As a part of Football Fancast’s look back at English football in the ‘90s, I have decided to open up the old memory bank to relive my personal experience Euro 96, the three week tournament during the golden age of my youth which ignited my love of football.
Prior to 1996 England had managed to fight off bids from Austria, Portugal and the Netherlands for the right to host the European Championships in 1996. As with any build-up to a major tournament England players were rarely out of the headlines, for both good and bad reasons. Fears were growing amongst the press that a drinking culture had developed within the England team, and when Cathay Pacific announced that the squad had done £5,000 worth of damage to one of their aeroplanes, the newspapers were all over it. David Davies had to make a grovelling public apology and it appeared that England’s chances of a successful tournament were already doomed. However, as an eight year-old boy with little awareness of the world outside of the school playground, this was completely lost on me.
I was seven when I started to become aware of football and, being one who was more than happy to follow a crowd, began supporting Spurs through of the advice of my best friend at the time. I was a part-time supporter to say the least and one of the only reasons that I wanted to support a football team was so I could muster up an answer when anybody asked me the question; ‘What team do you support?’.
But as June 1996 approached I considered myself a ‘football loving’ eight year-old so I knew that I had to get involved in this big tournament that was just around the corner. I had very little knowledge of the England team before the European Championships in 1996; I knew that they’d won the World Cup in 1966, and because only good teams win the World Cup my logic told me that England must still be a good team – my expectations were irrationally high. I prepared for the tournament as any young boy knows how; I had my ‘England 96’ sticker album (which I believe was the only sticker album that I ever completed), on my bedroom wall I had the lyrics to ‘Three Lions’ which I’d ripped out of my sister’s ‘Top of the Pops’ magazine, brought a scrapbook to keep newspaper clippings and had acquired a handful of ‘England Euro 96 Commemorative Collector’s Coins’ which were ‘exclusive to Tesco’. These coins were traded like currency (no pun intended) during school lunchtimes and anybody who possessed a Gazza coin was guaranteed first pick of players for the ‘big match’ on the playing field.
England’s first game was against Switzerland on the 8th June, Des Lynam introduced the game on the BBC with his fantastic ‘ash-grey moustache and jet-black eyebrows’ combo and I was sat in front of the television brimming with eager anticipation. Paul Gascoigne was the only player who I could recognise on the pitch because he’d had the sense to dye his hair shocking blonde, so my shouting at the telly was limited to ‘Come on Gazza!’ and ‘That’s Gazza!’. The fact that England could only manage a lucky 1-1 draw was a stark reality check for my illusion of English invincibility. But I’d just watched my first full 90 minute game, I’d been given the taste of football and I liked it. I watched Germany vs Czech Republic the next day and Scotland vs Holland on the Monday – I was getting the feeling that I was going to quite enjoy this football lark.
England’s first two games fell on Saturdays so I had to wait a week before I could watch their tussle with the Scots. England had taken the lead through Alan Shearer early in the second half and then Gazza scored ‘that’ goal. Unfortunately the quality of the goal was completely lost on me because, as I’d seen so little football in my life, I had nothing to compare it to, as far as I was concerned it was a goal and nothing more – the iconic celebration was also something which I only understood a few years later. I vividly remember the BBC panning around the stadium after the game and seeing a sell-out crowd, most wearing a plastic, red and white trilby hat with the word ‘Snickers’ on it, singing the introduction to ‘Three Lions’ on a never-ending loop. The fact that this repetitive chant, which only consisted of four different words, never got annoying or boring was a testament to just how caught-up the nation had got in football fever, England was truly united behind their national side.
I was playing tennis in my back garden a few hours before England played the Netherlands. My friend told me that England would win 4-0 and, having no concept of the hierarchy of international football, I agreed with him, so strangely the 4-1 romp which ensued wasn’t a surprise to me. Six minutes after England went 2-0 up I remember Gascoigne bursting into the corner of the box. ‘Shooot!’ I yelled, he then slid the ball to Teddy Sheringham, ‘SHOOOOOOT!’ I shouted as the anticipation became unbearable, he then slid the ball to Alan Shearer, ‘SHOOOOOOOT!’ I bellowed. He did and England were 3-0 up, the nation went wild and so did I. The only blemish was Patrick Kluivert’s late consolation, but I could ignore that.
The quarter-final then rolled around and at the time Spain were a full 18 places higher than England in the FIFA World Rankings, but there was no way that England could lose, surely. After the razzmatazz of Holland, the Spain game was a thoroughly disappointing affair. Commence my first penalty shoot-out. Success! This penalty shoot-out malarkey
seemed easy and England won it without missing a kick. Quite why Stuart Pearce made such a fuss I had no idea, but then I didn’t even know that there’s been a World Cup six years earlier let alone what had happened during it. The picture of David Seaman standing with arms aloft after saving Spain’s fourth kick is permanently etched in my memory.
Germany were up next and I raced home form Cub Scouts to try and catch the start of the game, but because Alan Shearer had scored so damn early I missed the first goal. Never fear though, there was another to come shortly, but unfortunately it was for the Germans. The extra-time that followed had more action in it than the previous 90 minutes of regular time and I feared that after Darren Anderton had hit the post and Gascoigne had been an inch away from converting Shearer’s cross we might be running out of chances to win it. But it was all going to be okay because there was a penalty shoot-out coming up, we’d won our last one and we had David Seaman in goal so everything was going to be fine. Ah, the naivety of youth. Gareth Southgate’s penalty still sends shivers down my spine whenever I see it and the commentator’s instinctive cry of ‘Ooooooh no!’ when the shot was saved can still echo in my head from time to time. Just as England’s red shirts will always evoke memories of the World Cup final of 1966, England’s grey stripes will always take me back to that night on the 26th June 1996 when my heart was broken. It was the only time that the novelty of staying up way past my bed time had been ruined.
The final came and I wasn’t sure who to cheer for. On one side I wanted Germany to lose for beating us in the semis, but then I also thought that the honour of losing to the team who eventually won it would somehow make the defeat more stomachable. Germany won 2-1 with a golden goal from a goalkeeping error, but I wasn’t too bothered. The damage had been done. From that day forward I would become a football addict and it would go on to consume my life. England would play next in a World Cup qualifier against Moldova. Moldova? I’d never heard of the place, England will be sure to win that…
Euro 96 had given me a three week lesson in football that would set me up for life. I learnt that we had a deadly, and largely unsuccessful, rivalry with Germany, that, as a male, it was acceptable to cry after a football match and that I should never be confident going into a penalty shoot-out.
Euro 96 was a long time ago, but it feels like yesterday and it remains the catalyst that evokes so many positive memories for me. There was a sense of national unification which I’d never felt before and have never felt since and I experienced a love for the England team during those weeks which has never been equalled. We had an England team back then which was full of likeable characters: David Seaman, Stuart Pearce, Tony Adams, Paul Gascoigne, Steve McManaman and Alan Shearer were all players who could be embraced by the fans and the media – something which is severely lacking in the present day. The unbridled joy that was experienced during the tournament was matched only by the sheer agony that the nation felt after losing to Germany. Everything had come together perfectly; a hot summer, a good England team and a song which summed up the mood of a nation (plus I always thought that ‘Euro 96’ had a better ring to it than the vocally cumbersome ‘Euro 2000’ that was to come). Euro 96, the three weeks that changed my life.
Do you share my view on the tournament? Share you own memories below