It's All Over Now!
As the tears flowed at Wembley, and blood flowed in Westminster, severe cases of deja-vu could be diagnosed across the country. We were transported back to the humid Roman evening in 1990 when the same old foes had played 120 minutes of football with the same scoreline, to be followed by the same devastating result after the spot-kicks. For some months afterwards, as a reminder of the evening, I retained a newspaper clipping of a shattered Chris Waddle being comforted by the German captain Lothar Matthaeus. I doubt I shall now do the same with a photo of Southgate and Klinsmann, for the disappointment of this defeat is made keener by the fact that the match was played on home soil.
If anyone thought that playing as hosts would be of negligible advantage, the noise and colour of a packed, passionate Wembley Stadium dispelled such an idea from the opening ceremony through to Gareth's miss. 'El Tel' commented that the support was "worth a goal start", one of the countless cliches fashioned during the Championships yet taken in good cheer, while the team itself was visibly moved by the applause that followed them off the pitch after the defeat by Germany.
No-one should feel guilty or ashamed about losing by the odd penalty...as another cliche has it, the shoot-out to decide a match is "a lottery". Unfortunately for us, a huge hand floated over Wembley on Wednesday night, pointed a digit at the men in 'indigo blue' and rumbled "It won't be YOU...". No matter that the game had been played in the Corinthian spirit many thought lost forever, nor that England had for once been the better side. In the end, it was all about nerve and Lady Luck; and, yet again, that Jezebel deserted us for the Teutons.
Sadly, but probably inevitably, defeat was the cue for outbreaks of yobbery up and down the country, as drunken thugs acted out the 'Daily Mirror's script for the fixture. However, while many of the incidents of violence were disgraceful and should be severely punished, I cannot see the need for a squad of riot policemen to baton-charge a group of England fans simply for splashing them with water from the fountains in Trafalgar Square. If the Met are quite so delicate, they should not be in (flame-proof) uniform.
In all honesty, the level of violence at the matches has been minimal, far lower than at England away games when the supporters are herded like cattle from train to bus to venue (and back again), and respond by showing their contempt for foreign soil (and foreign bodies). The police can feel satisfied that, the above incident apart, they have prevented serious disorder from spoiling irrecovably the tournament as a whole. Further more, people who would normally avoid any football-related topic as they would Ebola have found awakened in them an appreciation of the 'shared experience' that regular football spectators so enjoy. It does not mean that they will become so addicted that, to use Nick Hornby's analogy from 'Fever Pitch', they will travel away to Grimsby on a freezing February night to watch their team, already 5-0 up from the home leg, romp to a victory that is a formality.
But it means that Euro '96 should be remembered for the glittering moments, none more imperious than the 4-1 slaughter of the Dutch, rather than for the glittering glass on London pavements.
Last Friday was, apparently, 'National Go Home On Time Day'. Across the country, reluctant executives were encouraged to clear their desks bang on 5.30 p.m. and go home. Meanwhile, in aforementioned homes, wives and girlfriends must have shuddered at the prospect of their loved ones spending an extra couple of hours in the pub!
The work ethic, whether Protestant or not, is a curious thing. One rarely meets anyone who gushes with enthusiasm for their current occupation. Previous jobs, even future intentions, are often described in the most glowing terms, leaving one to wonder why they have left or failed to move, but the present daily grind is invariably portrayed in terms of incarceration, purgatory or living nightmare. No-one seems happy with their lot: if the pay's OK, the hours are too long; if the hours are easy, the pay's terrible; if both pay and hours are acceptable, the boss is a right b***tard; etc. etc.
A whole range of afflictions has been identified as emanating from the workplace: stress, repetitive strain injury, 'sick building syndrome', Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (a.k.a. 'Yuppie 'Flu') to name but a few. It could be argued that these have always been part and parcel of a career, hitherto treated by a friendly chat over a pint or a few tax-free quid in the pay packet, but now the subject of anguished hand-wringing and the inevitable appearance of the 'counselling' industry, whose members constitute a plague far worse than ever threatened Egypt. Moreover, job insecurity and a worsening transport problem compound the tribulations of the workforce and provide further subjects for complaint and compensation claims.
The former is exacerbated by the antics of 'fat cat' directors and CEOs, whose management ethos usually extends no further than sacking half of the company's employees and dividing the resulting savings among board members and shareholders. It is no surprise that such an approach engenders disharmony, especially among the workers of privatised utilities, whose bosses' obscene financial rewards have been achieved despite virtual monopoly of their markets. It would be worthwhile for these executives to study the volte-face made in May by Stephen Roach, so-called 'downsizing guru'. Mr. Roach, Chief Economist at Morgan Stanley (and formerly head forecaster for the US Federal Reserve), has spent the past five years advising market-driven companies to pare to the bone their staff while simultaneously inventing ever more ridiculous euphemisms for 'fired'. Now, as if by magic, he has had to "rethink many of the glorious conclusions" that led him to recommend mass redundancies to firms worldwide. Now, he admits, "If all you do is cut, then you will eventually be left with nothing...".
It is easy to forget that the best assets owned by many companies are the loyalty and goodwill of their workers. A happy, motivated staff will work unpaid overtime, undertake tasks incompatible with their status and generally 'muck in'. A resentful, put-upon staff will disparage the company to friends, telephone live American sex lines from the office and generally fail to give 'a monkey's'. While pleasing that this fact has dawned upon Stephen Roach, the length of time that it has taken to do so is worrying for British employees whose bosses' intellect would scarcely qualify them to make tea at Morgan Stanley, let alone advise upon the movement of global financial markets.
The transport problem seems impossible to solve, as long as the attitudes of management and workforce remain so polarised and antagonistic. The London Underground is a scandal that seems to fester like a sore. Buses can hardly move for congestion and twits parking in the bus lanes. Pollution and road rage make even the shortest journey a trial. And why is it allowed to continue ad infintum? Because the government is paralysed by the fear of making decisions that could be construed as radical.
Like making public transport the first choice to get to work, not the last!
are the Belgians who have spent the last couple of weeks deporting British grannies from Brussels main railway station (although why said grannies ever wished to visit the s***-hole in the first place is perplexing). Nevertheless, it is alarming that the home of the European Commission, whose bureaucrats continually exhort us to 'integrate' and 'harmonise', seems rather less welcoming than Ulan Bator on a cold night.
Particularly astonishing is the statement of a senior police officer who, when beseeched not to imprison a pensioner, allegedly retorted: "I don't care if she's 76...we had a 90-year old in a wheelchair last week and we locked her up, too"! Such nice people, the Belgians.
While football remains high on the agenda, let's fax the FA and pester them to arrange a 'friendly' in Bruges or Brussels. They can then meet some of our younger compatriots.
And we can see if they're as 'hard' with them as they are with our pensioners!
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