Nick Bruzon takes us way back to the heady days of Euro 96 when Terry Venables and his England side captured the country's imagination.
This is the week that seems to have had it all in football. Sad news. VAR-based controversy. Excitement. Manchester United falling apart – again. Last night’s grabbing of a draw from the jaws of victory at Galatasaray seeing them continue to channel their inner Leeds United. At least they did manage a Premier League win – at Everton – and scored one of the greatest goals of all time.
Indeed, the plan today was to talk about the best five goals ever scored in the Premier League (any excuse to crowbar in Bryan Mbeumo’s that made it 4-0 for Brentford after just 35 minutes against United last season). Then, emotion got in the way.
For me, the main story of the week was undoubtedly the passing of former England manager Terry Venables at the age of 80. Yet rather than talk about the top five managers/England games/footballers-turned-authors – it seems more appropriate to focus on the moment he inspired. The time he made the country feel amazing. Even if the outcome was the inevitable, ‘It’s England, innit?’
As somebody who was fortunate enough to be at Wembley for the group stages of Euro ‘96, being a part of the tournament was like nothing I’d ever felt. ‘Three Lions’ was everywhere on the radio. The country was buzzing. My mate Rich pulling off a blinder by getting us tickets so far in advance, we were still in nappies. His prediction that ‘This could be good fun’ proved to be not even halfway close.
It was streets beyond that. An almost communal buzz around the country that I’ve not felt since. At least, until the 2012 London Olympics. The excitement was palpable and the atmosphere building to almost insane levels of anticipation as we headed up Wembley way that Saturday afternoon before the game with Scotland.
This was Terry Venable’s team and his doing. When Gazza scored ‘that’ goal for 2-0 and celebrated in the same corner we were watching the game from, the place exploded. A noise of celebration like I’d never felt before – it was beyond loud. The entire stadium, barring the small group of visiting Scots in the far corner – celebrated as one. A wave of cheering washing over and around the stadium in way any ‘Mexican Wave’ could only aspire to. The residual ringing in the ears from the furore as play eventually recommenced stayed for the rest of the day.
It got better in the final group game versus the Netherlands. England 4-0 up within the hour against one of the greatest teams in Europe, if not the world. Terry’s selection of Alan Shearer and Teddy Sheringham, a pairing that was seemingly impossible to play against.
Anybody thinking Gazza’s moment would never be topped saw it ran close when the dynamic duo found the net three times in just five minutes to send the place nuts. Again.
I can still recall the moment of looking at the scoreboard showing Netherlands 0 England 4 (57) with utter incredulity. What a moment. One matched with a quarter-final defeat of Spain, even if it was on penalties.
Then, disaster. Not on the pitch but a long-planned backpacking trip to Australia meant that the semi-final against Germany would take place when we were in the air. How were we supposed to follow the action? Could we even watch the game?
There was barely any internet on the planet back then. Let alone in the economy class cabin of an Olympic Airlines chugger. A place where, and it seems bizarre now, there was still a smoking section in the back end of the aircraft. We would be blind to what was playing out back in London but then, as so often happens from any calamity, a moment of genius.
We’d get our friend Bucko – whose flat we’d be stopping at for the first few nights in Sydney – to record the game on VHS. Then keep the heads down on arrival, try to avoid the score ‘Likely Lads’ style and watch it as soon as we got in.
This plan was synchronised with such precision it got to the point of even asking one of the stewardesses before take-off, “You know that thing where the Captain sometimes updates the passengers with major breaking news over the intercom? Is it possible you can ask the crew on the flight desk not to reveal the score? “
Whether they did or whether nobody, actually, cared (given Greece’s non-participation) is almost a moot point. The simple fact of the matter is that by the time we had landed and been met at the airport, the score was still a mystery. Bucko and his other half Fay were there to meet us, we drove straight back to their flat and sat us down in front of the TV. We were handed a VHS cassette, the remote control and even an ice cold beer.
“Here you go boys, see you later” was the passing comment before we were left alone to see what had already been resolved back in London. No amount of screaming at the TV could change a result that had been determined hours earlier but at least, to us, it felt ‘live’
That is, until Bucko stuck his head back round the living room door with the game just about to kick off. A quick chat to confirm plans later that evening, concluded with his passing shot:
“Stinkin’ Germans. They always win on penalties.”
Whether deliberate wind-up or subconscious football chat, I’ll never know. We still watched the game but already knew it was futile. The thought that, perhaps, he had been winding us up becoming abundantly clear as nothing more than blind optimism when Gazza’s outstretched leg failed to connect in Golden goal time and then the inevitable penalty shoot-out began.
The Germans won the tournament, beating the Czech Republic in the next game. England would have done the same, of that I have no doubt. Such was the team Terry Venables had put together and the mood he had instilled that, in most people’s eyes, England’s name was already on the trophy.
Alas, Germany did what Germany do. Bucko, perhaps in his own accidental way, bringing us down to earth before the bitter pain of defeat took hold at a much faster rate. Yet, at the same time, reinforced a memory of a moment in my life so strong that as the sad news about Terry Venables became evident, it all came flooding back.
Thank you, Terry, for a wonderful couple of weeks and the memory of a lifetime.
