When the day finally arrives, you’ll gather with friends, someone will overcook the sausages, and the neighbor will complain about the noise. England will start brightly, nearly score, then have a heart-stopping moment when the opposition nearly scores on the counter. You’ll spill your drink, hug a stranger, and text your dad a blurry photo of the screen.
That’s the beauty of it. The wait for England’s next World Cup game isn’t just about football; it’s about the shared anxiety, the silly superstitions (don’t wash your lucky shirt), and the collective sigh when the final whistle blows. Whether it’s a win, a loss, or a penalty shootout that ages you by ten years, you’ll be glad you waited.
So, take a deep breath. Saturday after Saturday, the games will come. And when that first match in 2026 finally kicks off, you’ll be there, shouting at the telly like it’s the most important thing in the world. Because, let’s face it, for those 90 minutes, it absolutely is. Now, pass the crisps.
