The job, at the time, had the kind of reputation that made people cross the street just hearing it mentioned. Sam Allardyce’s tenure lasted less than three months and ended with him being caught on tape whispering about “gentlemen’s agreements” in a back alley of footballing scandal. Roy Hodgson? His legacy was a 2016 Euro exit so painful it required a medical exemption to watch. So when Southgate stepped in, the FA were essentially saying: “We’re not hiring a legend. We’re hiring a man who once played for Middlesbrough and remembers where the nearest coffee machine is.” And yet—miraculously—he turned England from a nation of underachievers into a team that actually *felt* like they might, just possibly, make it to the final of a major tournament.
And oh boy, did they make it. Not once, not twice, but three times. The 2018 World Cup run? A national heart attack wrapped in a yellow shirt. The semi-final against France? A game so intense it made the air taste like fear and hope. The final against Croatia? That was pure, unfiltered chaos—with Southgate standing there like a man who’d seen this movie before, and was just waiting for the credits. He didn’t win. But he didn’t cry, either. He just smiled, shook hands, and said something about “proud moments” like it was a grocery list. Honestly, if he’d been a fictional character, he’d have been the “Emotionally Unflappable Man Who Succeeds Through Pure Willpower and Mild Disappointment.”
Then came Euro 2020—postponed, delayed, and rebranded like a Netflix series that went through three rewrites. England won every game except the final. Again. And this time, it wasn’t even a close one. But Southgate didn’t panic. He didn’t blame the ref. He didn’t even curse the weather. Instead, he just stood there, sipping a lukewarm cup of tea (we assume), and said, “We’re proud of what we’ve done.” Which, honestly, is the kind of line you’d expect from a man who once survived a footballing crisis by just… not panicking.
Now, in 2024, we’re back. Spain, the eventual champions, didn’t just beat England—they politely reminded them of every missed penalty, every overthought cross, and every second where the dream slipped through like water between fingers. But Southgate? Still calm. Still smiling. Still the man who looked like he’d just been told the garden shed had collapsed, yet still managed to say, “Well, that’s that.” He didn’t rage. He didn’t weep. He simply walked off the pitch like a man who’d already accepted his fate and was now wondering if there were any decent fish and chips nearby.
And that, my friends, is the real triumph. Because while he never lifted the trophy, he redefined what it means to be a success in English football. He didn’t win every game, but he won the respect of a nation that once thought “nearly” was a dirty word. He made England fun again—fun in the way that only a team that’s been through the emotional wringer can be. He turned a job that used to be a professional suicide mission into something that now feels… almost normal. Which, if you think about it, is the greatest achievement of all.
Even if the final whistle came in a different key, Southgate didn’t leave England broken—he left them wiser, calmer, and slightly less emotionally scarred than before. He didn’t need a trophy to prove he’d done a good job. He just needed to be the guy who stayed, smiled, and said, “Let’s try again.” And that? That’s not nearly. That’s legendary. Or at least, that’s what we’d say if we weren’t all too busy trying to decide whether to cry, laugh, or finally admit that we *did* enjoy the match. Mostly, though, we’ll just be grateful he was there—because someone had to be the adult in the room when England was busy being a dramatic teenager.
So here’s to Gareth Southgate: the man who made “nearly” feel like a victory, the quiet diplomat of English football, and the only national manager who once looked at a penalty shoot-out and said, “Well, that’s one way to end a dream.” And honestly? He didn’t even flinch. He just walked off, handed back the badge, and left England with a legacy not of glory, but of grace. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to go rewatch the 2018 semi-final, just to remind ourselves that even when the dream ends, the man who believed in it never really left.
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