2018 has been a special year for the England national football team.
I’ll be the first to admit: I did not want Gareth Southgate to become England manager. A man with a sub-30% managerial win ratio at club level, with a relegation on his CV? No thank you.
I was so opposed to Southgate becoming England manager – particularly after his first two matches as caretaker manager (a 2-0 win against Malta and a 0-0 draw with Slovenia) – that I started to refer to him as ‘Young Roy’; to me, Gareth Southgate was simply another FA Yes Man, exactly the sort of person the dilapidated Roy Hodgson had become.
He’s now the most beloved man in England, who has fed me enough humble pie to last a lifetime.
But how have Gareth Southgate and his ragtag band of lovable misfits turned widespread national pessimism into adoration? For me, England fans’ alienation with the national team started to really kick in during the tenure of the ironically-titled Golden Generation.
Talking to BT Sport last November, Rio Ferdinand, Frank Lampard and Steven Gerrard – three bastions of this so-called Golden Generation – spoke damningly about the culture within the England camp. Ferdinand in particular, did not shy away from the fact that club cliques infiltrated the national team’s setup to a point where Manchester United, Chelsea and Liverpool players did not even sit together during lunch.
So is it any surprise that this squad, full of self-interested, egotistical individuals – who also happened to be some of the most talented players in the world – failed time after time after time?
It amazes me to this day that Lampard and Gerrard, at the time two of the most gifted central midfielders on the planet, continuously played so poorly together; but then, considering they let petty club feuds surmount pretty much everything else, who is really that shocked?
The Hodgson era was just as painful: as the years droned on, it was clear that the life was being sucked out of this England side – both on and off the pitch – reaching its nadir in Nice, as England dished up the most spineless performance in their 144 year history, crashing out of Euro 2016 against Iceland.
It was a showing that personified Roy Hodgson’s England, as well as everything that was wrong with the national team: Wayne Rooney – at this point simply shoehorned into the side – misplacing passes for fun; an unfit Jack Wilshere, with just 141 minutes of football under his belt that season, coming on at half-time as England’s solution to the mess; Hodgson laughably waiting until the 86th minute to bring on Marcus Rashford. There was no character in that side, no youthfulness, no adventure – my overriding emotion after Damir Skomina blew the full-time whistle was pure anger.
Two years later, and England have enjoyed their best calendar year since 1966: a World Cup semi-final, followed-up by a brilliant Nations League showing, has shown the world that this side isn’t a flash in the pan – we have a seat at the footballing high table, and we’re here to stay.
Though this England side don’t possess players of Lampard or Gerrard’s quality; of David Beckham’s prestige; of Ferdinand or John Terry’s experience – they have proven to be more than the sum of their parts, rather than an underperforming group of individuals with delusions of grandeur.
Our current crop are relatable and lovable – they make themselves impossible to dislike. Jordan Pickford, with the phrase ‘Get The Rave On’ stitched onto his boots, plays with a unique and carefree abandon.
Harry Maguire is another member of Southgate’s motley crew who has instantly endeared himself to England fans; turning up to St. George’s Park for the first time holding a bin liner containing his kit and boots – akin to an 18-year-old fresher moving into his new University halls – was a lovely moment.
And captain of England’s amiable misfits, Harry Kane, embodied everything good about this squad. The footage of Kane, pounding the floor in sheer, uncontrollable ecstasy following England’s victory over Colombia, will live with me forever.
Southgate deciding to give the media more access to England’s World Cup training camp was another masterstroke. It gave the fans at home a great opportunity to see the players’ human side; there were no rifts, no egos – just a group of young, hungry individuals who had clearly bought into the fantastic environment that Southgate brilliantly cultivated.
In a year full of watershed moments – the semi-final, the shootout victory, the joy and the heartbreak - my one big takeaway has been just how much I fell in love with Southgate and his players. I had become so used to seeing England fall short when it really mattered, that I forgot what it was like to get excited about the national team. I suddenly started to hope and dream – rather than dread.
In the end, England didn’t win the World Cup – instead, they won over a nation. While the multitude of disappointing tournament exits in decades past evoked emotions of anger and disillusionment, the Croatia defeat aroused one emotion in particular: pride.
So here’s to you, Gareth Southgate, for helping us love England again. We now have the Nations League semi-finals to look forward to in June; following that, our motley crew will head into Euro 2020 - where maybe, just maybe, football’s coming home again.
