A week has now passed since England’s defeat to Argentina in the semi-final of the World Cup. In that time, the United Kingdom has installed a new Prime Minister, Spain have been crowned world champions and Donald Trump has put forward Gianni Infantino as the next Secretary General of the UN. Yet the England football manager is still a German.
That is a minor miracle. For almost as soon as Lautaro Martínez’ winner hit the back of the net in Atlanta last Wednesday, a chronically divided nation united in rare consensus. England had failed again, and only one man was to blame: Thomas Tuchel.
This was not entirely unjustified. Tuchel’s tactical decisions dramatically backfired against Argentina. By throwing on two extra defenders and parking the bus, he ended up galvanising his opponents and throwing away a huge advantage. In doing so, he also broke the central promise of his appointment as England coach: that he would either win the World Cup, or at least risk everything trying.
Still, anyone for a little perspective? This summer, England enjoyed their most successful World Cup since 1966. Against Mexico, they delivered one of the most memorable and impressive World Cup performances in their history. They were beaten in the end by the reigning world champions, led by perhaps the greatest player the game has ever seen. Some might call that a decent start to the job. Most have decided it is a national disgrace.
Perhaps it was bound to turn sour at some point. Tuchel’s appointment was always a gamble, and there were always going to be some who would never accept a German manager. When he arrived in autumn 2024, the Daily Mail lamented “a dark day for England” and Tuchel himself jokingly apologised for holding a German passport. At almost every press conference since, he has been asked about singing the national anthem.
After defeat last week, that valiant home guard of Basil Fawltys and Captain Mainwarings seized their moment once again. “Our German manager sounded a retreat to the trenches,” raged one highly decorated Fleet Street field marshal, accusing Tuchel of “narcissistic tyranny” and “maniacal rants”. Not so much a dog whistle as an air raid siren.
Yet as much as they may claim to, those voices do not represent the majority of English people. Most England fans did not truly care whether Tuchel knew the words to God Save The King, as long as he won the World Cup. The overriding tone of the Tuchel-bashing was not anti-foreigner or even anti-German. Instead, it was the same narrative that has plagued all his predecessors: that England are in some way destined to win the World Cup again, and that failure to do so represents a kind of historical aberration, a national trauma unique in world football.
The xenophobic right do not have a monopoly on such exceptionalism. It is the founding myth of the England national team, articulated over the first 30 years of hurt and reinforced since with every chorus of Football’s Coming Home. The song, its writers and advocates always insist, cannot be considered chauvinistic because it is self-deprecatory. But just because you take the piss out of yourself while gazing at your navel does not mean you are not navel-gazing.
The problem with anglo-centrism is that it is so anglo-centric it mistakes itself for objectivity. When the world has been forced to speak your language to do business for 300 years, it is hard not to think everyone is obsessed with you. At this World Cup, too, there were perfectly reasonable writers espousing with no evidence whatsoever that “all other countries” wanted England to lose. This may be true in rugby and cricket, where colonial dynamics still shape the fundamental structure of the sport. It was arguably true of the USA against Belgium. But England? Hate to break it to you guys, but most people just don’t care.
As with all Anglo-European interactions, Tuchel’s Germanness brings the narcissism into sharp relief. Even his advocates have exoticised him as a European intellectual, somehow more sophisticated than neutral, parochial England. In this world view, too, failure serves as only more proof of England’s uniqueness. Last week, Tuchel’s defensive approach was restyled as a misguided tribute to Mafeking and Dunkirk, a succumbing to a chronic national disease and a cowardly refusal to “unleash” English talent.
The truth that nobody is willing to admit, is that English football is neither chronically unsuccessful nor especially distinct from the rest of Europe. The Premier League is the most globalised league in the world and dominates European competition both on the pitch and in the fight for eyeballs. Likewise, English fans now groundhop in their thousands across Europe and the game’s managers and administrators have long since expanded their view beyond the national borders.
That cultural exchange has had a positive effect on the national team, which is now one of the best in the world. Countries like Spain and France have endured similar trophy droughts to England. They too spent decades agonising over what it said about the national character. Like them, England will eventually win a trophy.
Tuchel understands all this and has navigated it well over the last two years. He has heaped flattery on the English while elegantly sidestepping the toxic debates about anthems, history and destiny. Until now, that approach has served him well. Now, the good-will has been squandered and the show trial has begun. From here on in, only the very best will do.
That is not unfair. Tuchel was ultimately hired to do a job and he is not beyond reproach. His errors with England in the last few weeks bear some echoes of previous missteps at Bayern. As in Munich, his fate should ultimately hang on whether he commands the dressing room. Harry Kane’s comments at the weekend suggest he does - albeit Kane is always a likely ally.
Yet however this ends, there remains a sense that the game is rigged. That England have gazed so long at their own reflection that they now cannot judge any manager on normal criteria. If Champions League winner Tuchel is banished, which patriotic genius will be brought in to unleash the real England? Eddie Howe? Frank Lampard? Graham Potter?
“The hardest job in world football”, they solemnly declared as they hurled beer at Gareth Southgate, their most successful manager in half a century. For decades, all England wanted was a coach who could lead them to the last four of a major tournament. Now they have had two in a row, and turned on them both.
It is almost as if they are attached to their pain. As if suffering is the only thing that still supports the exceptionalist myth. Ironically, perhaps only success can get the English to accept the unthinkable. That they are an entirely normal European nation. And that there’s nothing wrong with that at all.
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