IF football really is “coming home,” as everybody keeps saying, then what on earth is it coming home to? Things have changed a little since 1966, you know, and I doubt the metallic version of Jules Rimet would even recognise the place. Yes, I do realise that the original trophy was stolen back in 1983 and melted down by thieves, much like England itself. Ever heard of artistic license? We’ve certainly seen a bit of that over the last few decades, what with the sweeping brush-strokes that have been applied to the beleaguered canvas of England by the architects of high finance. Like it or not, it’s very hard to compete with the perennial feelgood factor whenever the ruling classes want to sleep more soundly in the seemingly insurmountable confines of their four-poster beds.
Win or lose, my escapist compatriots, the cracks in the ‘national’ edifice will reappear in due course and perhaps then you will remember the drug addiction, environmental destruction, child abuse, homelessness, violent streets and crippling debt. Call me a party-pooper, but as somebody once said, Anarchists are “the hard-nosed realists.” So, which of your patriotic ditties is it to be? “Long to reign over us,” or “England never, never, never shall be slaves”? Have some consistency, gentlemen, all that booze has gone to your heads. England, the real England, is no more and it’s time to make a choice between rampant globalisation and faded nostalgia on the one hand and the establishment of decentralised tribal communities on the other. It’s more than just a game.
