Luck may be a black young male tonight

It is not everyday that I can paraphrase Frank Sinatra and Michael Moore simultaneously and at the same time, cacciare due pigioni con una fava as they would say in refined quarters; one fell swoop in plain Anglo-Saxon.

I could almost thank Mr Saka for having missed that penalty shoot everyone talks about in the UK and in every foot ballistic circle. After having watched U Tube videos to monitor what English footfall fans were up to pre-final, I got a darker impression from those freer-lance reports than the bon enfant images British main TV channels were conveying. Another migration from the official to the unofficial. The pitch of the atmosphere among bibulous fans gathered in London was so high I could almost see another riot coming in the wake of an English victory, even with PC Rain - and many other PCs - out on patrol, as is customary during what happens to be ''as right as rain'', British summer. I sensed that if England won the Euro, we were in for more badly broken glass than the odd Burger King shop-windows pre-final.

Which leads me to the most important to retain of this sporting event: nothing happens by chance. If the wonderful team led by the gentlemanly Gareth Southgate is visibly more than able to put the Beautiful back in the Game consistently and durably, then English fans must equally do their bit to match the standards of their heroes, and they are clearly not ready to do so yet. I should like to point out at this stage that it doesn't suit the heirs, if not the descendants of the Darwinist persuasion to grace Black persons with a torrent of monkey-themed racial abuse. Those of you who can still throw the Good Book at delinquents may prefer to remember the beam and the straw. Let's break even, winning on penalties is not really winning, as the Danes will confirm, and the Italian kings of football have definitely met their match anyway, 1-1 is a very honourable result in itself, considering their regal status. English football can obviously do better, so should fans who are lucky enough to have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to support a beautifully solid and respectable team who can change the ugly footie deal, and turn base metal into gold. We're not going back to the shame of hooliganism. The onus is now on English fans to prove they to can pitch in to equalize the refreshed, civilised behaviour of their national team, playing a very fair game.

P(r)aying a homage to Saint Vitus with a song and a dance is OK, being a total jerk is not. If it gets hot under football shirt collars, keep your fans in order. No s**t. We all know what will happen then, when it hits.

Look at the Italian tifosi. Look at Wimbledon. No one in Italy said anything disgraceful to the young Berretini, 25 years of age, the first Italian tennis player to make it to a Wimbledon final, who lost to the seasoned Jokovic, a badge of honour in itself. The Italian press (La Stampa) interviewed La Mamma, who declared tennis playing to be a Berretini family affair and a Berretini family tradition going back to the nonni, the grand-parents. Nobody said anything bad about the lost final and Berretini's non-Italian girl-friend; Dunkirk does have its advantages.

Up to this point, I haven't heard many suggest that the day two Oxford pale and interesting blondes hit the Covid target with the vaccine they invented in the heat of the pandemic become a Bank Holiday to celebrate that other big British victory - or is it? Blood clots, blood boils, Big Ben tolls for Darwin...