…
As it turns out, the advert was prophetic — it was made before his epic overhead‑kick goal in the ninety‑fifth minute of the match against Slovakia! (It had escaped my notice earlier, because I hardly ever watch television and always mute the commercials. This time it simply popped up on Facebook — we all know how that works: I search for a new carpet, and for the next few days they’re “flying” across every possible website…)
From time to time I watch snippets from the England camp at this tournament. I wish every team — especially local ones — had access to such facilities and activities. In addition to strictly football‑related training, there’s a swimming pool, tennis, stationary cycling, golf, cricket, and even yoga! Of course, there are physiotherapists, masseurs, dietitians, and so on, but also games, shared confidences, and communal singing, including sessions with Ed Sheeran.
From the very beginning I said that Spain were the favourites — befitting a self‑proclaimed expert. From their very first group match. I repeated it after every subsequent game played by La Furia Roja. I failed to foresee just one thing… that in the grand final they would prove their excellent form against my Englishmen.
The O2 Arena, London. The American band The Killers pause their concert so that, together with the huge crowd, they can watch on the giant screen the moment when the Three Lions advance to the final. This is the very essence of football’s magic and the beautiful emotions it can evoke. In that excited crowd, for those few minutes, everyone was a football fan — no one wanted to stick out like a sore thumb, even if they normally have absolutely no interest in it. Videos of the moment are circulating online, bringing half‑smiles and stirring more emotion than the memorable courtroom scene in the film The Quack. Confetti rained down from the stage, and the final whistle carried the emotional force of a declaration: “Ladies and gentlemen, Your Honour, this is Professor Rafał Wilczur!”
La Grande Finale
Let’s be honest: the Sons of Albion didn’t stand much of a chance in this match. Even when Palmer scored the equaliser in a distinctly “Spanish” style. Pickford pulled out all the stops, saving shot after shot, and was rightly named in several Teams of the Tournament — including the one chosen by the champions themselves. Quite simply: Spain were better. Attacking football prevailed.
Once again, I turn to the authority of Lineker — after all, the man with whom this whole personal battle for England began. I check his opinions instinctively, as if consulting an old friend — in good times and in bad.
Besides, I don’t indulge in reading online comments. If I do, only sparingly, because despite some thoughtful or positive contributions (true of any topic), far too many people consistently choose to show their worst side. Reading the bile and mindless hate eventually leaves me, sadly, agreeing in my own mind with Nick Cave: “People just ain’t no good.”
So, football didn’t come home this year. That is — it did, but not in the blaze of glory some had expected. (Although, truth be told, they didn’t really expect it either — almost until the very end they ripped the team and the manager to shreds, only to then dream of bathing in champagne.) As for Gareth Southgate’s decision to step down, I respect it completely. He chose the perfect moment. And in doing so, he silenced most of his critics. One would have to be wilfully ignorant not to recognise his contribution to English football.
For me, the glass is half full. These aren’t finalists who lost to Spain — they are runners‑up of Europe. And twice over. (The Italians barely made it out of their group.) So, bravo!
Wanting to savour what I consider a great success just a little longer — to turn the phrase around until it gained the sweetness and fluffy volume of candy floss — I typed it into a search engine. Copilot “spoke up”:
“Yes, that’s true! England finished as runners-up at the European Championship after losing 1–2 to Spain in the Euro 2024 final. The match took place on 14 July 2024 in Berlin. Spain secured the title thanks to a late goal by Mikel Oyarzabal. Did you watch the match? What were your impressions?”
I hesitated for a moment, then found the courage to confess:
“I cried because England lost…” ????
Copilot: “I understand how disappointing that must have been. England played really well and came very close to winning. Sport can sometimes be truly emotional and full of surprises. Is there anything that could lift your mood?”
“No.”
“I understand. I’m glad I could talk with you! Have a nice day!”
Artificial intelligence, AI, “claims” it is not “capable of feeling joy, sadness, or any other emotions,” yet as it turns out, it shows more empathy than most people on internet forums.
“I’m not that old, am I?”
As for my “old” friend — 63-year-old Gary, who looks fantastic and sports a hairstyle in the shade favoured by Gandalf the Grey-and-White — he recently told, with a mix of embarrassment and disbelief, an anecdote about how, on a crowded underground train, a young woman offered him her seat… and how people who recognised him started giggling.
That’s all, really. And if necessary, I apologise for the English phrases scattered throughout (this text was originally written by me in Polish), but they sound as natural to me as a hot dog, and I prefer not to translate them. Besides, they “make a difference,” as our sports commentators like to say these days. ( this text was origially written by me i Polish)
And for dessert — a Facebook post from 2010 (!):
My high-school friend Dominika:
“Dear M, are you a football fan? Because your profile looks very professional.”
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