Today is the last day of my self isolation. I didn’t blog during it because there was absolutely nothing positive or funny about the experience. However, last night it got to me so much that I ate a whole bag of popcorn and watched the football.
I know!
Me. Football!
And I quite enjoyed it.
Probably not in the same way that you are meant to enjoy football. I didn’t sit on the sofa and shout instructions or get angry about anything. I didn’t leap up and make myself hoarse when a goal was scored but I did enjoy it.
I loved seeing all the happy faces in the crowd. I enjoyed the terrible singing. It was nice to see that some people can be together and I enjoyed the quiet skill of the actual game.
“The England team are actually good,” I said to the Long Suffering Husband who had just finished shouting substitution instructions at the telly.
He made a hurumphing noise and said, “They need to score a goal though.”
Now, I don’t know much about football but I even I know that’s the point of the game. Preferably more goals than the other side.
I was worried that I would jinx it. If they lost it would be my fault because I felt so lonely and cut off I thought sitting in the same room as the LSH while he watched football would be a good idea. I know people are very superstitious about England football games, particularly around the washing of socks, bizarrely. What if my watching a game changed the whole butterfly effect of luck? I texted my daughter for reassurance. I didn’t want the whole world to blame me. The Danes scored a goal and she replied that she had a bad feeling about it. I enjoyed it even more because of the lovely happy smiling faces of the people in red.
Then England equalised and the LSH said, “See you haven’t jinxed it.”
“What happens if it’s a draw?” I asked, thinking that would be rather nice, everyone would be happy, thinking that they’d all done well.
“Extra time then penalties and no one wants that,” he told me.
I enjoyed the free kicks, particularly, although the chap at the back having a little kip couldn’t have chosen a more precarious position. I had to ask what he was doing there. That’s really clever. To field a sleeping policeman in just in case it goes under when they jump. The jumping in slow motion is great. Their hair moves in slow motion, like A level results day.
I continued to text my daughter so that the LSH wouldn’t get too cross with my questions. Most of our conversation was wondering how calm her dad was. I see from Twitter this morning that we weren’t the only ones.
I wasn’t too keen on all the spitting. There really is no need for it. It’s disgusting and if we’ve learnt anything from this pandemic it’s that theatres can’t stay open if footballers spit.
Anyway, it ended well and Gareth Southgate seems like a lovely man.
Now, I don’t want to get picky and I know I’m no expert on football but I do know songs and song lyrics are my thing, so can I just say that football isn’t coming home. Well football might be but the football of the song isn’t because the chorus is Jules Rimet still gleaming, which is the trophy for the World Cup and this is the Euros. I know this because I had to check the lyrics because my smutty mind changed the lyrics to jewels remain still gleaming and assumed it was something to do with how proud footballers are of their balls (Crown Jewels), which I know because they are always readjusting them during matches. Now, if you want to change the lyrics of the song and sing Henri Delaunay still gleaming, that might work. Although 30 years of hurt would never be appropriate because it’s another 25 years since Baddeil Skinner and the Lightning Seeds wrote it and England have never won the Euros.
I’m being picky aren’t I?
Sing what you like. It was a good game. Those boys are incredibly talented and well led and I hope they inspire someone to write a proper song about them.
Now the question is what is the hashtag going to be.: ITAENG or ENGITA? At least it’s not going to be BELITA and cause me to crave cardboard flavoured breakfast biscuits.
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