I think I might have experienced national pride for the first time in my life this week—something that’s very rare for us self-loathing Brits. I’d gone down a TikTok rabbit hole watching videos of tourists on holiday in London going to pubs to watch England play in the Euros semifinals. All of these clips were kind of similar: floppy-haired Americans and Australians making jokes about “maybe getting to see it come home?” and then capturing the reaction when, as we all know by now, it actually did. Many featured video montages of things like bus drivers honking in jubilation; middle-aged men with Jude Bellingham shirts pulled over their heads; crowds stopping traffic as they danced to “Vindaloo” in the middle of the road. And all of them showed the aforementioned tourists reacting in awe and astonishment—earnestly exclaiming things like “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen” while watching, say, a pensioner showering his Saint George’s Cross-painted head in lager.
Something about seeing England fans be England fans through fresh eyes made me feel… Thrilled? Proud? Quite emotional? And it’s not just that genre of England fan video I’ve been gobbling up since the match against the Netherlands on Wednesday—the one that got our team into their first men’s Euros final on international soil. I’ve been mainlining videos of people whooping and cheering at the 47 bus to Bellingham, Catford Bus Garage like it’s the superstar footballer (and Skims model) Jude Bellingham himself, along with clips of soap star Ross Kemp grunting “Ollie Watkins, we love you, we love you, we love you,” on his Instagram Stories after the substitute scored the semi-winning goal in the 91st minute. I’ve been obsessed with footage of the crowd going nuts at the Killers’ O2 gig on Wednesday, when the band aired the final two minutes of the semifinals before storming into “Mr. Brightside”… Literally none of these things were relevant to my interests, like, last month, but now I cannot get enough. Yes, our country might be extortionately expensive to live in; yes, it might have outrageously terrible weather; but if there’s one thing that makes me genuinely feel good about being English, it’s seeing us all come together to support our beautiful boys in the silliest, rowdiest, dumbest way possible.
I’d argue (excluding a few rogue awful ones) that English people are the best in the world at being international football fans. And, right now, it feels like there’s not a person in the country who’s not ready to show off that skillset. King Charles is apparently on the edge of his seat, Adele’s been biting her nails in the stands in Germany, Keir Starmer made a PR clip of himself watching England from the White House, and one London bar (unanimously recognized as terrible) is so sure people will be desperate for a place to watch that it’s charging £422 for a table for six on match night.
In fact, Gareth Southgate’s squad has unified England in a way that’s only occurred two other times in recent memory: Firstly, when we all watched Rishi Sunak get drenched and drowned out by D:Ream as he announced the general election—and the likely demise of the UK’s most corrupt government in centuries—in June; snd secondly, in January, when Harry betrayed Molly to win The Traitors. Even bagging our first new government in 14 years didn’t unify the country like this. (Just a suggestion, but I’d recommend Labour Party members stop saying horrifically transphobic things if they’d like me to feel about them how I feel about the England team.)
