England broke our hearts but it was always about more than football

The tension rose and the chatter ground to a halt in a pub near Trafalgar Square as England's chances of victory in the 2026 World Cup semi-final faded before my eyes.

Alongside my brother, wife and friends, I watched England sit back after Anthony Gordon's opener while Argentina pushed for an equaliser. Once Enzo Fernandez broke us down in the 85th minute, it seemed inevitable that Argentina would win and our hopes would be dashed.

Anticipation, joy, frustration and dejection - it's all part and parcel of being an England fan.

But chaotic pub scenes, conversations and WhatsApp chats have reminded me that supporting England in the World Cup connects me with people in ways few other events do.

Watching England in major tournaments has defined many summers in my lifetime. One of my earliest memories was trying to flick the ball over my four-year-old brother's head in the back garden and volley it into the net, just as Gazza had done against Scotland in Euro 96.

Excitement was low within my social circles ahead of this World Cup - partly because of anger over sky-high ticket prices that priced out so many fans.

But the scepticism disappeared when we beat Croatia 4-2 in the first game. Watching Harry Kane welling up as fans serenaded the team with Wonderwall compounded the excitement.

"THIS IS OUR YEAR," I wrote on one WhatsApp chat with three friends who live in different countries, only half joking.

"One foot in the final," one responded, almost certainly joking.

We got a sharp reality check after a tedious 0-0 draw with Ghana. The WhatsApp group descended into a discussion about taps that dispense boiling water without having to reach for the kettle.

"This conversation is almost as boring as that first half," someone noted.

A 2-0 win over Panama set us up to face DR Congo in the first knock-out round and things started to get stressful.

The 5pm kick off meant I had to watch the first half at home on the sofa with my bewildered cat as I didn't clock off until 6pm. (Note to my bosses: I was keeping an eye on emails.)

DR Congo took the lead within seven minutes. England created plenty of chances but just couldn't stick the ball in the net.

At half-time I hopped on the bus to West Norwood, where my friends Tomal and Char were watching it in a pub full of kids. Some were locked into the game and necked soft drinks, while others ran around while their parents nervously nursed pints.

As the half went on, WhatsApp groups went into meltdown. But Harry Kane stepped up, scoring two in quick succession to see us over the line. Cue Three Lions at the final whistle and my friend celebrating with his happy five-year-old daughter on his shoulders - the first tournament she will remember.

Anyone who stayed up for Mexico at the Azteca will never forget it. Scheduled for 1am in the UK, it got pushed back an hour due to poor weather in Mexico City.

I watched it in a packed Crystal Palace pub. After a cagey start, Jude Bellingham scored two in two minutes to send us into a frenzy. Mexico hit back almost immediately and I spent half-time outside with my fellow frustrated fans bemoaning why we always have to do it the hard way.

The tension was almost unbearable as Jarell Quansah got sent off and Mexico pulled it back to 3-2 after Harry Kane's penalty.

It was 4am when the final whistle blew. As the sun started to rise over the London skyline, my friends and I acknowledged that we had witnessed one of the great England nights.

For the Norway quarter-final I raced from work to a bar in Brixton for kick-off. After Norway's freak opening goal, the place erupted to the strains of Hey Jude after Bellingham equalised.

England struggled in the second half and the relief was palpable when Bellingham grabbed his second in extra-time.

After sticking around for a raucous rendition of Sweet Caroline, I headed back home, content that the dream was alive for another few days.

I'm still so gutted about the Argentina semi-final. Scenes of joyous chaos on the streets of London replaced by grown men sitting on the kerb miserably eating fried chicken give me a distinct sense of déjà-vu.

My friends and I feel deflated today but this World Cup has also made me reflect on the people I watch football with.

A memorial Whatsapp group for one of my best friends, Daniel "Beamer" Beames, who tragically passed away in 2021 aged just 32, has lit up with messages.

He was a huge England fan and after he died, a group of us bought Euro 96 shirts with his name and the No 32 printed on the back.

This competition, more than any other, has made me think of him and what it would have meant to him to see England win a major tournament.

While we're still waiting 60 years on, I still dream of one day wearing my Beamer shirt while celebrating the night football finally comes home.