IT is not coming home because it is here already – a national mood of euphoria, optimism and hope. “The best feeling — ever!” gasped Ollie Watkins , describing the moment he saw the ball bobbing in the back of the Dutch net with 91 minutes on the clock in the semi-final of the Euros. We know the feeling, Ollie.
Because Gareth Southgate and the beautiful boys of summer have lifted the mood of this country. In less than a month, they have given us a reason to believe. In England.
In our country. In ourselves. And tonight there is now the very good chance that England’s men will win their first football trophy for 58 years.
Tonight we can fulfil our footballing destiny. Tonight those three little words — it’s coming home! — will lose their wistful sense of plaintive longing and become glorious reality. Tonight there will be — I have always believed — a national reset.
That would be joy unbound, for sure — but there is more. To be a fan of the national team of our national game is to carry with you a sense of fatalism. And it does not matter if you are aged eight or 80.
That nagging doubt about England is true of children whose first tournament saw England stumble at the last hurdle against Italy in the Euros final three years ago. And it is true of the first generation to sing “Football’s Coming Home” in 1996 — all those Oasis-loving lads who are now settling into middle age. And it is true of those of us who remember the boys of summer in 196.