June’s rolled around, let the games commence – or at least that was the plan. No one could have foreseen the global COVID-19 pandemic that has put paid to the glorious would-be summer of sport and kiboshed this summer’s European Championships. In the absence of it, I’ve decided to take a trip down memory lane, rewind the clock 4 years and to revisit arguably the zenith of Welsh Football, the 2016 European Championships…”
A Child of the Football Famine…
In my late 20s, when the 2016 European Champions rolled around, I had longed to see my nation play in a major championship on the world stage. Being a Spurs fan is tough; being a Welsh Spurs fan is even more unbearable. If the Euros were the pinnacle of Welsh football, the 90s were arguably the nadir. Welsh football – despite global stars such as Ryan Giggs, Mark Hughes and Nevill Southall – had been stuck in the doldrums. Mercifully, I can’t remember the Paul Bodin penalty heartbreak that would see us miss out on the World Cup in the USA in ‘94 but my recollections began not long after that agonising moment. My earliest memory of Wales was losing to Moldova in 1994. As the 90s turned into the new millennium and Welsh rugby rallied, a national tournament still eluded the Welsh Football team. There were encouraging signs: a great run of form in 2002 saw us beat the likes of Italy and Germany and draw with Argentina but our chances of qualifying for the 2004 Euros were evaporated as a two-leg playoff was lost to Russia – compounded by the fact that they had a drugs cheat in their ranks. With the relative quality of the squad and some of the results we’d had, a sense of ‘if not now, then when?’ prevailed. I, along with thousands of other Welsh fans, genuinely wondered if we’d ever qualify for for a major tournamanent again. A young Pele had broken our hearts in the World Cup in 1958 but the grainy black and white images of that tournament are too far distant and detached to offer any comfort to Welsh fans today. If you told me then in ‘04 that it’d be another 12 years before we’d qualify, I’d have sunk even lower into my stupor.
A Rocky Start
But the qualifying process for Euro 2016 didn’t get off to the best start. We were 1-0 down to part timers Andorra in our first match – staring into the abyss before a Gareth Bale brace saved our blushes. From then on, we played some good football, but you still couldn’t really imagine us qualifying. My brother in law and I have been gluttons for punishment for the past 10 years or so – attending all home Wales games – and when we managed to beat Belgium 1-0 at home in a qualifier we really did start to believe that we were on the cusp of qualifying for a major tournament. A few games later, it was secured and we could begin to get ready for the following summer…
A First Taste of Tournament Football
Put bluntly, English fans are used to watching their team in major tournaments every two years – Welsh fans aren’t. So when game day against Slovakia rolled around, on a Saturday of all days, it was our turn to savour the major tournament experience. I remember waking up on the morning, excitement levels full to brim and sweet anticipation in the air. A couple of hours before kick off, filing into a local pub, it was a surreal experience – about to see our boys perform on the world stage. We’d do it every February, March and November to watch the rugby internationals – but this time, with a football side playing for something that mattered and about to put everything on the line, was different. A Bale free kick sent us into raptures, before a second half Slovakia equaliser saw them gain parity on the scoreboard before taking the game by the scruff of the neck. I didn’t think we’d hold on, but then up stepped Hal Robson Kanu to scuff his shot into the turf before it eventually rolled into the net. Not only had we played on the world stage – we’d won a game as well!
The Olde Enemy
After that was the small matter of the England game. Unlike with rugby, fixtures between the old enemies come few and far between so the whole country was ready for it. However, luck would have it that the game would be played on a Wednesday…at 2pm. With thousands bunking off work, my profession as a school teacher meant that I couldn’t really take the cliched match day ‘sickee’. Instead, our school had classrooms full of excited school kids baying for a Welsh victory (and a few pockets of vocal English supporters) as we watched online – our screens buffering and freezing throughout the whole match. Once again, it was a Gareth Bale free kick that gave us the lead and up until half time things were almost going too smoothly. We had been on top, and were good value for the lead. As I said though, it almost seemed too easy, it was just too straightforward – but you start to believe and let yourself get carried away. So when goals from Jamie Vardy and Daniel Sturridge agonisingly pissed on the party, black clouds of despair threatened. Still, a result against Russia the following Monday would see us qualify for the knock-out stages and all eyes turned to Toulouse…
Russian Rout
As Welshmen, rugby provides us with enough of a fix of must win fixtures, but with football it’s a rarity and all too often ends in tears. So I viewed the Russian game with a degree of hopeful anticipation – but whatever the result – win, lose or draw – I’d say the collective thirst for major tournament football had been satiated. However, what proceeded to happen on that Monday evening was one of the most dominant displays of European Championship football that I can remember. I don’t think it’s hyperbole or blind patriotism. The COVID-19 lockdown has seen a whole host of games being replayed on the BBC and watching the rerun, it’s mad how dominant we were. Ramsey, Taylor and Bale were the scorers but the whole squad were imperious that night. We had qualified for the knockout stages and had even topped the group! As the final whistle blew, in a fit of reckless abandon, a few phone calls were made, Euro tunnel tickets booked and extortionate match tickets for the quarter final were purchased on Viagogo. The plan was perfect – but I was pretty sheepish the next morning when I had to go and ask the Head at School for the Friday afternoon off. Mercifully, he relented…
From Paris, with Love
We embarked on our quarter final trip to France on the 24th June. It was the day after the EU Referendum. Britain had voted leave – but we were going the other direction and that’s all I could think of on the morning as Britain came to terms with leaving the EU. We left for France in the early afternoon, red dragons sitting proudly on our chests and obligatory yellow, green and red bucket hats on our head. It was the start of a brilliant adventure, Welsh flags waving proudly as we made our way down the M4 before getting over the bridge and making our way down to the Euro Tunnel at Dover. Filling up for petrol at Cardiff Gate, we saw Scott Quinell, Welsh rugby legend, who wished us well on our journey. On the Euro Star, there were impromptu 5 a side matches between various Welsh fans as beers were sunk, the Manic Street Preacher’s “Come on Wales” seemingly being played on repeat by various car radios. Through delays and wrong turns, we eventually got to Paris around 2am – promptly assembled our tents at the caravan park and tried to get a few hours sleep before the fun began. We awoke early and were soon making our way to the city centre to see where a pint could be found. Looking back at the pictures as we traversed the Champs-Élysées and drank beers in front of the Eiffel Tower decked out in red, it really was the time of our supporting lives! More beers were sunk, tickets collected, and with the risk of tempting fate, victory cigars purchased for after the match. At the game against Northern Ireland, all the travelling and…er… excitement meant that I actually fell asleep during most of the first half. I’ll often say it’s one of the most expensive naps I’ve had. But at half time, some more refreshments and a stern talk in the mirror meant that I was alert and ready for the 2nd half. It was such a nervy match, as the Ulstermen sat back and frustrated us. When Bale’s 75th minute cross was eventually turned into the net by Northern Ireland’s own McAuley, the Welsh masses erupted – helping the boys to hold on ‘til the end. I have to say, the Northern Irish fans, vociferous during the game, were arguably even louder at the final whistle, the chant of “Will Grieg’s On Fire…” ringing throughout the stadium concourses and long into the Parisian night. We had a long night, revelling in the victory – and it was a long trip home the next day, and a long day in work on the Monday!
