I don't pretend to know much about football, but even I could tell well ahead of the World Cup that the England team's campaign would end badly. The signs were there for all to see, to wit:
When the Group Draw was shown last December in Trafalgar Square right outside the Embassy (above), you could hear the crowd mockingly laugh as each of England's opponents were announced -- confidence which seemed misplaced given their spokesperson Beck's hair at the time looked part-Flock of Seagulls, part-Wembley Stadium arch.
Speaking of Wembley, the LLDD-Hyphen-L and I got to see the England v Mexico friendly, the England team's last tune-up game before they left for the World Cup. Again, you didn't have to be an expert* to see that Mexico, despite losing 3-1, played much better than England for most of the game. Heck, even the "Clap-clap, Clap-clap-clap, Clap-clap-clap-clap, England!" chants" (better known in the Philippines to my age-group as the "M-I, M-I-L, M-I-L-O, Milo! chant") got swept aside by El Mexican wave.
*I did learn by listening to everyone in the stands that you can sound like a football expert just by mixing and matching the following conversation clichés; interestingly, these also serve as British stand-up comics' go-to double-entendres.
1) "We can't get any width"
2) "Where's the service upfront?"
3) "There's no invention, no adventure"
4) "They're packing everything in the box"
5) "Why's he playing so deep?"
6) "He's a bit lively, isn't he?"
7) "All we're doing is kick and rush, kick and rush"
8) "He couldn't get his foot around the ball"
9) "Oh, that's just quality"
10) "We need a holding midfielder"
11) "Too much pace"
12) "Goooooooaaaaaallllll"
Surprisingly - or maybe not surprisingly - many English fans started leaving the stadium (above, top) well ahead of the final whistle, and skipped the team send off (above, bottom) altogether.
Unlike the LLDD-Hyphen-L, who loyally stayed behind for the "Players-Take-Off-and-Exchange-Shirts" tradition.
As the tournament drew nearer, public support visibly grew stronger -- shirts, car flags, streamers and other national team matériel began appearing in full force in every home and on every street corner. The kick-assity of it all, however, was fatally undermined when someone made the unfortunate decision to also release official England team false eyelashes.
When the World Cup did roll around, the mayor of London actually banned giant-TV screens from being set up anywhere in the city. So for the England-USA match, the best I could do to get a full football festival feel was to crash some boy scouts' viewing party (above). You think I'm kidding.
By the time England drew with Algeria 0-0, the puns were as weak as the team.
But the final straw, the definitive sign that not many believed the England team would go very far, was the staging of the massive Hard Rock Festival on the same day and at the same time as England's knock-out match against Germany. The concert organizers apparently didn't think the English team would still be around and playing that day. So tens of thousands of Londoners had a choice between watching the England team and watching Hard Rock -- and went with Hard Rock. Still, it was not necessarily an easy decision for everyone. Take me, for instance; I much preferred the company of down-to-earth sports fans over pretentious festivalistas.
Because at festivals, you all too often encounter the Triple-Douche: people who take up too much space, hold up their cigarettes to other people's faces AND constantly update their Facebook pages.
On the other hand, given the match results that afternoon, well -- great call Hard Rock!! The festival's nostalgia trip line-up - featuring such timeless wonders as Elvis Costello ("I Write the Book"), Crowded House ("Don't Dream It's Over") and Crosby, Stills and Nash ("I Don't Know Any of Their Songs, I'm Not That Old") - was exactly what the crowd needed to lift its spirit, as it harked back to happier times, to when the England team was, you know, good.
Indeed, the England team was never better than in the 1960s.
And in the 1960's, there was no one bigger than Hard Rock's headliner...
...PAUL FREAKING MCCARTNEY!!!
Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! I never, EVER thought I'd get to see a Beatle perform live! And he was goddammed awesome!!! I mean, the man was pushing 70, yet still effortlessly delivered a mind-blowing, high-energy two-and-a-half hour quality performance!! (You hear that Rooney? Not 90-minutes. Two-and-a-Half fraking hours.) Seriously, it was just hit, after hit, after hit, after hit, after hit, after hit, after hit, after hit, after hit, after hit, after hit, with some All-Time greats thrown in:
...The All-Time Sing-along Song...
...The All-Time End-to-a-Concert Song...
...and The All-time Holy $*%!-That's-Freaking-Awesome Fireworks Song.
Wow, just wow. He still has it, and then some. An absolute classic. There was just no way to describe the joy the LLDD-Hyphen-L and I felt, no way to gauge the profound impact on the concert crowd, and simply no way to measure Sir Paul's enduring appeal to the world.
Inversely proportional to the enduring appeal of this England team's merchandise would seem a good starting point.
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