Neither can live while the other survives. You’re living with the enemy. I know a good divorce lawyer.
The melodramatic messages I received from friends in the run-up to England’s Euros final clash with Spain didn’t help the mood in my household. My Andalusian husband began wearing his Spanish football T-shirt early on in the day. He was full of optimism and emanated a certain quiet confidence. It was highly annoying, I took it as goading. He suggested decorating the house with Spanish flag bunting. I laughed in his face (and wondered when he had secretly acquired the bunting — traitor).
My husband and I shook hands and while I skulked off to bed in a mood without a word, he sat up drinking Estrellas
His self-assurance only grew as the monumentally talented Spaniard Carlos Alcaraz barely broke a sweat as he annihilated the world’s greatest tennis player, Novak Djokovic, in three sets in the Wimbledon men’s final. A good sign, said my husband. I rolled my eyes.
Tensions simmered as my husband sipped on Estrella Galicia and happily BBQed Iberico pork in the sunshine. Taunting me with his laidback attitude. As is the norm for all England fans before any game, I felt volatile and restless. A foreboding hung over me.
As kick-off crept ever closer we began bickering about the most mundane things, before we retreated in silence to look at our phones. It was safer that way. The whistle blew and while I cowered behind a cushion, my husband looked determinedly on. Nico Williams scored and, to his credit, the husband didn’t celebrate obnoxiously. Just a gentle air punch. The tension grew thicker and we sat in silence.
Cole Palmer equalised and I let out a cheer but tried to follow my husband’s lead and attempted to retain some form of composure. We all know what happened next. Spain scored in the 86th minute and it was all over. Another disappointment. My husband and I shook hands and while I skulked off to bed in a mood without a word, he sat up drinking Estrellas and relishing the moment.
I realised, not for the first time, that my husband is a much bigger person than I. I’m not sure I would have been so compassionate in victory. I was ungracious in defeat and I would have been intolerable had England won. But I wonder if it’s because Spain is used to winning. For them it’s just another day and my husband genuinely enjoyed watching the game. I’ve never seen him so relaxed. For England fans it’s personal, it’s a chance to rewrite history and it’s total agony — every time. Viva España! The best team won.
