Few of my Desert Island Discs have been picked on artistic merit alone - although it's a major factor in why I love many of them - but 'Three Lions', a song designed to be hollered by largered up England fans, couldn't be further disassociated from the term.
Yet, pillorying 'Three Lions' for the leery, beery threat of English hooliganism, is not only unfair but misunderstands the fundamental charm of many perfectly harmless and humorous football chants that arise, often spontaneously, from the terraces.
'Three Lions' doesn't just channel that same community spirit but it is undoubtedly the best song ever written about the wider, self-deprecating phenomenon of football fandom.
It captures perfectly the perennial disappointment of the football supporter; the tragic pathos of having to cling to a few precious moments from history; the everlasting hope that keeps supporters returning for more, even when the odds of success are weighted heavily against them.
I was 14 years old when football 'came home' for Euro 96, old enough to be aware of the long wait for success endured by my elders but, crucially, still young enough not to be worn down by the repeated experience of major tournament heartbreak (England didn't qualify for the World Cup in '94 and I was but 10 at the time of England's unedifying exit in the group stages of Euro 92).
Naive enough too, to be swept up happily in the national pride of hosting such an event, without a conscience pricked by the historic misappropriation of the St George's Cross nor the xenophobic imperialism looming in the subtext of the press coverage at the time.
The English Premier League too was still in its infancy. Although players were no more role models then than now - the squad being heavily criticised for their debauchery on a pre-tournament tour to the far east - fans could still relate to most of the individuals on the pitch, who maintained an everyman status now eroded by the obscene wages and inherent air of entitlement today's stars exhibit (In a way, Gazza's dentist chair shenanigans only served to embellish that everyman sentiment. At least the team were getting drunk in the spirit of togetherness rather than sleeping with their team mates wives!)
'Three Lions' then, doesn't only represent the euphoria of that summer - Gazza's wonder goal against Scotland, the 5-1 victory over the Dutch masters or even, that rarest of experiences, a penalty shoot out victory - but also represents the last time I was unapologetically proud of England as a nation.
As with Des Lynam's perfectly judged avuncularity and Stuart Pearce's moment of emancipation, Baddiel, Skinner and the Lightning Seeds captured the zeitgeist, soundtracking a golden moment of youthful certainty and exuberance that I'll never experience again. Like me, the England football team - and the nation it represents - were never really the same again.
Yet, pillorying 'Three Lions' for the leery, beery threat of English hooliganism, is not only unfair but misunderstands the fundamental charm of many perfectly harmless and humorous football chants that arise, often spontaneously, from the terraces.
'Three Lions' doesn't just channel that same community spirit but it is undoubtedly the best song ever written about the wider, self-deprecating phenomenon of football fandom.
It captures perfectly the perennial disappointment of the football supporter; the tragic pathos of having to cling to a few precious moments from history; the everlasting hope that keeps supporters returning for more, even when the odds of success are weighted heavily against them.
I was 14 years old when football 'came home' for Euro 96, old enough to be aware of the long wait for success endured by my elders but, crucially, still young enough not to be worn down by the repeated experience of major tournament heartbreak (England didn't qualify for the World Cup in '94 and I was but 10 at the time of England's unedifying exit in the group stages of Euro 92).
Naive enough too, to be swept up happily in the national pride of hosting such an event, without a conscience pricked by the historic misappropriation of the St George's Cross nor the xenophobic imperialism looming in the subtext of the press coverage at the time.
The English Premier League too was still in its infancy. Although players were no more role models then than now - the squad being heavily criticised for their debauchery on a pre-tournament tour to the far east - fans could still relate to most of the individuals on the pitch, who maintained an everyman status now eroded by the obscene wages and inherent air of entitlement today's stars exhibit (In a way, Gazza's dentist chair shenanigans only served to embellish that everyman sentiment. At least the team were getting drunk in the spirit of togetherness rather than sleeping with their team mates wives!)
'Three Lions' then, doesn't only represent the euphoria of that summer - Gazza's wonder goal against Scotland, the 5-1 victory over the Dutch masters or even, that rarest of experiences, a penalty shoot out victory - but also represents the last time I was unapologetically proud of England as a nation.
As with Des Lynam's perfectly judged avuncularity and Stuart Pearce's moment of emancipation, Baddiel, Skinner and the Lightning Seeds captured the zeitgeist, soundtracking a golden moment of youthful certainty and exuberance that I'll never experience again. Like me, the England football team - and the nation it represents - were never really the same again.
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