England and the art of collective belief
By Theo Hallsworth
At some point every few summers, the nation decides to enjoy itself. The country experiences a cultural shift. All because of one thing. Football. The beautiful game remains one of the last things in England capable of creating a genuine national experience.
Gone are the days of a shared monoculture. The rise of personalised content and algorithms has fragmented us into smaller more niche communities, reducing the number of experiences we truly share. Yet there is still one thing left that cuts through the divisions of age, race, gender, class, and background and unites us all – the World Cup.
A World Cup summer brings entertainment, atmosphere, and optimism. It gives us an excuse to spend more time with friends and family, but more importantly it gives us an excuse to come together again.
As is naturally English, our enjoyment is never without restrictions and certainly not without a layer of irony. But we allow ourselves to feel just enough. Enough to leave the house. Enough to text people first. Enough to stand in a pub garden holding a pint and discussing midfield balance with a stranger whose name we will forget.
Before the fate of the Three Lions has been decided, the country is already changing. It begins with the weather. England in the sun is not the same place. It is recognisable, yet rearranged. The nation which spends most of the year braced against rain and inconvenience relaxes its posture in summer.
A World Cup summer brings entertainment, atmosphere, and optimism
The pace of life changes. People linger, conversations lengthen and the distance between strangers shortens. As soon as the temperature hits 18 degrees, the faint smell of barbecue lingers in the air, doors and windows are left open, and parks fill with people who usually forget that they exist. There is a sense that everyone is thinking the same thing: that life is better when conducted outdoors.
The football does not create this atmosphere but organises it.
The World Cup lowers the threshold for caring and embraces everyone. For most of the year football can feel like a conversation already in progress. The Premier League rewards those who keep up and excludes those who don’t. It demands knowledge of form, tactics, transfers, and debates. To dip in casually is to be immediately outpaced.
The World Cup removes that pressure. There is a clear beginning, middle, and end. Progression is visible and elimination is final. You don’t need to know what happened in November to understand what matters now. You can arrive late and still be on time. And so people do.
Family, friends, peers, and colleagues who never watch club football begin checking line-ups with surprising seriousness. As the tournament progresses, they become more invested. I remember my Dad during the last Euros complaining that Cole Palmer wasn’t getting enough minutes, despite barely watching club football.
Knowledge is not what matters. Presence is enough.
Optimism is usually met with a raised eyebrow, and ambition accompanied by an all too English apology.
Football is the great uniter. It allows you to start conversation with almost anybody young or old, even if they have little interest in the sport. Talk to older generations and they will tell you the story of 1966 and where they were when Geoff Hurst scored that last goal. Talk to those a little younger and they will tell you about 1990 and what could have been, how the image of Paul Gascoigne in tears is permanently seared into the national memory. Talk to people of our own generation and they will tell you where they were when Luke Shaw scored after two minutes in the Euro 2020 final, and we thought it might be coming home.
What makes international football so powerful is that it gives England permission to dream. This is not something we are naturally comfortable with. We are a country that prepares itself for disappointment before anything has the chance of going wrong. Optimism is usually met with a raised eyebrow, and ambition accompanied by an all too English apology.
International football allows us to set that aside. For a few weeks, we’re allowed to imagine what might happen if everything clicks.
We saw it recently during Arsenal’s title celebrations. Streets filled with people. Strangers singing together. Horns, flags, flares, and a sense of joy that extends beyond football itself. Now imagine that on a national level.
That is the promise of a World Cup summer. Not that England will win, but that we believe that they might. The goals matter, but what lasts are the memories surrounding them. The atmosphere in a pub, a living room collapsing into celebration, strangers embracing, and the feeling that everyone is sharing the same moment.
Years later, few people remember the details. What survives is where you were and who you were with. Like all great summers, it is over quickly and remembered far longer than it lasted.
But maybe, this will be the one that stays with us the longest.
Image: Lewis Clarke via Wikimedia Commons
