There is an England we don’t talk about enough - even though, for most of us, it’s where we spend most of our time.
Sometimes, these days, you could be forgiven for thinking it doesn’t exist. The national conversation puts splits under the microscope, and so we forget the bigger picture - the England where people like each other.
We need to thank the England team for what they’ve done for this England.
In their play, in their unity, in their variety, their service of a greater goal, they’ve shown in sparkling miniature what happens across the land - in offices, factories and hospitals, in pubs and parks and places of faith.
READ MORE: Manchester's messages of love, pride and support for England
The internet can be like a shadow life, a lightless projection of real life, and if you go too far down its alleys, you see shadows everywhere. It can make you think, depending on who you are, that behind every corner lurks a mob of bigots, intent on abuse and oppression, or that behind the next lurks a mob of humourless neo-puritans, intent on cancelling everything.
And then along came the England team, just when we needed them most, after a rough few years, bringing together all colours of England, under one flag, one dream.
These unifying moments that remind us of the best of us don’t usually happen on this scale. But they do happen, not just in millions of tiny, everyday interactions between families, friends, colleagues and strangers - but on those days when the whole country stops to take a breath.
I saw it on the Queen’s 90th, at the garden party at my local church, where Mancs of every colour celebrated the life of ‘The Servant Queen, and the King she serves’.
I saw it at the Cenotaph, when Chester Road stopped, and hundreds of locals, soldiers, Scouts, Boys Brigades and schoolchildren - Stretfordians of every shade - came together on the centenary of the Armistice.
Of course not everything is hearts and flowers.
All human societies have problems and tensions, and since the game we’ve heard about the idiots who’ve singled our players out for abuse.
But those idiots are not the story of this tournament, any more than that guy in the M.E.N on Friday, the one who grabbed a seagull around the neck in a row over a doughnut, is the story of a sunny day out at the seaside.
But what the idiots have done is show why the England players took the knee, and kept taking it, even though they came in for stick, much of it from people who claim to be for free speech.
It’s not just about George Floyd, or injustice here and abroad. It’s about dignity at work. And black players have got racial abuse since Arthur Wharton, thought to be the world’s first professional black footballer, proudly pulled on his boots for clubs from Darlington to Stockport, between 1885 and 1902.
It’s not been the whole story, of course not - but it’s always been part of the story - and it’s a chapter that needs to end. The pitch is their workplace, their workplace is public, and so today’s young players choose to respond in a way that is public, but is simple, profound, and dignified with a meaning personal to them. That is their right. They know what their experience is, and they know what they’re saying when they do it.
They do it together. Whatever they look like. And so the symbolism of that knee goes beyond the fight against racism, to something human and profound.
It goes to the spirit between a group of people, friends and professionals, with roots all over the former Empire.
Their determination to take the knee and their determination to excel, all seem to flow from the same spirit - of unity and the will to prevail in the face of adversity - all for one, one for all, expressed in one moment of shared reflection.
Why shouldn’t these lads have a conscience and speak up for what’s right? Why should we accept the idea that it’s somehow un-English to take a stand?
When Rashford spoke for hungry kids he spoke up for all hungry kids. When Sterling has spoken about the loss of his father, and what he wants to do in the field of social mobility, he’s talking about issues that touch all communities - loss, violence, disappointment and poverty - and the will to overcome them. When St George slayed the dragon...well, you get the picture.
Speaking up for what’s right. It’s what we’ve always done in Manchester, even when the powers that be told us we were wrong.
It must be so hard walking up to the penalty spot for any player, and extra pressure when you’ve got a particularly big name. I thought that in the milliseconds before Mbappe’s penalty for France, and I thought it again, repeatedly, in the heartbreaking last minutes of England’s final game.
And some people, a sad minority, seem to have been waiting for Saka, Rashford and Sancho to put a foot wrong, so they could call them names, and make themselves feel a bit better about whatever it is they have going on in their own lives. Because it’s hard not to see a lot of jealousy behind the racist abuse.
These are talented, good looking, intelligent young lads, paid a fortune to do what they love, people of singular focus, skill and determination.
Still, for everyone who feels smaller in the light of glory, there are millions of us who don’t. Millions of us lifted by the blood and fire of Pickford, Maguire and Kane, the brilliant, youthful sparkle of Saka, Sancho, Grealish and Foden, the guts and grit of Sterling, Phillips and Trippier. The humble, cerebral kindness of manager Gareth Southgate - the whole wonderful team.
So thank you England, and well done, all of you. We know it’s only football, but it speaks of so much more.
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