No wonder the football's so good - we're not in it

Viva Espana: Spanish fans celebrate their team's win over Russia in the Euro 2008 semi-final in Vienna
13 April 2012

So Andrei Arshavin wasn't having any and Cesc Fabregas was brilliant. Last night's Euro 2008 semi-final between Russia and Spain was compelling, high-class entertainment.

Everyone thought Arshavin, playmaker extraordinaire and destroyer of the hitherto steam-rolling Dutch would do the same to Spain. Instead, he was strangely muted - perhaps dwelling on a three weeks that have seen him propelled from relative obscurity in the Russian league to attracting the interest of sexy, glamorous Barcelona.

Fabregas wasn't even on the pitch at the start, but when David Villa limped off, on came Arsenal's youthful wonder, tearing across the pitch and providing the telling passes that set up Spain's killing second and third goals.

Glorious, glorious football - and not an Englishman in sight. Then Euro 2008 has been like that. It's been a sumptuous feast of sport, of fast, attacking play, sublime skill and wonderful goals. I'm not alone in thinking so - on Sunday night, when Germany take on Spain in the final, around 10 million of us will tune in to watch.

Ballack versus Fabregas and Torres - Chelsea against Arsenal and Liverpool. Except it's not like that. Yes, these players adorn our Premier League but that doesn't explain why 3.5 million saw Switzerland play the Czech Republic and 3 million witnessed Austria take on Croatia. A third of all TV viewers and almost half of all males saw Holland thrash Italy 3-0 on ITV1.

Of course, it's possible to say we will watch any international football that comes our way. That does not explain, surely, what has occurred this summer. It's testament to a nation that is no longer so blinkered in its view of the world. England and the other home countries haven't been taking part but that hasn't stopped us.

It occurs in the finals of other sports - where we've long grown used to not having any home-grown participation. When our last player at Wimbledon - for years it was Tim Henman and now is Andy Murray - was knocked out, we didn't switch off. Among the women, I can't remember the last time we had someone in the second week but that hasn't dimmed our interest.

Nevertheless, football is different. It's the people's game, the one that provokes tribal, horribly biased passion, that causes grown men to fight. Yet, there's not been a Wayne Rooney, Steven Gerrard or John Terry in view - and still the big screens in the pubs have grabbed our attention.

When England manager Steve McClaren stood, sombre-faced, under his umbrella that fateful night at Wembley and his team performed as miserably as the monsoon weather, there were plenty who wrote off the forthcoming finals, myself included. They would be a nonevent. England wouldn't be there, the games would be sterile, lacking in excitement and passion, full of cynical Latin theatrics and dull East European endeavour.

But it's not been like that. Sadly and unavoidably, it's not simply been a case of basking in the elegance of the Latins or the typical efficiency of the Germans. There is another factor at work - England is not playing. For once, I've not watched with a nervous, sinking feeling in my heart. The often heavy burden of supporting my country has been lifted.

I've been spared viewing my team pass their usual sideways and back, while others stroke the ball forward. I've not had to hide behind my fingers as our star player - once David Beckham, these days Rooney - threatens to implode with red-faced rage. I've not had to worry about the fragility of our goal-keeper. Best of all, thank God, I've not had to endure the sight of an Englishman attempting to take a penalty.

Gone, too, have been the dreadful press conferences with McClaren, the meaningless chats with the players and the pictures of the training sessions - which in England's case, consist of team members giving piggy-backs to one another.

For once, we've not had to endure talk of the weather being too hot and of the wearers of the Three Lions on their shirts taking their own food because they don't trust the foreign stuff.

The English are not alone in not winning through - also missing are the Scots, Welsh, Northern Irish and Irish. This means there's been no attempt by the BBC to pretend we're all one big happy British family - that English fans are faux Scots and so on. As a result, the TV is a bagpipe-free zone and one that's also devoid of Irish folk telling us how much friendlier they are than us and how good their "craic" is.

By the same token, the giant beer bellies covered in patriotic tattoos have not been in evidence. Mercifully, the national flag is not adorning every supermarket aisle and bar, and more to the point, it's not being used to try to make us drink, and pay for, more alcohol.

For the duration of a competition involving national sides, the word " hooligan" has not crossed anyone's lips. I've been able to turn on the TV news and read a paper without suffering mounting embarrassment and shame.

Likewise, WAGs. Their bags, boobs, raised skirts, hair extensions and their shopping and carousing will have to wait for another expedition.

Unfortunately, you can't have everything and the BBC has done its level best to ruin our delight - Gary Lineker's clunking one-liners have been excruciating and patronising.

But that's also the point. There's a sense this time that we've moved on - that the viewers have a different mindset, even if BBC scriptwriters do not.

Whether, along with the BBC hierarchy, the Football Association have absorbed the lessons of the past few weeks - because that is what they've been - is a moot question. History suggests the FA will be in denial, believing, incredibly, that Euro 2008 is lacking something because England has not been taking part.

No sooner does this competition end than the qualifying for the next World Cup in South Africa begins. Judging by what we've witnessed in terms of flair and pace from the rest of Europe, the new manager, an Italian, Fabio Capello, is going to have his work cut out - even if they do get to the finals in 2010, England will have to drastically rethink their method.

That, with its attendant boozing, fighting and cliches galore, assuming we qualify, is two years away. For now, we've got Murray at Wimbledon tomorrow and the second week of the championships. On Sunday, the brusque, unyielding Germans line up against the fitful artists of Spain. Is this the summer we've finally begun to love the rest of the world?

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