By God, what a night. What a team. What a country. Last night in Switzerland, under the blinding lights of footballing destiny, England’s Lionesses delivered a victory for the ages… a penalty shootout masterclass against Spain to retain their European crown.
Back-to-back champions. History-makers. The first England team ever to lift a major trophy on foreign soil. And my word, didn’t they do it in true English fashion… gritty, daring, against the odds, and utterly magnificent.
It was Chloe Kelly, that indomitable spirit in white, who once again stepped up, cool as you like, to slot home the decisive penalty. Shades of Wembley 2022. A heroine reborn. Meanwhile, from a village just down the road from me, our own Hannah Hampton became the immovable object in goal, stopping two penalties and breaking Spanish hearts.
But it wasn’t just the football that made this moment special – though that alone will live long in the nation’s memory. It was what came after. The interviews. The tears. The joy. And yes… the pride. So many of these brilliant young women stood in front of the cameras and said those beautiful, long-suppressed words: “I’m proud to be English.”
Yes, English. Not just British. English.
For years, we’ve almost been told to mumble it, to downplay it, to dilute it… to be apologetic, even. But last night, that Overton window cracked wide open. And through it came a deafening, unashamed, uncontainable roar of national pride. A roar that echoed from the villages of Warwickshire to the pubs of Manchester, from the high streets of Kent to the windswept cliffs of Yorkshire. And you know what? It felt good. It felt right.
Because it is right. It’s great being English.
These women, our lionesses, reminded us who we are. We are a people of grit and grace, of invention and endurance, of Shakespeare and suffragettes, of Brunel and Boudicca, of Churchill and Kelly. We are a people who dig deep when the odds are stacked, who rise when we fall, who win when we must. Even when our first penalty is chalked off and missed again, we go again. That’s the mentality. That’s the eye of the tiger. That’s England.
I lived in the US for over a decade, a wonderful, turbo-charged place, where positivity is sprinkled in the air, and what always struck me there was the unshakeable belief in victory. In themselves. In their flag. Hail Marys and miracle comebacks were not just a possibility, they were expected. That’s the spirit we saw last night. That’s the spirit so many on the so called ‘left’ of the political spectrum always want to suffocate. But it won’t work.
Because the roar is back. The English roar.
And every little girl watching last night will now carry that sound with her. She won’t just dream of football. She’ll dream of England. She’ll dream of who we are, of what we stand for. And she won’t be ashamed. She’ll stand tall and proud… because that’s what winners do.
Let’s not kid ourselves, our nation is under siege. From a government that sneers at tradition and sabotages enterprise. That taxes the backbone out of our businesses and burdens our farmers with bureaucratic madness. A government that forgets who we are. That forgets what we’ve built. That forgets what we’ve won.
But last night reminded us. Last night we remembered.
This isn’t just about football. It’s about identity. It’s about fighting for our country, for our culture, our character, our England.
The Lionesses conquered Europe not just with skill, but with soul. And now, it’s our turn. We must fight for the soul of England. We must roar louder. We must win again… on the field, in the economy, in the great battle of ideas.
Because we are the descendants of lions.
And we are not done roaring.
