If you’ve spent any portion of your life following the England national football team, you’ll know that being a fan is less of a hobby and more of a lifelong lesson in managing expectations. We are a nation built on a diet of tournament heartbreak, spectacular administrative gaffes, and the eternal, slightly irrational hope that this time, it’ll be different.
I’ll admit, as I gear up for the semi-final tonight, those familiar old ghosts of tournaments past are whispering in my ear. Decades of watching England have trained me to brace for impact at the final hurdle.
I was thinking of my England experiences while taking the dog for a walk this morning. It would be an obvious cliché we’re I to suggest that watching England’s trials and tribulations over the years mirrors my life—but let’s face it, it is a truth in both life and football that you can only play the team in front of you.
Playing the Game of Life: Sh*t Happens!
With the ‘Golden Generation’ we had the players, Owen, Beckham, Shearer, Gerrard, but England managers often fell into the trap of trying to shoehorn this set of extremely talented individuals into a system that didn’t fit them. We wanted the best players on the pitch, but the best players don’t always make for the best team.
Then came Gareth Southgate, who did something quiet but revolutionary. He brought a moral compass back to the shirt. He knew what it felt like to carry the weight of a defining, heartbreaking mistake, and he used that empathy to build a genuine, supportive “club” culture. He taught us that the team is bigger than any single superstar.
Now, under Thomas Tuchel, we’re seeing a different kind of masterclass: pure adaptability. When the game plan gets thrown out the window—like losing a man against Mexico—you have to adapt, stay resolute, and find a new way to defend your ground. You don’t panic; you reorganise.
When you’re living with Parkinson’s, you quickly realise you can’t always play the formation you originally planned. Some days, your body decides to down a man. The coordination you relied on yesterday suddenly isn’t on the pitch today. In those moments, just like England when they introduced the immense Dan Byrne, moving to a back five when down to 10-men, you have to find a way to adapt, stay organized, and rely on the solid foundations you’ve built. You play the game in front of you, not the one you wish you were playing.
The Power of the Home Crowd
But perhaps the biggest lesson of all isn’t for the players on the pitch—it’s for those of us watching from the stands.
We’ve all seen it: a player misplaces a pass, the stadium groans, and the booing starts. But I’ve always believed that shouting at someone who is already struggling has never once made them play better. If anything, it just makes the pitch feel infinitely wider and more hostile.
Whether it’s football, family, or navigating a neurological condition, we all need a “home crowd” that understands the power of encouragement. No one steps onto the pitch—or gets out of bed in the morning—planning to play badly. We are all trying our absolute best in the shirts we’ve been given. When the passes go astray, that’s when the cheering needs to get louder, not softer.
“…for Harry, England and St Jude”
So, as the whistle blows tonight, I’ll be hoping for a win, but more than anything, I’ll be appreciating the grit, the structure, and the teamwork. Because whether we make the final or face another familiar disappointment, the real victory is in how we steady ourselves, adapt to the pressure, and keep moving forward together.
Steady on.
Balls to Parkinson’s 