We’re not just shamed by French, Brazilian and Colombia’s rousing call to arms, says Brian Reade, closer to home there’s the rousing Flower Of Scotland, Wales’ Land Of Our Fathers and Ireland’s The Soldiers’ Song, which never fail to set hearts aflame
There’s no shortage of outside voices taking pot-shots at this country right now.
From MAGA mobsters telling us we live in a borderless, crime-ridden hellhole to Europeans mocking us for being riddled with Bregret (regretting Brexit), we have become an easy target.
You would have thought that our reputation would be soaring as mankind celebrates its greatest-ever game which this country gifted to the world. Not so. With the Three Lions still hanging in there, prior to their every game the ears of the world are forced to listen to possibly the worst national anthem ever written.
That banal, one-note dirge that ludicrously asks God to save an old aristocrat, which, instead of inspiring players and fans to pump their chests as pride surges through their veins, trips apologetically out of embarrassed mouths like a release of stale wind.
This year, due to an expanded World Cup it sounds even more turgid because it’s now the worst of 48 anthems. And that’s not my verdict but that of The New York Times’ Athletic website, which placed God Save The King bottom in its ranking of all 48 World Cup anthems.
It is not just being shamed by stirring classics like the French, Brazilian and Dutch anthems but by Colombia’s rousing call to arms and Curacao’s sexy saxophone blaster. Closer to home Flower Of Scotland, Wales’ Land Of Our Fathers and Ireland’s The Soldiers’ Song never fail to set Celtic hearts aflame and make God Save The King seem as inspirational as Black Lace’s Agadoo.
Its lyrics are bland and nonsensical. A third of Brits don’t want a monarchy and two-thirds don’t believe in God, so why should anyone from either category sing it?
Just which part of “I think religion and monarchy are silly myths invented to keep the masses subservient so view this song as a pile of meaningless drivel” don’t they get?
We need a new anthem, but the Scots and Welsh already have their own banger, so let’s focus on stopping English mouths being forced to sing a dirge.
Billy Bragg’s A New England would be much better, as would Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody because even “Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the fandango?” makes more sense than asking God to save an old man we know he can’t.
We could make a smooth transition to God Save The Queen by the Sex Pistols, with its brilliant swipe at the backward-looking fools who hark after Empire: “There is no future in England’s dreaming.” How about The Jam’s Eton Rifles, which sums up the elite that rules us: “What chance have you got against a tie and a crest?”
If you fancy a classical number there’s William Blake’s masterly hymn, Jerusalem, a powerful attack on capitalist greed symbolised by the shame of the “dark Satanic mills”.
But weighing up every criteria I think we need a well-known, much-loved singalong number which sums up the ingrained national traits of cynicism, pessimism and stoicism: Eric Idle’s Always Look On the Bright Side Of Life.
Its added bonus being it would truly resonate during World Cups as we know that at some stage in the tournament every English fan will throw their head into their hands and say: “Life’s a piece of sh*t when you look at it.”