Stopped Clocks and Chopped Logic
Before the Belgium game, I remember driving home from work on a warm summer evening. Windows down, the sun was shining and excitement hung in the air, ready for the spectacle that lay ahead. I was tuned in to Radio Wales to soak up the pre-match atmosphere out in France as I drove along the M4. Some guest – I can’t remember who – was talking about how the tournament had been even better than anyone could have envisioned and that he felt somewhat emotional that other fans and family members, dead and gone, weren’t around to witness the spectacle. That resonated with me. My grandfather had been dead 20 odd years but I remember watching that infamous Moldova game at his house – my old man and him discussing how poor Wales were. And that’s the beauty of sport; they’re collective experiences, made all the more euphoric or despairing because of the hundreds, thousands of people who share the emotions with you. I wondered what he would have made of it all, so unbelievable that it all was. The mind couldn’t help drift off and think of Gary Speed too, so integral he had been to developing the Wales team into the competitive and talented side that it was before his tragic and untimely death. If the summer had delivered beyond expectations, the game that followed on that evening was one for the ages – a game to stop clocks and chop logic. We went 1-0 down but I was philosophical: we’d reached the quarter finals; created memories to last a lifetime; won admirers from around the world. Belgium were favourites for the whole tournament. If we were going to lose we may as well lose to them! But then, the beautiful chaos began: Williams heads the equaliser and we have the better of the rest of the first half. The second half begins and we’re creating chances, asking questions continuously. An then, THAT goal. That beautiful goal. Hal Robson Kanu receives the ball in the box, turns – Cruyff-esque – and sends 4 or so Belgian defenders for a walk before coolly slotting the finish home. 2-1, and we’re hoping, wishing, praying for Wales to hold on. And then, as the minutes tick away, Chris Gunter swings in a cross and Sam Vokes glances in a sublime header. 3-1 up. 3-1 up!? Against Belgium? In a European Championship Quarterfinal? Even the most sceptical of Welsh fans know that we are about to do it and reach the semi finals of a major tournament. Grown men in tears, kids are woken from their slumber by fanatical cheering parents and the Welsh journey rumbles on…
The Party Ends
And then it all ended. Portugal in the semi final, we were always going to be up against it. A ground swell of national optimism had been tempered with the worry that a winner’s streak must always come to an end, the luck always runs out. As they say, at sometime the party has to stop. This was compounded by the fact that some stars would be unavailable for the game. Aaron Ramsey had arguably been our standout player of the tournament and, Spurs bias aside, Ben Davies had been integral to the 3 at the back on which our game plan had been based on. Both missed the semi through suspension – and ultimately the game was a bridge too far for the squad. It was a nervy encounter, but we created our chances in the first half, and with it being 0-0 at half time we still believed. However, as Ronaldo rose in the 50th minute and seemingly hung in the air for an eternity, it was as if time stopped before the net bulged. James Collins – Davies’ replacement – had done a fine job marking arguably the best player in the world but the levee had to break sometime. In truth, the game was up, and 3 minutes later da Cunha latched on to a wayward pass to beat Hennessy and make it 2-0. What a wonderful adventure it had all been – but it was now at an end. Who knows what we could have done against France in the final, who Portugal would go on to beat. Could we have beaten them on our day and won the 2016 European Championships? Absolutely. But, alas, it wasn’t to be…
A Year in Parenthesis
And here we are, 4 years later. Ready to go – but life on pause, a year in parenthesis. It’s only football, of course, and the current pandemic has certainly illustrated how there are more important things in life. But life is all the more colourful and united for games such as football. In the camp, changes have happened of course – Coleman gone; Giggs in. The big guns of Bale and Ramsay still there – and exciting additions such as Ethan Ampadu, Kiefer Moore and Joe Rodon making their presence felt. And the delay will help us too – Joe Allen will be set to return after being due to miss this year through injury. Liverpool’s Neco Williams will have gained another year of first class, senior football. Bournemouth’s David Brooks will be back to full fitness, well equipped to strut his stuff on the European stage. So we wait, dream of games yet to come, check dates and fixtures, and book flights. More good times are on their way. Roll on 2021…
Spurs of the Moment 