By Tanni Cohen
The game of football (or soccer) has a simple objective: score more goals than the other team. And yet the England national football team, allegedly one of the best teams in the world, seems to find this very difficult to understand. When the stakes are high, while self-deprecating chants ring out across the stadium and fans around the world hold their breath, England will certainly lose the match. Take, for example, England’s game against France in the 2022 World Cup quarter-final. By every statistical measure (shots, shots on target, possession, accuracy), England played better, but they still lost to France 2-1. When English striker Harry Kane had the chance to even the score with a penalty kick and instead sent the ball way over the crossbar, I couldn’t help wondering if the players forgot they’re supposed to actually score goals.
The best way to understand the drama of being an England fan is to examine the song “The Three Lions” by David Baddiel, Frank Skinner and the Lightning Seeds. When the World Cup approaches, this song becomes England’s unofficial national anthem and the soundtrack of daily life. The song is sung with such fervour and intention that it mirrors a religious experience. In fact, the song begins with the words “we believe” — a declaration of faith that this time, this competition, England will win.
It’s fitting to frame this as a religious experience: England’s first and only World Cup victory was in 1966, so talking or singing about a world in which England wins has no basis in reality and belongs, appropriately, to the realm of belief. This statement of faith is followed by the line “it’s coming home,” which is repeated several times. The more it’s repeated, the more true it starts to sound. Personally, I think “it’s coming home” is an embarrassing confession: it’s an admission that England is terrible at the game it invented. Still, the power of England’s fans is that we still sing with joy: “no more years of hurt, no more need for dreaming.”
Being an England fan is an exercise in masochism. Which raises the question — is there value in supporting a team beyond the highs that come with winning?
In 2021, Gareth Southgate — the then manager of the team — published an open letter to the fans addressing the relationship between fandom and the team. He wrote: “You are a part of an experience that lasts in the collective consciousness of our country … You remember where you were watching England games. And who you were watching with. And who you were at the time.” This statement captures the dual beauty of fandom that transcends victory. The first aspect is collective: supporting a team means tapping into a shared national culture and history, one that carries weight regardless of whether that history is defined by triumph or heartbreak. What matters is the sense of allegiance — the pride of belonging to something larger than ourselves.
The second aspect is deeply personal: supporting a team reflects a personal journey. As the circumstances of our lives change, our relationship with our team becomes a record of who we’ve been and who we’re becoming. In 2018, I watched from South Africa as England lost to Croatia in the World Cup semi-final. In 2022, I was living in England and watched with horror as England fell to France in the quarter-final (I imagine the Hundred Years’ War felt similar). And now, in 2026, I watch from America — committing what some might call treason — still hoping, stubbornly, that this will be the year. The losses and hopes have been different each time. Along the way, the people I’ve watched with have changed, the players I’ve cheered for have changed, and in conjunction, I have also changed.
This evolution is continuous. Since the last World Cup, manager Gareth Southgate (achievements: being knighted) has been replaced with Thomas Tuchel (achievements: trophies for UEFA Champions League, FIFA Club World Cup, Bundesliga, Ligue 1). There is a new monarch. And Harry Kane has finally won a major team trophy (Bundesliga and German Super Cup). I believe these changes mean this year will be different — that this time, finally, it’s coming home.
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