My Jekyll and Hyde Attitude Towards the World Cup

With the dust settling after all the recent British political fervor involving a coalition relationship between two unlikely individuals, I have decided to turn my attention towards the greatest sporting event on earth. Yes, the World Cup is only a few weeks away and I can already feel the atmosphere building in this country like a volcanic ash cloud creeping into the airspace.

What I love about the World Cup is the fact it’s the only time this self depreciating, self-hating country actually binds together and experiences some form of patriotic pride. It’s the only time the fault-finding English forget about the unpredictable weather, the badly paved streets, and the apparent degradation of society driven by those individuals we call chavs. It’s one of the few periods where a white English person can fly a St George’s flag without fear of being labeled a right wing racist – although this has never been a problem for myself being of an oriental disposition.

Without sounding too much like a representative of FIFA, I have to say I love the World Cup fever. I love seeing everyone walking around wearing their England tops and the cars driving past with the St George’s flags attached to the windows. I love how the country is gripped when the national team plays their matches and the joy that ensues when we score. I love getting drunk and singing the England chants with friends and complete strangers at the pub. No other event can come close to bringing this nation together. Not the Olympics, not even St George’s day.


Yet, at the same time, I also experience Jekyll and Hyde syndrome whenever a World Cup comes around. At times, the grumpy old man within me rears his ugly, wrinkled head. The main issue at stake is the fact I dislike how all these individuals who normally take no interest in football suddenly become experts at the sport – not least those women who suddenly feel they are ‘in with the lads’ by wearing their England top, drinking pints and screeching the chants in the pub. And then they tell you their favourite player is the one with the nicest legs and that they like the French team because their kit is pretty.

Groan.

And for god’s sake, stop asking about Beckham. He’s injured, past it and has no future left in the national team. Additionally, when the World Cup is over, these same people tell you that it’s just a game and question why we follow the sport so religiously. Unbelievable.

It is a difficult tension between two personalities that I have to overcome, but ultimately (I’m glad to say), the patriotic drunk always wins.


As for England’s chances, I have to say despite the controversies involving certain players, the Football Association and even the manager, we have the best chance of winning the World Cup in years. Even more so then 4 years ago with the so called ‘Golden Generation’ and a clueless, balding Swede.

Our manager, Italian he may be, is the best manager the team has had since Alf Ramsey. A disciplinarian, a tactician and a maker of men. Unlike the attack-at-all-costs style of the Premier League, international football is significantly more measured in its method of play and requires a lot more restraint and a more cultured approach towards the game – something which the national team has failed to do for many years. Fabio Capello has finally stamped upon the England team a more international style of passing the ball short and keeping it; rather than hoof it up to the big man at every opportunity. He’s got the best out of star player Wayne Rooney and most importantly, he’s got the team playing with confidence after years of ego-battering underachievement.

I suppose then, that my final words to this introduction to the World Cup are ones of hope and encouragement. Let’s unite as a nation, let’s get behind the lads and let’s believe we can do it.