England Was Dreaming
Well done to the England football team and its manager, whose playing got them to the first final for an England football team since 1966, 55 years ago. True, they lost at Wembley, their iconic home, in the finals, against a surging and vibrant Italian side of brilliance, but they accomplished much, with decency and boldness.
Sine the loss, the shocking levels of racism still extant among England fans, and the English, towards Black players (and presumably others) has been revealed, thanks, ironically, to incompetent (or deceitful) or complicit tech firms whose ability to sell us things instantly seems unable to block our uglier side, while profiting from seemingly reading everything else about our behaviour and thoughts.
By taking the knee against the booing, the England team, like the crew of the Starship Enterprise, enables us to see a future, possible way of being our better selves, and as such, their heroism transcends the rather cruel penalty kick ending to the jubilant tournament.
They all deserve all the knighthoods and prizes the strange brittle world has to offer, but they are already Kings of our hearts, and they get better every day in comparison to those who claim to speak for them, the ignorant crass yobs of hate, whose games are far lesser, and will not be praised in the annals of glory.
Sometimes, losing is winning, and this time, it seems so. The murals are defaced but are replaced by hearts.