European Championship final England – Spain: This is how the Londoners experienced it

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The stars were in Britain’s favour this year. Only a week before, they had swept the Tories out of government and elected Keir Starmer, the first real, passionate football fan since Harold Wilson, as Prime Minister. He had travelled to Berlin especially for the final, and Prince William and his son George were also sitting in the Olympic Stadium as talismans for the English. But above all, Honey, an owl living in the Eynsford animal sanctuary, had predicted the English victory over Spain, the tabloid “The Sun on Sunday” reported with emphasis. Honey has fortune-telling abilities, the director of the sanctuary assured the newspaper. “Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell us whether it would be another nail-biter.”

The English had tormented their fans with nail-biting matches from the start of this tournament. The fact that the team even made it to the final was thanks to their coach Gareth Southgate and a good portion of luck. Even London Mayor Sadiq Khan probably didn’t expect the English to get this far in their current form, otherwise he would have had monitors set up in Hyde Park or Trafalgar Square as he has done in previous years. Due to the lack of these fan zones, London’s football fans had no choice but to visit the pubs that were broadcasting the game on Sunday evening. These were all full and completely booked out.

Lots of beer and rosé wine with a straw

This time, however, everything would be different, say Hope, Grace, Chloe and Ellie. The latter’s last name is Southgate. “Yeah, Southgate!” her friends cheer as if on command. The young women have come together to the pub “The White Hart” in Stoke Newington. The district borders Walthamstow, where England team captain Harry Kane grew up, and Haringey, where he played for the Premier League team Tottenham Hotspurs for a long time. “Sure, the Spanish are a fantastic team,” says Hope, whose name translates as “hope,” “but we believe in England.” They share a two-liter mug of beer. At the next table, a woman drinks the rosé wine straight from the bottle using a straw. There are still 30 minutes until the game starts.

It has been 21,169 days since the British last won an international football tournament. “Have you ever noticed,” quipped Prime Minister Harold Wilson after England’s 1966 World Cup victory against Germany, “that we only win in football under a Labour government?” He was more right than he would have liked: Since then, hope has repeatedly died at the last minute, usually in penalty shootouts.

This is one of the reasons why the large beer garden at “The White Hart” is full to the last standing place, the dress code is red and white. When the Spanish national team is introduced, there are a few boos, but they are not meant seriously. “Are you even old enough to play football yet?” someone shouts when Spain’s prodigy Lamine Yamal appears on the screen. Then it starts.

“Southgate, you’re the one”

Any objective observer of the game will quickly realise that the English have little chance against the Spanish. At first the fans jump excitedly from the benches when an Englishman manages to take the ball away from the Spanish, but this soon stops. At least: at half-time the score is still 0:0, and as we all know, hope dies last. “I believe in us,” says James, who has travelled from Essex and is here with a group of old school friends. Someone is chanting “Southgate, you’re the one” and soon the whole beer garden is singing along. This is followed by “Delilah” and “Hey Jude” – the England fans’ repertoire is known to be large.

In the 47th minute, the Spaniards scored their first goal. Long faces in the crowd. Then, much later, Palmer equalized and there was a small tremor in the beer garden. “I have'”I told you so!” shouts James, spilling his beer in joy. More “Delilah”. And more beer.

A victory in the European Championship final would have been good for British morale

The euphoria doesn’t last long: In the 90th minute, Mikel Oyarzabal brings the English back down to earth. The mood turns to despair. Only a table of Spaniards cheers. Then it’s over. No victory party in London next week, no additional holiday. That’s probably a good thing, because the British economy desperately needs a boost; but a victory would have done the nation’s morale good.

The fans here accept the defeat with dignity. They meet again at the kebab stand next door. A young woman says she likes Germany “because of Jürgen Klopp”. She comes from Liverpool.

The old rivalries are no longer what they once were.