Here we go again, son. Every four years the same thing happens. England qualify comfortably enough, the media starts writing "could this be our year?" articles in February, Gary Lineker tweets something optimistic, and then we lose on penalties to a team we had never heard of three weeks earlier.

I have watched England at eleven World Cups now. Eleven. That is enough heartbreak to fill Wembley twice over and still have enough left to upset the entire population of a medium-sized English city. And yet here I am, watching the squad announcements, thinking "you know what, that midfield looks decent."

That is the problem with being English. You cannot help it. Hope is a disease and there is no vaccine.

The Squad

On paper, this is one of the strongest England squads in decades. And I know "on paper" means absolutely nothing because football is not played on paper, it is played on grass, usually in conditions that make the grass look like it has been through a war. But still. The depth is there. The talent is there. The Premier League experience is there.

What worries me is the same thing that always worries me: when it matters, when it is the 85th minute and you need someone to take the game by the scruff of the neck, who is that person? In 1966 it was Hurst. In 1990 it was Gascoigne before he cried. In 2018 it was nobody, which is why we lost in the semi-final to a Croatia side that looked like they had been on a three-day stag do.

The manager will pick a conservative team for the first game, we will scrape a 1-0 win, everyone will complain about the formation, we will draw the second game, panic will set in, we will win the third game convincingly and everyone will suddenly believe again. Then we will beat someone in the Round of 16 and the "It's Coming Home" singing will reach a volume that can be detected by satellites.

Then we will lose in the quarter-final or the semi-final. We will lose to either a penalty shootout, a defensive mistake in the last ten minutes, or a goal from a player whose name the commentators cannot pronounce. The manager will resign or be sacked. The media will turn on the players they spent three weeks calling world class. And the whole cycle will start again for 2030.

The Reality

Do I think England can win the World Cup? Yes. Genuinely. The squad is good enough. The problem has never been talent. The problem is that winning a World Cup requires about fifteen things to go right in a row, and England have historically managed about twelve before something collapses.

But this tournament is in North America. The time zones are friendly. The stadiums are enormous. The pitches will be immaculate. There are no excuses about heat, altitude, or dodgy food. If England cannot perform in air-conditioned stadiums with decent coffee, then we have to accept that the problem is psychological, and no amount of money or talent can fix what is fundamentally a national character defect.

I will be watching every game. I will be shouting at the television. I will be texting people I have not spoken to in four years. And in about three weeks, I will be sitting in silence wondering why I do this to myself.

That is what being an England fan is. It is not a choice. It is a condition. ...anyway.