JANE FRYER: Hope drilled into our hearts tonight for an England win in the Euros final but we should have known better
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Ten minutes to kick off and, as we sit on our sofas, in fan zones, in the pub, hope is already drilling holes in our hearts and making us dream – of victory and open top buses and national holidays and Sir Gareth of Southgate in his lovely M&S knitwear. When, of course, we should know better.
So perhaps best to start by sweeping a few unwelcome details under the carpet.
Such as Spain's extraordinary speed and panache. And the fact they've won every single one of their matches and are the Euros firm favourite.
And maybe a good idea to shove anyone off the sofa who mentions England's weirdly poor track record in pretty much every major tournament since about 1066, and tell them to be more positive.
Not least because, as a beautifully suited and booted Gary Lineker puts it in the BBC studio, 'it's going to be a bumpy ride, so buckle up everybody'.
And out they march. Stony-faced. Jaws clenched. Pickford and Foden chewing gum like washing machines. Kane belting out the national anthem as if his life depended on it.
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Yes, yes… to start with it is Spain playing all the football. Spain with all the style.
But after a bit, England finally kick in, join the party and, whisper it, really look rather good.
Blimey. Maybe we won't need our endless superstitious good luck charms – Southgate's favourite M&S zippy top. Kobbie Mainoo's boring pre-match pasta pesto meal. Luke Shaw's lucky socks. The brilliant cat that looks so like Foden that everyone's started rubbing its paws for luck.
Could our £1.5 billion team actually just play good football and win? Dare we dream. Can we really imagine being champions of Europe?
Jordan Pickford certainly isn't taking any chances – screaming and yelling and looking as if his head might blow off the second anyone on his team lets the ball come anywhere near him.
But by the end of the first half we're still in it and, frankly, feeling rather buoyant.
True, we didn't have all the possession. And the game hadn't really got going. But if winning still doesn't quite feel possible, it no longer feels like a mad fantasy.
Even Southgate's shoulders look a teeny bit lower than usual.
Until, two minutes into the second half, Spain's Williams bangs one in, the wind goes out of the crowd and our hopes and dreams feel thin and silly.
And when Kane comes off after 60 minutes, we all wilt a bit more. Barely even noticing a couple of brilliant saves from Pickford the Furious. Or some wonderful stylish passing from our team.
Until, blow me down – in the 73rd minute, Cole Palmer, fresh off the bench, smashes in an equalizer, England are back in the game, playing like proper footballers.
And back at home, we remember that the pubs are open until 1am and make a mental note to consider taking tomorrow off and wonder how on earth we can take much more of this.
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Shortly before the match, Southgate said to an interviewer in Berlin, 'We all feel calm'.
Well, good for him. Because the rest of us bloody well don't. The entire country has come to a standstill.
Our hearts are in our mouths as we shout and leap and dance because, bloody hell, we have finally started to believe. To really believe we can win this.
Eng-er-land. Eng-er-land.
And let's relish those 13 minutes, because they were really rather lovely. And, sadly, rather short-lived.
Because in the 86th minute, Oyarzabal makes it two-one. And, well, that's that. We do not win. Spain do.
Instead, we become the first team to lose back-to-back Euros finals.
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