I'm afraid this post contains expletives. Not about the football, mind. The football scarcely merits comment, except to say I've never seen an English defence made to look so porous.
English football fans are notorious around the world for their despicable conduct. For some reason it brings the worst out of us, as a nation. I'm lucky enough only to have witnessed such behaviour on a handful of occasions. Sadly, today that list grew.
I don't meet many fellow Englishmen here in Cairo - it's mainly Americans and continental sorts I run into around and about. I was pleased, then, to see a compatriot greet me as I sat down to watch the match in a trendy and peaceful garden cafe in the leafy suburb of Maadi.
As Rooney and Defoe kicked off, a gentleman with a shock of hair which hardly looked his own asked if he could make use of one of the empty chairs at our table. I obliged - the more the merrier.
When an offside Miroslav Klose breezed past the hapless Matthew Upson to fire home Germany's first, the strange-haired man raised his fists and cheered. A German equivalent of "get in!" The Englishman and I exchanged glances, shellshocked and in awe of Upson's pathetic effort at "defending".
Minutes later, Podolski slotted home the second, and the German cheered again. His ecstasy must have been directly disproportional to my dismay. This was too much for my countryman. Concepts of stiff upper-lipped sportsmanship went out the window as the Englishman, maybe a little younger than myself, began a foul-mouthed tirade. "Stop screaming in my fucking ear! Just shut the fuck up." Turning, he moved to within a few inches of the German's face and let out an ugly shout, demonstrating his grievance. "How do you like it? I'll give you something to fucking scream about."
The stunned German tried to reason with him - it's only a game, just because you're losing... Upson made amends for his earlier mistake to make it 2-1, and once again the offensive youth turned, screaming in the German's face, nose to nose. The German sat peacefully, barely remonstrating, which seemed only to inflame the Englishman. As waiters and customers tried to calm the situation and prevent the young man from becoming more physically aggressive, I wanted to curl into a ball and hope no one would remember that I too was English. It was all I could do to meekly ask the waiters to turn the character out on his heels, and pray for any Germans celebrating their team in England. The waiters offered to reseat the Germany supporter. He politely declined.
As the screen showed replay after replay of the goal that never was, the German went out of his way to placate the young Englishman - it was a goal, it's clear, I'm sorry. The graceful self-deprecation continued throughout the match, and as the third and fourth went in, it was a more muted celebration shown. Fists in the air, but tight-lipped.
As the German left the match, I tried to apologise for my countryman's behaviour, but he didn't seem to listen, only extending his condolences about the margin of the result.
What it is about football, about England-Germany matches in particular, that leads us to such indignity is not entirely clear to me. There is simply no reasonable justification or explanation. I'm not sure I've ever felt quite so ashamed, embarrassed in front of my foreign colleagues and the gentle Egyptian waiters.
If, by chance, the Englishman I ran into today is reading this: You should be deeply, profoundly ashamed of yourself. I sincerely hope our paths never again cross, either in this crazy city or another. You have single handedly lost me my appetite for football at the time when it should be most celebrated.
Leaving the match, I felt sick to the stomach. And not at the result.
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