GOM World Cup Diary #36 They Think It’s All Over…
It Is Now!
There are some football commentaries that become part of our national vocabulary.
Kenneth Wolstenholme gave us the greatest of them all.
“They think it’s all over…”
“It is now!”
Nearly sixty years later, those words still echo around English football whenever hope finally runs out.
Last night, they echoed once again.
England’s World Cup dream came to an end with a 2-1 defeat to Argentina, and if I’m honest, I’m still wondering what might have been.
The frustrating thing is that England didn’t lose because they weren’t good enough.
For long periods, they looked the better side.
They were organised.
They were disciplined.
They took the lead.
And then…
They stopped playing.
Well, perhaps that’s a little harsh.
They stopped playing to win and started playing not to lose.
There’s a difference.
Instead of asking questions of Argentina, they began answering them.
Instead of pushing forward, they retreated.
Instead of giving the opposition something to worry about, they gave them exactly what they wanted.
Possession.
Territory.
Belief.
Football has an annoying habit of rewarding bravery and punishing hesitation.
The deeper England dropped, the more inevitable the equaliser began to feel.
Once Argentina sensed the momentum had shifted, there was only ever likely to be one winner.
Credit where it’s due—they kept coming, kept believing and eventually found the goals that earned them a place in the Final.
It made me wonder how often we make exactly the same mistake in everyday life.
We work hard to build a business…
…then become frightened of taking the next step.
We save for years…
…then become too nervous to enjoy what we’ve earned.
We protect what we’ve got so carefully that we forget why we wanted it in the first place.
Sometimes the safest place isn’t ten yards behind you.
Sometimes it’s ten yards further up the pitch.
That’s true in football.
It’s just as true in life.
Of course, by the final whistle I was doing exactly what millions of England supporters were doing.
Questioning substitutions.
Questioning tactics.
Questioning whether the referee had left his glasses in the dressing room.
It’s amazing how sensible we all become once the match has finished.
Still, that’s football.
It breaks your heart just often enough to make the good days feel magical.
So, it’s another four years of waiting.
Another four years of believing that next time might be different.
And do you know what?
When the next World Cup comes around, we’ll all be back.
We’ll convince ourselves this is our year.
We’ll study the fixtures.
We’ll debate the squad.
We’ll dare to dream.
Because supporting England isn’t really about certainty.
It’s about hope.
And hope, unlike football, never seems to know when the final whistle has gone.
Anyway, what do I know?
I’m just a grumpy old man.
Comments welcome. If you’re grumpier than Tuchel’s substitutions, you’re in the right place.
