1973 was a good time to be an Englishman in London, until Poland and Jan Tomaszewski came over to play the last qualifying game for the World Cup the following year.
The English are a proud set of people; of their imperial traditions, their culture and music, the royalty that is Buckingham Palace and its inhabitants, a history of defiance at warfronts, and football. Especially their football.
Inventors of the modern form of the game and responsible for popularising it, there is a superiority complex prevalent amongst the Brits that, like woollen clothing, has been handed down through generations, even if continental and global success has found a way to elude the national team for almost the entirety of the game’s history.
It all changed in a brief, sweeping moment in 1966. They won the World Cup, at home to boot, the only time football’s quadrennial marquee event has been played at its spiritual abode. Within the next four years, Manchester United won the Champions League, David Hemery broke the 400m hurdles world record at the Olympics, The Beatles released seven albums and Pink Floyd made their debut with Piper At The Gates of Dawn. England was bouncing.