On Wales, and Keeping Going

I’ve had tickets for the Lionesses’ Group D game against Wales since December. One of my big worries after England were really shit against France was that, had the Lionesses chucked qualification with defeat to France, I would have chucked a lot of time, money, and effort at getting to a meaningless friendly that I could have caught at the Cardiff Principality, instead.

Fortunately, there was still something to play for — apparently, for many England fans, avoiding Spain in the semis — and plenty to like about the Lionesses’ performance against Wales on Sunday.

There was Lauren Hemp mouthing ‘what a ball’ to Ella Toone after she assisted the Lionesses’ third goal, England being good and knowing it. There was Khiara Keating’s giant smile as Beth Mead-o, the EURO 2022 poster girl, marked her return to major tournament action post-ACL with a goal celebration which took in the entirety of the England bench, togetherness manifest.

A nigh-complete performance, the 6-1 thrashing fulfilled the eerie symmetry with England’s 2023 World Cup campaign — disappointing in their opener only to come through with a thumping win against a tournament minnow.

But it wasn’t quite perfect. At least, not from a pundit’s point of view.

My friends and I made predictions about the result on the bus to the game. For England boss Sarina Wiegman, keeping a clean sheet would surely be a priority — we score goals, play together, claim a statement win of the sort that Spain have made if we do the right things well, but we keep it tight all the way.

Had I been watching from home, I would’ve enjoyed Hempo’s praise, Keating’s beam and Lucy Ward’s commentary first-hand, rather than via the ITV highlights, parked on a bench on the shore of Lake Zurich on Monday evening. But I would’ve hated Hannah Cain’s consolation, needlessly conceded, Jess Fishlock weakly pursed by a white shirt 12 years her junior, a one-dimensional obstacle to English excellence planted in an unknown turf 800 miles away to the sound of strangers’ screams.

But from row 25 at the other end of the stadium after two nights’ sharing a campsite with loyal Welsh supporters, it looked magnificent.

I’m often reluctant to watch games from behind the goal as you’re likely to miss 60% of the action — albeit with 10% in high definition. But with the right rake on the seats, the view is fantastic.

It’s now clicked why after 20 years following and playing the game I’m still to grasp some tactical stuff… duh, all of those magnets on the whiteboard, dots on the BBC Sport apps represent shapes that you don’t see on television, with the camera on the halfway line.

Seeing Fishlock steam away from me toward goal like that, rather than left to right across the screen, was cinematic.

And while television cameras may supply these kinds of shots outside of live broadcast, there are some perspectives which cannot be beamed back.

The Welsh sharing songs over an acoustic guitar and several rounds of Schützengarten the night before the match. The long Cymru shorts hanging well below the knee of the tiny girl clinging to mum’s legs on the train to the game. A Spotify QR code handed to the barman so the only open pub in town could have its windows shake to the sound of ‘Yma O Hyd’ several days after those voices surrendered the small hope that their team might just qualify.

I liked Lauren James’ uber-casual pre-assist in the build-up for the third and I liked the cross-field pass with which Leah Williamson kickstarted England’s second. I liked the Toone-o reverse assist which Ella provided for Alessia Russo, making it four.

But did I like any of these things as much as Jess Fishlock likes being Welsh?

There are many ways in which I expected the Lionesses could move me to tears in this game (not all of them nice) but in the end, it was a small utterance by Fishlock which absolutely did me in.

The Welsh sat pretty deep for the majority of the game, defending their clean sheet, then the second digit on the England goal count. I imagine they were coached by Rhian Wilkinson to pick the moments to have a go. You can’t press everything all game or you’ll turn that rigid, deep defence into a legless assembly with all the fortification of a wet tissue.

But when you go, you have to go properly, and you have to do it together or else one person squanders precious leg and lung on a vain hope.

In one such moment — I can’t remember if Wales were two or three down, by now — two red shirts were flying at Hannah Hampton to try and steal an opportunity, force a mistake.

Hampton beat them to it, but then came the call from Fishlock, arriving behind her teammates, her voice small, urgent, Welsh: ‘keep going!’

This is a minimum standard you expect from a professional athlete shouldering the dreams of a nation, to carry on when the odds are stacked against you.

I think again on the second half goal, Georgia Stanway’s jogged chase of the steaming Fishlock. All of us Sunday leaguers confess to giving up on such a challenge when the threat feels small, the scoreline comfortable.

So why do we run? Maybe it was the singing, the sun, the sentimentality of the mountains. Probably it was the beers. But Fishlock’s cry and the pride of the Welsh touched me more than LJ’s tekkerz.

I’ve since remembered that the roots of my love for this England team are not in national allegiance, but in success, nostalgia, ecstatic memories. When Wiegman goes, I may shrug at the Lionesses which come next, while the Welsh will still be there, no matter what.