You just don’t get what it means to be English. A parallel if I may - it’s like sitting in Shugs Bar waiting for the result of a referendum that you desperately want to win, but you know, deep down, it’s never going to happen. Group stage matches are like that - an extremely unreliable indicator of popular trends, but until the overall result is known it isn’t cause for jubilation. We’re all guilty of it mate.It's nights like this that I wish I was in a mock Tudor beer garden in the home counties. Surrounded. Jubilant.
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