Fourth Time Lucky

The first time was not lucky. Turin, in the summer of 1990. England faced West Germany in a World Cup semi-final. I was a fresh faced seventeen year old. Too young to remember the glory of ‘66, so I couldn’t fully appreciate the twenty four years of hurt since that triumph in London. The game was a cracker, finishing 1-1 after extra time. Penalty kicks ensued. I was confident. Certain, even. Dare I say, with two world wars and one World Cup already in the bag, a further Anglo victory over our Saxon cousins was pretty much nailed on.

Stuart Pearce smashed England’s third penalty straight into the keeper. My jaw dropped open; incredulous. How could this be? Our glorious victory had been written in the stars. Chris Waddle stepped up to take our fifth kick, and blasted his ball directly at those celestial objects. West Germany, for the final time in that country’s history, marched into the final. England, in the most cruel fashion, were sent home.

The second semi-final occurred six years later, in the summer of ‘96. I had a greater appreciation for the hurt, which had now lasted thirty years, a timeframe memorialised in a song. This time England had home advantage, at Wembley. Again, we faced our continental cousins, the Queens Crew, this time as a unified brand known simply as Germany. Again the game ended 1-1. Again penalties were required to separate the teams. Lightning couldn’t possibly strike twice, could it? Yes. It could. Football, it transpired, wasn’t going home. Just the England team.

In 2018, a very average England team reached another World Cup semi-final. The hurt had now reached fifty two years. We took the lead. But we never looked like holding on to it. And we didn’t, exiting with a 2-1 defeat to Croatia. The hurt would continue. One began to wonder if it would ever end. I could only say that whomever had come up with the phrase ‘third time lucky’ was talking out of his or her rear end.

Last night, I watched another England team in another semi-final, against Denmark. England were on paper much the better team. But with the hurt now at fifty-five years, nothing could be taken for granted. There are some very talented young players in this England squad. But their potential has been rather hamstrung by a manager who seems to both feel the burden of history, and to have little faith in our rising stars.

In the group stages, a defensively minded team eked out a 1-0 win over Croatia, were lucky to escape with a 0-0 draw against Scotland before finishing with another dull, dreary 1-0 win over the Czechs. A flattering 2-0 win over a poor Germany followed. In the quarter-finals, a thumping 4-0 win against an absolutely dreadful Ukraine team sent the population into raptures and papered over an uncomfortable truth – just like the World Cup in 2018, England had gotten to the semi-finals playing mediocre football thanks largely to a very easy draw.

Anyway. Would fourth time be lucky? It was indeed. But the winning goal summed up this England team. An extra time penalty, struck with little conviction by a player devoid of confidence and oozing anxiety. It was poorly hit, seemingly in the hope that the keeper would go the wrong way. It was, predictably, saved. But in keeping with the rest of the tournament, the save was equally poor and England got the rub of the green. The ball came back to Kane who rolled it past the prostrate keeper and into the back of the net.

And England rolled into the final, where they will play a half decent, but not exceptional, Italian side who are on a good run of form. Man for man, I genuinely believe that England have the better squad. But the difference, I fear, is in the management. Mancini v Southgate is a one sided battle. And if the England manager is silly enough to put out yet another defensive team with our best players sat on the bench, it will likely be a one sided game. Not in our favour.

My pessimistic, fatalistic opinion is not popularly held. One could justly argue that I’m being the worst type of armchair football fan. But the reality is perhaps simpler – the country has entered ‘the zone’, a place where triumph is ordained by religious decree, victory is written in the stars and anything other than an England win on Sunday is not worthy of consideration.

My lack of confidence in Gareth Southgate and his team may end up off the mark. I do hope so. The unpredictability of sport is why we watch. Fourth time was lucky, but it’ll mean nothing on Monday morning unless the newspapers have photos of Harry Kane lifting the trophy to put on the front page. Fifty five years of hurt is quite enough, thank you. It needs to end this weekend. On that, we all agree.