Feature: The Jilted Characters of a Cancelled Euros
Unless you’ve been living under a rock, or amid an extremely long Fortnite session, you’re probably aware that sports world has temporarily (if you’re a serial optimist) or indefinitely (more accurately) halted. This week Euro 2020 was officially cancelled, an unprecedented decision by the European Football Association. Most of the attention has been directed towards the profound disappointment the players are surely feeling, whether it be veterans such as the Spanish captain Sergio Ramos, representing his on the biggest stage one last time, or rising starlets such as England’s Jadon Sancho, on the precipice of making a grand, global statement that they have arrived.
What goes unnoticed, are the lives of those off the pitch who for a few weeks, a couple times a decade, stake their own identity in the performance of their country, selfishly or selflessly. The Euro’s being cancelled isn’t a tragedy because the privilege of watching the beautiful game in prime time has been taken away, it’s because we’re going to lose the chance to learn so much about ourselves and each another. Few will ever be able to forget, the collective rallying cry of “it’s coming home” piercing through the sky as England soared through the knockout stages of the 2018 World Cup. In a nation where soccer fuels a cult-like passion that often reveals itself in the form of conflict, or at least testiness, the Three Lions reminds fans that under the red or blue in Liverpool, or the white or red in London, the same football-crazy heart beats underneath.
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Professionally and personally, Andrew Nash was always regarded as a man of distinguished composure. A Doctor working in Manchester, and a massive soccer fan in his own right, Andrew excused himself from working on July 30th, 1966, citing “religious reasons” for his absence. England were facing Germany in the World Cup final on British turf. However, when the game went into extra-time tied at 2–2 Andrew turned off the television, with the belief that the overwhelming intensity of the situation was going to give him a heart attack and send him to a hospital that he had played a part in under-manning. He didn’t witness Geoff Hurst score two goals in extra time. He was reading. A year ago, Andrew now happily retired, purchased tickets to go around Europe and watch the Euros with his new wife.
“I suppose I hoped it could be a bit of redemption tour. I’d promised Sophie (his wife) that I would spare no expense. Really, that was just an excuse to make sure I bought tickets to the final if England got there.”
When asked if ducking out of the 1966 final haunts him:
“Well, I’d rather I didn’t watch and we won, than witnessed a loss. I still celebrated that win, and to this day, I’m still proud of that accomplishment by our boys. But yes, I think about it every day. My father would’ve called me a coward.”
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You’ll be pressed to find somebody actively up-in-arms that the Euros were cancelled amidst this pandemic. There is a cultural understanding that it is a depressing reality, but a reality nonetheless. Across several interviews a common theme mentioned was how significant the difference between the large-scale unity of the Euros, versus the isolation of quarantine. That violent conflict may be what’s most devastating about all of this.
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Ken Arnold works at the manager of ‘The Queens Inn’ pub in Kingston, Ontario. The Queen’s Inn serves as a perfectly adequate quarter-full pub all year round, but it’s real purpose is being the go-to hotspot for Kingston’s English population when the Euros and World Cup arrive on an alternating two year basis. Ken is short and shows his age with frayed reddish hair that connects to his somewhat jaded looking eyes and forehead, but when asked about hosting Kingston’s footy fanatics, his face brightens and a boyish smile takes over his face.
“When you open a pub, you don’t do it because you love crappy beer, and chicken strips (laughs), you do it because you have a real love for something, and you want to bring other people who love the same thing as you do, together. When I see that sea of white singing God Save The Queen for a couple weeks straight, once every two years or so, it’s a tough feeling to describe. I guess I’d say magical. It’s my purpose”
Ken doesn’t seem interested in answering my questions about how the postponement may potentially affect his business this summer (he’s losing 3–7 major events, that are either highly celebrated afterwards or drowned in sorrow — there’s a lot of money being left on the table). It’s not what’s most important to him.
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There’s no denying that there is an unmatched urgency for older generations desperate to see their country crowned in glory (particularly English folk born in 1967 or later). Yet, there is nothing quite like the wide-eyed astonishment of a young child soaking in the intensity of a major tournament. A single goal can prompt dreams of playing under the lights and incite a lifetime of devotion.
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Teddy Ramsdem is the best 9 year old goalkeeper in all of Brighton, England. That’s not hyperbole, he starts for the u-10 Brighton Hove and Albion academy team. Two years ago, tears streamed down Teddy’s face as Croatia beat England lost a semi-final in typical heart-breaking fashion. I asked Teddy if that loss was the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He tells me losing the game wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was when the best his dad could muster up was “welcome to being an England fan Ted.”
For two years, Teddy has been looking forward to continuing his education as an England supporter. Time moves slowly for kids his age.
“I just wanna fall asleep and wake up in 2021. Like Christmas.”
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For young adults, 2018 marked the first time a lot of us had watched an England game without dad. For me to see the semi-final with him, it required him saying “fuck it” and driving 10 hours within the span of a single day. We’re all growing up.
I wrote this the next morning;
“I know England’s success in the World Cup doesn’t (and never will) define me — or my relationship to my father. But as I watch him pack his suitcase at 7am on Thursday morning, a mere 16 hours after he arrived, it find of feels like it does”
People are going to miss the opportunity to become daily pen pals with their grandpa or routinely talk to cousins they haven’t spoken to in years. Sports allow us to get our heads stuck in the clouds. Something that feels impossible when our current world is literally and figuratively grounded in what feels like fiction. There was real vulnerability in my own dad’s voice that cruel morning after the Croatia loss:
“When you’re 30 you feel like you have time to do everything — and it’s just not the case when you hit 50.”
In the summer of 2018 we convinced ourselves that soccer was coming home. Sometimes it’s easy to mix up destiny with destination. This summer, let’s take care of each other from afar. Whether it be ordering food from Ken Arnold at the Queens Inn, or more importantly, protecting people in the age demographic of Andrew Nash.
Euro 2021 still feels too fresh to say out loud. It rolls of the tongue weirdly. It sounds different. But mostly the same.
Let’s stick around.