tension

I've been trawling the Interweb to find a suitable photograph to head this blog post, and for the life of me, the right one isn't there. There's nothing that can acutely demonstrate the sense of anxiety I felt being out on the streets of Crosby tonight.

As we all know, it was the first England game of this year's World Cup. During the game, it wasn't a problem - the roads and pavements were fairly quiet. After it - well, I wouldn't say all hell broke loose, but there was a palpable tension in the warm summer air fuelled by too much alcohol.

As the night wore on, I just wanted to go home and shut the doors -safe in "my six be four universe". I can look after myself on the streets, but why should I have to? Contray to what some folk may believe, I'm nowhere near as hard-faced and aggressive as I can sometimes appear. Most of the time I just want to hide.

The fervour surrounding England's participation in the competition is dangerously close to overwhelming most people's common sense.

You know, I look back on myself and my reactions to certain big Liverpool games and I feel genuinely shamed by my crap attitude after them. Of course I can be disappointed, and I have reacted negatively to things that aren't really that important in the cold light of day.

Perhaps this sense of dread is a personal penance for me to endure for the next month, or at least until England are eliminated from the tournament?