There we went again
25/06/04 | by Alex Walker

England are out again, on penalties again, we're heartbroken again and an endless stream of commentators are picking over the pieces of another failed campaign… again! Given that this is the millionth time England have spoiled our dreams of international glory by crashing out of a major tournament, you'd think that we'd be used to it by now. It's not like we don't get enough practice at being let down with Forest, but what is it about our national team losing that hurts so much?

Put under pressure, most football fans would chose club over country any day. Yet England defeats sometimes seem to eclipse anything ever felt over Forest.

Part of it must arise because Forest never get anywhere near winning anything nearly as big as the World Cup or European Championship. On the other hand, whenever England get knocked out it's just at the point where we've set aside our early scepticism and started to believe in our own chances. In fact, in all the tabloid hyperbole we've worked ourselves up into such a fevered state of self-delusion by this point we're convinced that nothing can stand in between England and eternal glory.

When the team goes out in the usual manner, our freshly hoisted expectations come crashing down like a fallen pane of glass - smashing on the ground into a million pieces, each of which with the potential to hurt us in a different way.

The reason we allow our hopes to reach such lofty and precarious heights is also a contributing factor in the level of distress we feel when they plummet down upon us. In a country starved of national pride and identity, the banner of the Three Lions is one of the few we can unite under without fear of being labeled nationalist. The entire country's hopes rest on the shoulders of the 11 men on the pitch - inevitably, it's too much pressure and the emotional dangers of 40 million people pinning their dreams on a few heroes are readily exemplified.

It's not just the fact that, at that painful but inexorable juncture where the winning penalty goes in, you can feel the entire population sink their heads into their hands in anguish - in our own personal time of despair, in amongst the shards of shattered illusions, who is going to comfort us? Who can look at the situation rationally and offer healing words when all around us are suffering the same?

There is a moment - it lasts for barely a second but it feels like a lifetime. As the ball hits the back of the net and all England's hopes are lost, there is a moment of sheer silence. There are no cries, no shouts, no words to fill the space where our aspirations once were. And the silence doesn't come from shock, because we're used to it by now. It comes from the realisation that we were fools to believe that England stood a chance. It's a silence of shame that we allowed ourselves to indulge in such reckless fantasies when we should have known better through experience.

But we do the same with Forest, don't we? We build up our own expectations in the face of all reason and rationality: all the talk this summer of promotion is bound to end in tears. So why does nothing affect us as much as an England defeat, not even our boys in Red?

One thing is certain when Forest lose: be it in a meaningless pre-season friendly or a play-off semi-final, some smug git will always be on hand to take the piss. You can rely on the glory-hunting little so-and-so waiting at work or school to take cheap shots at your misery. So we stop wallowing in self-pity and put on a brave face for the sake of pride. When England lose there is no-one to take the piss and bring us back down to earth. Look around and all you will see is the same expression of shame and disheartenment you are feeling - and that is what makes it hurt so much.