England’s Heartbreak Was Just Part of a Bigger Story

England broke our hearts but it was – The atmosphere in a Trafalgar Square pub shifted dramatically as the 2026 World Cup semi-final unfolded. My brother Laurie stood beside me while we watched England’s hopes diminish. Anthony Gordon had opened the scoring, but the team chose to sit back rather than press forward. Argentina eventually found their equalizer through Enzo Fernandez in the 85th minute, and the inevitable conclusion seemed clear. Anticipation, joy, frustration and dejection – it’s all part and parcel of being an England fan. Yet those chaotic pub scenes and endless WhatsApp conversations reminded me that supporting England connects me with people in ways few other events do.

Memories from the Garden

Watching England in major tournaments has defined many summers in my lifetime. One of my earliest memories was trying to flick the ball over my four-year-old brother’s head in the back garden and volley it into the net, just as Gazza had done against Scotland in Euro 96. Excitement was low within my social circles ahead of this World Cup – partly because of anger over sky-high ticket prices that priced out so many fans. But the scepticism disappeared when we beat Croatia 4-2 in the first game. Watching Harry Kane welling up as fans serenaded the team with Wonderwall compounded the excitement.

WhatsApp Groups and Growing Pains

“THIS IS OUR YEAR,” I wrote on one WhatsApp chat with three friends who live in different countries, only half joking. “One foot in the final,” one responded, almost certainly joking. We got a sharp reality check after a tedious 0-0 draw with Ghana. The WhatsApp group descended into a discussion about taps that dispense boiling water without having to reach for the kettle. “This conversation is almost as boring as that first half,” someone noted. A 2-0 win over Panama set us up to face DR Congo in the first knock-out round and things started to get stressful. The 5pm kick off meant I had to watch the first half at home on the sofa with my bewildered cat as I didn’t clock off until 6pm. (Note to my bosses: I was keeping an eye on emails.) DR Congo took the lead within seven minutes. England created plenty of chances but just couldn’t stick the ball in the net. At half-time I hopped on the bus to West Norwood, where my friends Tomal and Char were watching it in a pub full of kids. Some were locked into the game and necked soft drinks, while others ran around while their parents nervously nursed pints. As the half went on, WhatsApp groups went into meltdown. But Harry Kane stepped up, scoring two in quick succession to see us over the line. Cue Three Lions at the final whistle and my friend celebrating with his happy five-year-old daughter on his shoulders – the first tournament she will remember.

The Azteca Experience

Anyone who stayed up for Mexico at the Azteca will never forget it. Scheduled for 1am in the UK, it got pushed back an hour due to poor weather in Mexico City. I watched it in a packed Crystal Palace pub. Jude Bellingham’s second goal against Mexico sent the pub I watched the match in into a frenzy. After a cagey start, Bellingham scored two in two minutes to send us into a frenzy. Mexico hit back almost immediately and I spent half-time outside with my fellow frustrated fans bemoaning why we always have to do it the hard way. The tension was almost unbearable as Jarell Quansah got sent off and Mexico pulled it back to 3-2 after Harry Kane’s penalty. It was 4am when the final whistle blew. As the sun started to rise over the London skyline, my friends and I acknowledged that we had witnessed one of the great England nights.

Quarter-Final Relief

For the Norway quarter-final I raced from work to a bar in Brixton for kick-off. After Norway’s freak opening goal, the place erupted to the strains of Hey Jude after Bellingham equalised. England struggled in the second half and the relief was palpable when Bellingham grabbed his second in extra-time. After sticking around for a raucous rendition of Sweet Caroline, I headed back home, content that the dream was alive for another few days. I’m still so gutted about the Argentina semi-final. Scenes of joyous chaos on the streets of London replaced by grown men sitting on the kerb mis