Dear reader, if schadenfreude were just mildly unhealthy, then I would be a corpse by now.
I did not realise how much I was horrified at the prospect of England actually winning something until they lost last night.
With the danger averted, I could relax.
However, it was only then that I fully took on board how much it had gotten to me.
For the avoidance of doubt, I hold no animus to the young English footballers who did their best against the Italians.
However, I cannot ignore the fact that English football has been militarized and politicised for generations.
For example, this piece referred to Gareth Southgate’s grandad in the Royal Marines in World War Two.
Was this relevant to a football match?
Well, apparently so in Ingerlund 2021.
So I waited in the long grass until they choked in the final.
Then there are the fans.
Last night London had scenes that were redolent of Sevco’s dignified clientele.
The similarities between this lot and the Ibrox klanbase are too many to mention.
However, here’s a hint.
The Italians had not been even presented with the trophy before the racist recriminations began among the Ingerlund support.
This statement from the Football Association was swift and unequivocal.
Throughout the tournament, there had been the undeniable sound of dog whistles emanating from Westminster about the England players taking a knee.
I believe that this had the effect of authorising the many racists in the Ingerlund support.
As I stated previously, I have no issue with these lads.
However, between the English media and the Ingerlund support, I don’t want them to win anything.
The “coming home” thing itself reeked of proprietorial presumption.
Moreover, it had some pitiful cheerleaders in the northeast of this country.
The arrogance of a country that had never contested a European final, let alone won it, is a sight to behold.
Thirty years of hurt.
Try eight hundred.
In the semi-final, the laser pointer was added to the inventory of Perfidious Albion.
Consequently, you can view the penalty shootout last night as karmic justice for the Danes.
I certainly do.
After the semi-final win against Denmark, the English media also coined a new euphemism for cheating:
In the final itself, after a dream start, England retreated as the superior Italians dominated the play.
The Azzurri were a combination of silk and steel, and they are deservedly the kings of Europe.
In the end, it came down to heart and the Italians had it in abundance.
However, in a parallel universe, England won last night.
Perhaps in that dimension, they are not imbued with Herrenvolk presumptuousness.
Thankfully in this part of the footie multiverse, we were spared the appalling vistas of an Ingerlund victory.
So grazie molto to our gallant allies in Europe.