England is the greatest sporting nation on earth – England V Australia Rugby

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It may not be politically appropriate in a planet in which only Celts look authorized to beat their patriotic breast and my granny in Donegal will absolutely excommunicate me if she ever reads this but across the board, and across the a long time, there is no sporting nation on this planet to compare with England.

We are spoiled rotten in this state, usually without realising or appreciating it. If you violently disagree and want to find the money for best pet dog standing to one more nation, let us be hearing from you in but first consider what English activity and competition have presented us – and continue to give.

England is a packed Twickenham and whiskey nips on frosty afternoons and singing Abide with Me at Wembley. It is a Bobby Charlton piledriver, a Wally Hammond cover generate and Lawrence Dallaglio’s tears as the national anthem plays.

England is the Grand National, Red Rum, Bob Champion and Aldaniti. It is Desert Orchid. It is Lester Piggott. Royal Ascot, Glorious Goodwood and York Ebor meeting. The beer tent at Plumpton in January, the Cotswolds perfection of Badminton in Could.

England is Graham Hill’s twitching moustache, Fran Cotton’s Dan Dare Jaw, Gary Lineker’s ears, Denis Compton’s knees, David Beckham metatarsals, Jonny Wilkinson clasped hands and a Jessica Ennis smile.

England is the naughty boy allure and world beating expertise of Barry Sheene, James Hunt and Jenson Button the consumate all-round skill of John Surtees, the die difficult aggression and racing instincts of Lewis Hamilton. It is Stirling Moss insisting that Mike Hawthorn be reinstated in second spot in the 1958 Portuguese Grand Prix and then shedding the globe championship by one particular point to his fellow Englishman. Course, type, substance.

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England is the peerless Coleman, Peter Allis, Harry Carpenter . . . and there goes Murray Walker as well. It is the poety of Arlott, the eloquent silences of Longhurst behind the mike and James Alexander Gordon reading through the football final results on a Saturday evening.

England is the matchless Ben Ainslie ruling the waves and Dame Ellen using on the globe. It is Becky Adlington powering down the last duration, the massive expertise of the dimunitive Tom Daley, Daley Thompson undertaking back flips of joy in the pole vault pit, Dame Kelly Holmes’ seem of wonder and Mark Cavendish tearing up the Champs Elysee and leaving the peloton for lifeless.

England is Mike Brearley out-contemplating the opposition, Sir Ian outdrinking and outplaying the identical. It is the English rose splendor and breathtaking capacity of Lillian Board and Mary Rand and the superb working of one more dashing blonde. Richard Sharpe, as he dummied – not the moment, not twice but a few moments – for that famous consider in opposition to Scotland.

England is Nick Faldo in the zone, the timeless perfection of Torvill and Dean, the gung-ho courage of Amy Williams. It is Jason Leonard sharing post-match pints with the opposition. It the effortless calme of contemporary pentathlete Dr Steph Cooke, the deceny of ‘our Enry’ and the enduring bravery of Michael Watson

England is golf in the snow at the Presidents Putter, Sunningdale in autumn, the globe snooker championship and drama at the Crucible. And it is the assumed, bordering on obsession, of finally successful the Planet Cup in cricket, sailing to victory in the America’s Cup, Lee Westwood profitable a main and over all else successful a penalty shoot-out that matters.

“This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.” Shakespeare probably was not considering about sport at the time but his phrases ring at any time correct.

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