Yay, it’s nearly World Cup time!
I love the World Cup. I love that there are games every evening and I love the way the country seems to remember that it is a country. I love the way we’re proud to be English rather than British and that we can be smug (but in a very repressed, English way) that we’re there and the others aren’t.
And we’ll fly the cross and wear our t-shirts and dream that this time, just maybe, we won’t lose on penalties.
But I have a problem. Not a big one and, if I’m honest, it’s a nice problem to have. You see, I am very proud to be Anglo-French. It means I can be English in England and French when I’m in France (sadly, not often enough). It means I have two teams to support and thus twice the chances of winning. For me, you see, it’s only been twelve years rather than forty-four, and that’s great.
It doesn’t happen often, and it may not happen this time, but if both win their groups and round-of-sixteen games, wanna guess what happens in the quarter finals? Yep.
Actually, the reality is much more simple. I live here. I follow the English game and can name my own choice of starting line-up (which, Mr Capello, if you happen to read this, you should take note of). If I’m honest, while I can pretty much name the ’98 winning side, I know very few of the current French team. So I promise to sing both God Save the Queen and La Marseillaise and then get behind the English.
It’s even possible that they’ll meet in the final, so I couldn’t really lose. Great.