England v Germany: where did the football rivalry begin?

Sporting rivalries are natural, intense and understandable. But often, the rivalries matter more to fans, commentators and the press than they do to the players involved. A few of these rivalries are rooted in long-standing grudges, some in sectarian or indeed political divisions, some in local competition, and a few, such as the Roses matches in cricket, may wither, surviving more in memory than reality. Which of these categories describes the football rivalry between England and Germany will get a new airing in the first knock-out round of the Euros on Tuesday?

For a long time, we in Britain, Scots as well as English, believed football belonged to us. The laws of the game were made in the mid-nineteenth century by a bunch of former public schoolboys (some of them Etonians) in a London club, and were updated in simpler language by the then secretary of the FA, Stanley Rous in the late 1930s. Scottish professionals migrating to clubs in Lancashire and London brought what was called “the passing game south”; they were football’s “professors”. Enthusiasts from Britain took the game to countries throughout Europe and Latin America. It was the game we gave the world.

For years we adopted a superior attitude. Friendly internationals were played against some European countries, and usually won; the first England-Germany match was played in 1930. Our sense of superiority meant that we disdained participation in FIFA’s World Cup before the war, and it was boosted by a match between Great Britain and the Rest of Europe in 1946, which we won 6-1. No doubt football had been less disrupted by the war in Britain than on the Continent, but in fact, it continued there too. The last wartime match in Germany was played in late March 1945, as the Third Reich collapsed and most of the country was already occupied by the Allies, the British, Americans and French in the West, the Russians in the East.

England condescended to accept an invitation to play in the 1950 World Cup in Argentina. Scotland stuffily said they would participate only if they won the Home Nations Championship. Failure to beat England at Hampden meant they weren’t. So they stayed as home and laughed when England were beaten by, of all teams, the USA.

Both countries condescended to take part in the 1954 Cup, played in Switzerland. Scotland, woefully unprepared, were humiliated 8-0 by the holders Uruguay, who then beat England in the quarter-final. The cup was won by West Germany, re-admitted to FIFA only four years previously. In a controversial final they beat Hungary, the brilliant “Magical Magyars” who had humiliated England at Wembley the previous November. The Times said their 6-3 victory gave us “a new conception of football”. It was the first time England had lost at home to a European side. Nevertheless, England beat the new World Champions, West Germany, a few months after their triumph in the “Battle of Berne” and did so next time they met when some of Manchester United’s “Busby Babes” promised a new Golden Age for English football, a promise sadly aborted by the Munich air disaster.

Still, by the 1960s English football had come to look reality in the face and recognise that superiority wasn’t God-given but had to be earned. That lesson had been learned. In 1966, the World Cup was staged in England for the first time, and, for the first time also, England had a diligent manager, Alf Ramsey, who had assembled a good squad and built his game on defence.

As a result, 1966 was a high point for English football. Ramsey’s team deserved their famous, if narrow, win over Germany in the final, and there can’t be an English fan, even those born more than a generation or two later, who can’t immediately call to mind the iconic picture of Bobby Moore perched on the shoulders of team-mates and holding the Jules Rimet trophy aloft. Yet in retrospect, it has been an albatross looming over teams ever since.

Look at the record. Since 1966, Germany (West Germany only till reunification in 1990) have won three World Cups and been in three other finals; England hasn’t once reached the final. Germany has won the Euros twice and been the beaten finalist three times; England made the semi-final at home (again) in 1996 when they lost to Germany – who else? – in a penalty shoot-out. The villain of the day was the present manager, the intelligent and likeable Gareth Southgate, whose decisive penalty miss made him a target of the tabloids for years. There would be some poetic justice if he was to guide the team to triumph now.

The year 1966 has been English football’s 1940, Battle of Britain and the Blitz. English fans, all too young to have lived either year will still sing about “ten German bombers”. Tabloid headlines will still delight in wartime memories and slogans. “Don’t mention the war,” jabbered Basil Fawlty, while unable to stop himself from doing so. No wonder that, as a Scot, I have sometimes found the recourse to the Spirit of the Blitz so distasteful and indeed pathetic, that I have hoped to see England lose on the football field. It is surely time, I have thought, that this section of the press and fans grew up. Apart from anything, this obsession with past glories has been not only pathetic but counter-productive. It’s as ridiculous as Scottish Nationalism’s cult of “Braveheart” and its harking back to Bannockburn, 1314.

There have, of course, been days when I have felt differently. I recall delighting in the young Michael Owen’s marvellous hat-trick in a 5-1 defeat against Germany in a World Cup qualifier. That was a moment when I felt England might be ready to look forward eagerly rather than wallowing in nostalgia for past glories.

And I feel differently about Gareth Southgate, who appears to be a thoughtful, intelligent and decent man, and his multicultural team. They seem likeable, representative of an England ready to live with the reality of the present. It’s quite easy for me as a Scot to wish them well, to hope that they win against Germany on Tuesday and go on to win the Euros.

There is also a welcome and now widespread realisation that, whatever the outcome of this tournament may be, football in Germany is in a better place than football in England. Their clubs are required to have a share structure that ensures they ultimately belong to their fans and their home city or town, rather than being as they are in England, the property and plaything of dodgy Russians, greedy Americans and status-seeking Arabs. But that’s an argument for another day.