Any doubts that the sporting year would pass without reflection on England's epic World Cup defeat against Argentina were spectacularly banished this week, with a pair of documentaries by Britain's two main terrestrial channels.
Both ITV and BBC seemed convinced that the evening of the match was one which brought alive some sort of English idyll, the Dunkirk spirit thriving in the softness of a summer's eve, in stark contrast to little over a decade ago when countless documentaries argued that the prevalence of terrace hooliganism pointed to a society in decline.
Even the titles - When England played Argentina (ITV) and Where Were You? Pride, Passion and Penal- ties (BBC) - subtly sold the idea that the evening had had an indelible impact on the psyche of the nation, that it belonged to the stuff of folklore.
And it was very well done. The format didn't vary greatly, with (cinematic) footage from the game linked with surprisingly candid interviews with the players and contributions from the public.
The BBC, somewhat ludicrously, solicited the views of Ulrika Jonsson and Mick Jagger, who needlessly pointed out that he didn't know a lot about soccer. He was, however, astute enough to realise that the first penalty awarded to Argentina "was not good." Watch out, Lawro et al.
Of much better value were ITV's salt of the earth types, like David Bushall, who felt short-changed in the sibling department after watching Michael Owen's wonder strike.
"My brother and `im is the same age and `e can't kick a ball to save his life, but `ere's Owen scoring the best goal of the World Cup," he pondered.
David said this in a peeved tone, as though it was as well for England that his young brother had not been playing that night. (Now, either his brother is an astonishingly bad young professional footballer or else David really hasn't got a grasp on how a player comes to find himself on an international soccer team).
Also reminiscing were the old dears from Alwoodley Bridge Club, Harry whose shed on Falklands Road burned down and the Reverend Michael Burley, who was almost tempted to go nuts and down half an ale by the whole giddy excitement of it all.
The most instructive aspect of the programmes was the difference in attitudes towards the penalty shootout. Diego Simeone admitted that the Argentine squad practised penalties every single day. Contrast this with the mature recollection of David Batty, explaining why he fancied himself to succeed where Waddle and Southgate had famously failed before.
"I thought, yeah, ah'll 'ave a penalty, even though ah'd not 'ad one in competitive football before."
Most of England, when Batty stepped forward, must have shared the feelings of Des Lynam, who remembered a little voice telling him: "Hold on, we could be in trouble here."
One patriot, though, the indefatigable Bobby Robson, his expression vacuous to the last, held a different view. "I was confident of David," he announced. Suddenly, the past mishaps of English squads explained themselves.
Ulrika Jonsson was unabashed in her admiration for the fans' chanting and their ability to come up with "new things". "If I had been a player on the pitch, I'd have been uplifted no end," she added.
Mind you, if Ulrika had appeared on the pitch as a player (and it was a distinct possibility, given the idiosyncrasies of Glenn Hoddle's selection policy), the fans' flair for innovative chanting might have suffered a little.
It was difficult not to sympathise (a bit) when Batty's duff kick brought the curtain down on the "Citizen Kane of all matches".
But when you saw the slow motion footage set to the strains of Adagio for Strings (mass-popularised in Oliver Stone's war movie Platoon) and when the narrator kicked the game off with an ominous "let the battle commence", there rose the nagging feeling that (for some) the last ghosts of old Empire linger on in English sporting occasions now. And it's not a nice thought.
Saturday at Twickenham was another good day out for the English sporting public, who lustily swung low as they watched the Kramer vs Kramer of all rugby matches (20 minutes too long, dull, anti-climactic).
Fortress Twickers is one of the great venues. There was always something transfixing about the low drone of "heave" which filled the arena when the English pack set up for their pushover tries against Ireland in the late eighties. And Simon Geoghegan's try there a few years back was worth a nostalgic documentary in its own right. ("Where Were You? Stuffing it to Will Car- ling" might have been a useful working title).
But this was a dour old game, a slug fest for the forwards with not enough action for the "jessies", as Mick Skinner affectionately described the backs.
Sure, beating the South Africans might have been good for the Northern Hemisphere, but it's tough to feel patriotic about the upper half of the entire world.
Before the game, Bill Beamount declared that, "a surprise by England wouldn't really. . . surprise me". His unflappability was well placed.
England won deservedly, if only for the wonderful sleight of hand shown by Jeremy Guscott as he bagged a tough pass from Dan Luger for England's try. But for all Clive Woodward's dancing around the stands, there was a sense that the music will beat to southern rhythms when the World Cup begins.
Anyway, the impudence of the RFU, organising a test match for the same day as John McEnore was playing a bit of tennis on the telly.
Old Mac showed up on BBC 1 over the weekend in the ATP Seniors tour and he is still the best thing about the game. At 39, he reckoned he was playing his finest tennis in eight years and the commentator observed that the only sign of age lay in "the hint of gray in his hair." (There remains, in fact, a slight hint of brown).
While talking to Sue Barker, Mac dragged a few fans wearing outlandish Superbrat wigs, replete with trademark headbands, down for the cameras. "Wow, I wish I still had hair like that," he grinned. But wow, does he still have the game.
