The build up, wall to wall TV coverage, the tabloids going ga-ga, the speculation over someone's foot healing in time, and the struggle to scrape through the group stage in second place. Riots dominating the news as our fans ambush the French in some town square or other. Then the knockout phase. The excitement and expectaion, the thrilling end to end game that we should have won but didn't because some foreign bastard disallowed a perfectly good goal and Rooney missed a sitter. The extra time stalemate, followed by the crushing disappointment as someone on £100,000 a week breaks a floodlight with his penalty. Pubs and town centres trashed throughout the land and scores of policemen hospitalised as the tabloid editors look round for the vegatable that most resembles the coach. I miss it already.