How I reconnected with England... in Uddingston
Our resident former pro left his national team behind until things got heated in a Lanarkshire beer garden
By Liam Grimshaw
My earliest memories of watching England are pretty vivid considering I was only five or six years of age.
The unforgettable 5-1 demolition of Germany, redemption for ‘Goldenballs’ versus Greece and the bitter disappointment of World Cup heartache in Shizuoka. I danced around the front room laughing at Oliver Kahn’s pathetic attempt to keep out Michael Owen’s second in that rout in Munich, celebrated wildly David Beckham’s free-kick against the Greeks that sent us to the 2002 World Cup at my pal’s birthday party, and cried with my classmates as David Seaman flapped helplessly at Ronaldhino’s free-kick as Brazil eliminated England in the quarter-finals. Three of the most iconic moments in England’s post-millennium history, all within the space of ten short months — nothing if not entertaining. Surely I’d be hooked for life?
As I got a bit older and the World Cups rolled around, I began to notice the hysteria that would sweep the nation but often found myself struggling to fully invest. Perhaps it was my devotion to my hometown club that made the international scene pale into insignificance or was it the ever-growing list of turgid friendlies that interrupted domestic action? I’d collect and swap the Panini stickers, enthuse over the latest kits and attempt to emulate the world-class goals — but the feeling for ‘England’ somewhat evaded me.
I grew up in Burnley, and many of my closest pals would go on to follow England all over the world — taking in obscure cities, ticking off decrepit stadia and sampling the local brews. For supporters of a club whose forays into European football have been all too fleeting, following the national side over land and sea has given many the opportunity to travel, with their love of country equal to, if not surpassing that of club — a notion I’ve always struggled with.
Even having the honour of being capped twice at under-18 level truly failed to ignite the fires within, though being informed of my selection by Manchester United youth team manager Paul McGuiness was a very special moment for myself and those close to me. For a lad from a ordinary family in a small northern town to represent a country of 50+ million people was quite an achievement. In retrospect, the two games against Italy and Belgium are arguably the proudest moments of my career but they didn’t bring me any closer to finding that sense of belonging or attachment to the national team.
Recent years have only seen my indifference towards international football grow. When playing, you’d be in a rich vein of form only for an international break to put a halt to proceedings (Sorry, Scotland have got a match against the Faroes — you’ll have to pack it in for a week). Records that stood for decades are now being smashed with strikers making hay against vastly inferior opposition while caps are handed out like confetti. This, coupled with the English media’s propensity to overhype successive squads before tearing them to pieces after the inevitable failure, continues to leave me severely disinterested. That being said, there was one stand-out occasion in the last few years that did manage to spark the passion — finally rousing the dormant lion.
Euro 2020 (played in summer 2021) saw England and old rivals Germany face off at Wembley for the chance to take on Ukraine in a very winnable quarter-final. It was a red-hot day and I was somewhat foolishly persuaded by my wife Courtney to watch the game at one of our local boozers in the Lanarkshire town of Uddingston. The pub was packed both inside and out, and we just about managed to squeeze in beside an outdoor table. Now it doesn’t take a genius to realise that there’s a certain amount of historic ill will between England and Scotland but even I was shocked at the vitriol spat forth by 99% of the patrons (many of whom had donned Germany tops). Each German attack was cheered with bitter enthusiasm while English misses prompted aggressive slurs.
As the game went on, I found myself thinking how strange it was to spend your weekend watching a team that you quite evidently detested. Having survived numerous scares, England eventually took the lead through Raheem Sterling. When Harry Kane sealed the victory, it prompted a colourful outburst from the author (think of the video of that Killie fan laying into a pub full of Celtic fans) and silence from those in Deutschland kits.
Who’d have thought that the secret to English nationalism would be uncovered during an afternoon in a beer garden in Uddingston?
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