Matthew Panter: The dream's over and my lucky socks failed

Likewise, my Star Wars socks, threadbare on one heel, couldn’t help perform another miracle either.

England’s Euro dream was shattered.

Once again, football wasn’t coming home. All that was returning was a group of frustrated players, ruing another chance that had got away from them and a manager deciding it was his time to finish.

I had pulled out all of the stops to find some additional lucky omens and items ahead of England’s final with Spain. Luck has after all been on our side during the tournament.

It had felt like, even though we’d been off the pace for much of the competition that, this time, more than any other time, we’d get it right – it was written in the stars.

My daughter’s ruined leggings had remained in the house rather than binned. Eleanor had been on a day trip with the Guides on the day of England’s clash with Slovakia.

She’d returned from a great day overall but had fallen over, cut her knee and ripped her black trousers.

Having cleaned up and changed, she handed me the ruined leggings to throw away but I was still holding them when Jude Bellingham popped up with his dramatic match-saving bicycle kick.

So I suddenly decided we couldn’t throw them away until England were out of the tournament or had lifted the trophy.

I’d worn the same pair of Chewbacca socks for each game too.

And then, come kick-off for the final in Berlin, I found myself overwhelmed by superstition.

In the semi-final, I’d popped into the kitchen and missed the opening goal for the Dutch, a brilliant strike from Xavi Simons putting them ahead.

So, I was determined not to leave the living room during the final at any point, not even to raid the fridge for a beer.

I started the game by watching the BBC too.Was that the right thing, I thought to myself? Was Guy Mowbray more of a lucky omen than Sam Matterface?

After falling behind, I was torn over changing channel. Would switching over make a difference for the better or worse? Sorry Sam, I’m sticking with Guy – I’d quite enjoyed the Gladiators reboot.

England needed a few fighters when trailing and up popped Cole Palmer with a cracking strike. My decision to stick with the BBC commentary had paid off, I thought.

But there was a sting in the tail from Mikel Oyarzabal’s late strike. I pondered a late switch in channel but, by this point, felt emotionally drained.

There was late hope, with a goal-line clearance but it wasn’t to be. The dream was over. The lucky socks and all had failed.

I finally tuned into ITV for the lifting of the trophy and all. Their theme tune, a version of The Neverending Story seemed quite appropriate, although forget Limahl, this year was all about Lamine Yamal. We’ve been involved in this neverending story of dismal defeats, glorious failures and close shaves for too long now.

I heard someone say ‘we’re on a journey’ with England. But when do we reach our destination?

As someone reaching my 50th year next year (yes I still wear Chewbacca socks), I’ve started to wonder if I’ll ever see England lift a major trophy in the beautiful game.

But I thought the same about witnessing a Brit win Wimbledon once as we went through the wringer watching Tim Henman and all, and Andy Murray finally stepped up and delivered. It’s the hope that kills you, they say, but we’ll keep on dreaming.

We clearly have some talented young players and that augurs well but the problem is, the likes of Spain also have incredible young talent like Yamal. But, once the wounds heal, we’ll be back on the rollercoaster of watching England.

I just need to decide whether my old socks stick around for another two years or not.