There was a time when it felt as though the party would be better without them.
Like on a night in Toulouse back in 1998, trying to get to the station to catch the night train back to Paris, the streets filled with drunken, angry English yobs lamenting a loss to Romania, engaging in the kind of thuggery that became a recurring theme during that World Cup.
They certainly didn’t wreck the tournament in France, the one in which the home team won a glorious victory, setting off a party for the ages. But when England was dispatched by Argentina on penalties in the round of 16-the match that featured David Beckham’s infamous red card, you would have been hard-pressed to find a neutral sad to see them and their supporters heading back across the Channel.
Why couldn’t the English be like others? Why couldn’t they be like their cousins the Scots, who camped out in Saint-Etienne, drank the place dry, and were such good company that the city’s mayor took out a full page ad in The Scotsman newspaper after the World Cup thanking them for their high spirits and their patronage.
Two years later, at the Euros in Belgium, English and German supporters fought an entirely predictable street war in the grotty town of Charleroi, egged on by a local police force itching for a fight. The English won on the pitch that day, with their fans referencing the war at every opportunity, singing the Bomber Harris song, but that was as good as it got. Neither the English nor the Germans got out of their group, and again everyone else felt a sense of relief.
But that was a long time ago.
In 2002, the Japanese cops and soldiers had their net guns and water cannons ready for a hoolie invasion that never happened. The only riot potential came from the hordes of Beckham-obsessed Japanese schoolgirls surrounding the England team hotel, and the side played nobly, giving the eventual champions Brazil everything they could handle in the quarterfinals before that crazy free kick goal by Ronaldinho. World Cup 2006 in Germany brought the WAG sideshow in Baden Baden, 2010 in South Africa the slapstick of the Robert Green gaffe, but all of that was benign.
England-abroad hooliganism had been pretty much wiped out by smart policing, just as it had been wiped out in domestic football. And minus that element, you realized that any big tournament (as was the case with the 1994 World Cup, and the 2008 Euros) was diminished without the participation of the founding nation of football, at very least from a story point of view.
No one expects this English side to do much of anything in Brazil next summer. At the moment it’s an awkward mix of the last vestiges of the Golden Generation and some bright young talent that was good enough to get past Ukraine and Poland in qualifying, but doesn’t seem likely to threaten the global powers in the sport, especially playing far from home.
But now that they’ve booked a ticket, let the never-ending conversation resume. The Beckham book has finally, mercifully closed, but there are all kinds of other angles old and new. Can Steven Gerrard and Frank Lampard ever realize their potential playing side by side? Will Wayne Rooney be fully fit and revitalized? Is Andros Townsend the real deal? If a knockout match in Brazil comes down to penalties, will England finally find a way to win? Is Roy Hodgson up to the task?
Overhyped? Of course. Burdened by unreal expectations? Not this time, not even in the wake of the back-to-back wins at Wembley over the past week. Even the most diehard partisan would stop short of suggesting that this England team is the one to push Spain aside and stand atop the sport for the first time since 1966.
Still, it will be fun while it lasts, and no one on the Copacabana needs fear the beer-logged, sunburned masses who will descend come June.
They’re harmless now. And in the right circumstances, they’re great company.