1990 was the world cup that will always stick with me. I was too young for the hand of god four years earlier and USA 94 will only be remembered for Dianna Ross.

I was 9 years old. My first world cup sticker book and was gripped right from the madness of the first game, remember that harsh red card, then nobody knowing what to do when Cameroon scored and then just a second yellow card for this (best tackle ever in a world cup?).

There was Jurgen Klinsmann, everything he did was perfect, especially his decision to later join Spurs.

Ciao Man was a great if a little bizzare mascot made up of Italian flags and the Irish making it to the quarter finals was pretty special.

But above all of this was England. The team that made me feel so proud. Chris Waddle flirting with the touchline, Terry Butcher crashing into whatever needed to be crashed into, Des Walker, David Platt, Steve Bull and of course Gazza and Gary Linekar. Every single player was someone I could look up to as heroes. They played the beautiful game and they wore that England shirt with pride. Being at the World Cup wasn’t about Beats by Dre, it wasn’t about the possibility of being bored at the hotel, it was a joy and a joy that this 9 year old felt a part of.

I’m at the age where I can call Raheem Sterling ‘son’ and it be physically possible(that is if I’d been naughty as a 14 year old boy).

I’ve found it increasingly harder to get excited about supporting England in recent years. If we won the world cup with John Terry in the team I would have struggled to appreciate it — can you imagine him getting a knighthood!!? Jack Wilshire on the top deck of that bus calling Spurs “Shits” (I couldn’t condone that, even if it were the other way round). I could go on and thank god that gun toting Ashley Cole is not on his way to Brazil.

I hope that in 2014 this old man is proven wrong and someone can step up and take to the battlefield, drink the cool-aid and make me feel proud. I’m looking at you Rickie Lambert.