With few exceptions, I have always been proud of my country. On the international stage we have always punched well above our weight. The last couple of weeks however have presented me with something of a dichotomy. I have never been much of a sports fan, but I do enjoy getting into the spirit of the moment when our sportsmen and women reach the dizzy heights of international championships; I am juts about old enough to remember 1966.
For many years now, as a nation, we have reaped the benefits of a multi-cultural society, not least in the success of our sports personalities; not forgetting that many of them are home-grown despite the colour of their skin. Even the most jingoistic of us is quick to take on ownership, basking in the reflected glory of success. It is only when, metaphorically speaking, the boot is on the other foot that the endemic underlying xenophobia of the contemptible minority kicks in. It is at times like this that, far from feeling a sense of pride in my country and my fellow citizens, I am thoroughly disgusted. During the recent European Football Championship, the booing of English fans during the national anthems of competing nations, and in the wake of our failure to ‘bring home’ the trophy, the de-facing of the Marcus Rashford mural is despicable. The behaviour of the perpetrators disgusts me and makes me feel ashamed to be English.
Our inability to win a football match on penalties is well recorded, but how misguided is it to use Rashford and his fellow players as the scapegoats for our failure to win?
It seems ironic that had they been successful in driving the ball home to a winning goal, no doubt they would have been hailed as heroes. We must have zero tolerance for this pick and mix attitude towards racism.
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