I have now heard two prominent ex footballers arguing that tonight’s friendly match against France should not be played: Chris Waddle and Ian Wright. The gist of their argument, which I greatly respect, was that football really was not all that important in the grand scheme of things. “How are the players supposed to react,” asked Wright, “if their team scored a goal?” My view is that are not supposed to react in any way at all, because you are not supposed to rehearse reaction, are you? It’s supposed to be spontaneous.
I shed a few tears in the preliminaries before the game, despite ITV’s lengthy ad breaks and Clive Tyldsley’s inability to keep his mouth shut at critical times. The anthems, even ours for once, were tremendous. And I was delighted to see Prince William and David Cameron representing the country at the wreath-laying ceremony.
Above all, I was incredibly proud of our country. The whole atmosphere, with our armed services present at the unveiling of the flags of both countries, the impeccable minute’s silence, the colours of France everywhere throughout our national stadium. France has suffered horribly but tonight we showed them that we stand side by side, sharing their pain, offering unconditional and unqualified support.
Do you suppose the terrorists enjoyed the fact that the game went ahead? I don’t think so. Do you think they expected the fear and terror they tried to inflict on us and the divisions they so desperately tried to create bring us together? You bet they didn’t. They might be sick, evil murderers, but sadly they are not stupid. They’ll be angry all right.
As I write, a football match goes ahead. The funerals of those who died in Paris are yet to take place and scores remain critically injured, but real life went on. The way of life that the terrorists so despair, of sport, of music, of going out and having a good time; it still remains. The terrorists still live in joyless heaps of rubble in the middle east, with no pleasure beyond death and destruction all in the name of a false god.
Sometimes, football is a false god too, raised high on a pedestal on which it has no right to be and it definitely is not more more important than life and death. But in playing a mere game of football, that has no meaning in points of prizes, we send a signal that once the splattered remains of the suicide murderers have been scraped from the pavements of Paris our life and our way of life goes on.
