In hindsight, it probably wasn’t very wise to invite a German girl to come on holiday with me during the World Cup. This was in 1990 and I was staying at my parents’ house in the South of France. Rather shamefully, I cannot now remember her name. She was tall and blonde and writing a dissertation on the history of the Third Reich. I picked her up on Cambridge High Street.
Few were expecting great things of England at Italia ’90. Under Bobby Robson’s stewardship, England had failed to qualify for Euro ’84, failed to qualify for Euro ’88 and only just squeaked into the knockout stage of the ’86 World Cup. At the beginning of the 1990 tournament, Robson had already announced his intention to retire as manager.
England’s performance in the group stage was far from assured and when I sat down to watch our first knockout game against Belgium I wasn’t optimistic. I had resigned myself to switching allegiance to West Germany who were playing Holland two days later in deference to my blonde companion.
Yet England played well, beating Belgium 1-0. Until then, my support had been half-hearted. I was reluctant to invest too much faith in the team for fear of being disappointed. After the win against Belgium, however, I was fully committed. For once, England seemed to be rising to the occasion. The team had gelled and a star had emerged in the form of Paul Gascoigne. We looked capable of going all the way.
As a consequence, the West Germany match two days later was more fraught than I’d anticipated. My friend had been genuinely pleased for me when England beat Belgium, cheering at the final whistle, but I couldn’t reciprocate. We watched the match in a local bar and everyone was rooting for the Dutch.
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