The crowds were ready to chant, to roar, to drink themselves into oblivion if we won. Rooney, our golden boy, was match-fit after all the pre-World Cup media frenzy about his broken foot. Beckham had shown, in the previous match, that his free-kick skills were worth every penny. Portugal was a good team, but not insurmountable. We were ready to win.

Instead we lost. On penalties.

So now we have lost a quarter-final, our captain, our coach. Rooney was sent off. Beckham cried. Then quit. Eriksson apologised nine times in five minutes for his performance over the last five years.

It was not a good night for our World Cup dream.

But then I only watch the football for the fit men running around and getting sweaty, so what do I care?