.png)
6 hours ago
4
In her book Hope in the Dark the author Rebecca Solnit examines if it is possible to have hope when you consider all of human suffering. She quotes the Bulgarian writer Maria Popova: “Critical thinking without hope is cynicism, but hope without critical thinking is naivety.” By all accounts it is a compelling argument for hope as a catalyst for social change.
Meanwhile, Graham Burrell wrote: “It is the hope that kills you” following Lincoln City’s 2-1 home defeat to Wigan in 2024. “I feel perhaps our playoff push was finally killed off yesterday.”
It is hard to know where exactly to place that defeat at Sincil Bank in the pantheon of human suffering. And the same goes for England’s capitulation to Argentina on Wednesday.
And it is also hard to find the first person who ever said: “It is the hope that kills you.” It could be anyone from William Shakespeare to Peter Ustinov. Many have developed it. Ted Lasso, for example: “So, I’ve been hearing this phrase y’all got over here that I ain’t too crazy about. ‘It’s the hope that kills you’. Y’all know that? I disagree, you know? I think it’s the lack of hope that comes and gets you. See, I believe in hope. I believe in belief.”
And then there’s Jackson Lamb from Slow Horses. “It’s not the hope that kills you. It’s knowing it’s the hope that kills you – that kills you.”
You wonder if England would have fared better in those last 30 minutes with Lasso or Lamb in the dugout. Their respective approaches would have been slightly different. Lasso certainly wouldn’t have played a back six. They wouldn’t sit back. Lamb would call them all idiots and tell them to get on with it. Arm round the shoulder or kick up the arse – the full spectrum is here.
But what any England fan, or any sports fan knows – is that hope, as a pure emotion, is perhaps the most incapacitating. Hope isn’t immediate. Hope doesn’t really exist at the start of the game. It certainly plays second fiddle to fear. Fear during the buildup, fear during the ludicrous 10-second countdown, fear as the ball rolls back to Jordan Pickford. I could feel, almost hear, my heart beating at twice its normal rate.
As the game settles, the heart settles. Well, settles is perhaps the wrong word. It is base-level angst with little pockets of rage as Giuliano Simeone harries and hacks and kicks and growls. Where’s the yellow card? Are the conspiracists right? He fails to kick Marc Guéhi and then goes with his head like a shark biting thin air too far out of the water. By now, even well-timed tackles by Argentinians are evil. Fouls by English players are justified. Another pint of myopia, please.
Half-time is where the first waves of pessimism appear. The longer this goes, the more likely Argentina will do it. They know how to do it. I say meaningless things like “muscle memory”. I say meaningful things like “wily bastards”.
And then the goal. The perfect cross. The perfect finish. It is an outpouring of joy and relief and possibility. It is the first real moment of hope, combined with the “Well, at least they need two now” mindset – we’ve all watched England for long enough.
The only other ecstatic moment is the Djed Spence tackle. Spence has looked so relaxed he’s barely bothered about any of this. Just be surprisingly brilliant and then go home and do the washing-up. But that celebration – like Giorgio Chiellini and Leonardo Bonucci together. “Yes, Djed!” I shout. The greatest England tackle since Eric Dier on Sergio Ramos – and wildly more important. If things had gone differently, that would headline your montage. That would be one of your statues.
Now, there’s a chance that someone else in the game has mentioned England dropping deep already. Was it Thomas Tuchel? Was it the players? Is it just English paralysis? Chances are you don’t need another tactical deep dive – I know I don’t.
after newsletter promotion
This is about the few minutes where the hope was genuine. Where I started to think about a World Cup final. The enjoyable part of the tournament isn’t the games, it’s just still being in the thing. It’s being able to watch other matches knowing you still have a dog in the fight. The actual game itself is the ordeal you have to endure.
The retreat had already started before the hydration break. But how many of us said: “It’s too soon to defend this.” With 10 men at the Azteca it made sense. Even if England are able to see this out, can I handle torture? But time keeps going, and with every missed chance, with every save, hope beganto creep in.
In the 82nd minute, Nico O’Reilly blocks a pass and chases it down and gets another block. We are in their half – a foreign land. I shouted to my Football Weekly colleague John Brewin: “That’s saved eight seconds.” A minute later Lionel Messi lofts a cross harmlessly out of play for a goal-kick. That was the moment I thought maybe. Just maybe.
I began to think about England being in a World Cup final – selfishly, what a dream few days to be in New York, preview podcasts and TalkSport shows writing themselves. I could do a column about hope – but about the other hope. What a privilege.
Goal-kick to England. Scoring a goal is hard, even if you have Messi. John Stones is doing keepy-ups. Pickford launches the goal-kick up field and O’Reilly gets on the end of it. Throw to Argentina deep in their half. “Eighty-four minutes on the clock now,” says Guy Mowbray. “I keep looking at that clock and thinking it’s going ever so slow,” says Alan Shearer.
84’24. Enzo Fernández shoots from distance. Pickford tips it over. It’s going over. But it’s OK. Just keep your shape. 84’55. Enzo has too much time on the edge of the box. Enzo shoots. Enzo scores – and we all know it’s done.
Two minutes and 55 seconds. That’s how long I really genuinely had hope. And it didn’t kill me. It was thrilling, terrifying and life-affirming. I have spoken before about whether I’ll ever be ready to see England’s men win anything – and maybe I’ll never have to test that emotion. But for the time being hope is actually enough for me. Just a morsel of it. If hope can be a catalyst for social change, if it can help us change the world, then it can help us imagine Adam Wharton lifting the European Championship trophy in 2028, even just for a fleeting moment.
