Some Final thoughts

 Saw King Charles' message the other day to the Lionesses of England and the Matildas of Australia after the Lionesses crushed Australia's dream of a home-team women's World Cup title. It was all very kingly and proper, saluting the Brits while praising the Aussies for their fine and noble effort.

The Blob being the Blob, of course, I couldn't help imagining that beneath all that hail-fellow-well-met, Chuck was secretly thinking this: "Neener-neener-neener, ya bloody convicts."

OK. So probably not.

If nothing else, after all, Chuck has always been a gracious sort, except when he was catting around on Diana.  But you know elsewhere in England they're raising lukewarm pints to their Lionesses, and taunting Spain ahead of tomorrow's Final by chanting "1588! 1588! 1588!"

OK. So that's probably not happening, either.

It's probably not happening because hardly anyone these days would understand what 1588 meant, given that history in the time of social media is whatever Donald Trump said yesterday. But for those of us who know, England-vs.-Spain inevitably calls up that epic clash in 1588, when the Spanish Armada was blown to smithereens by a providential storm, proving that God was an Englishman like everyone thought.

So we've got Spain-England tomorrow, and the Armada, and 1588. And, oh, yeah, here's another date: 1966

Which is the last time any British footie team reached a World Cup title game.

That's a long damn stretch of fail in a nation that lives and dies with City (Manchester City),  Spurs (Tottenham Hotspur) and Gunners (Arsenal) every Premier League season. Why, half the hooligans beating up Spanish fans in Sydney right now weren't even born the last time England won the World Cup. Probably never heard of Bobby Charlton, the hero of that 'Cup run.

I'm trying to imagine right now what the British national men's side is thinking as they watch the Lionesses ascend to a place no men's team has seen since the Beatles were all the rage. That the Lionesses clearly seem the class of the field, and likely to beat a Spanish side at war with its own national leadership, surely must stir mixed feelings.

On the one hand, they're Brits, and so you know they're cheering as loudly as anyone else. But don't you think some small part of them -- way down the gut, where it can barely be acknowledged -- is saying: "Damn, even the women are better than we are. We suck."?

No?

OK, so it's just me, then.

In any event, hail Britannia, which I can say with all proper charity considering we kicked their limey asses out of our country back in 1776. And somewhere in England right now, I imagine 85-year-old Bobby Charlton is saying the same thing, along with one more thought: "About damn time."

OK. So probably not.