DURING the final Oasis reunion gig at Wembley Stadium in September, I could hear a raucous group of middle-aged men bellowing along to a climactic Wonderwall from a corporate box just behind me.
As I turned around, all were standing save a single, slim Germanic man with a receding Herr-line, who remained seated but shifted from side to side while mouthing along to the words.
Tommy Tuchel has brought his own brand of wonderball to this England squad Credit: Getty
With Wonderwall ringing in their ears, perhaps this glorious paean can be fuel to thrust England deep into the tournament Credit: PA
His goggly stare and pursed lips had a familiar look and, jawohl, it was only Thomas fickin’ Tuchel dancing in his chair.
The England manager at the home of English football, as it was performed at deafening volume by the preeminent British band of the last half-century.
If Carlsberg did weekends . . .
This was the apex of a euphoric summer, when a sense of cohesion and patriotic spirit was reignited within our battered and divided isle as generations congregated in vast football stadia to relive a happier time and .
appeared mesmerised by the riotous assembly and communal explosion of English joy.
Perhaps it was the very moment that Bonehead and Co planted something of a seed in Der Boss’s very own conehead.
Fast-forward ten months and Tommy Tuchel has brought his own brand of wonderball to this , irresistible and relentless rock ’n’ roll Oasis football with a swagger, power and punch of which the Gallaghers would be proud.
And , memorably dubbed The Texas Kane Score Massacre by this organ, the stadium DJ cued up, no — not sickly Sweet Caroline nor clichéd Freed From Desire, but Wonderwall itself.
The mesmeric epic captured the moment of elation impeccably and cemented a bond between players and fans, just as it had done at Wemberlee the previous summer — as Tuchel bore witness. , , and were visibly moved with emotion as Liam’s transcendent vocals pierced the Dallas Stadium at the final whistle.
And that is why, as sweet as Caroline is, she must be dumped for a proper homegrown anthem forged by a gang of working-class Mancunian football fans.
Neil Diamond’s 1969 track has little relevance, smells cheesier than Jamie Oliver’s refrigerator and is simply slavishly aping naff American sport, sorry sports, protocol.
Wonderwall was first forged in May 1995 at Rockfield Studios in Wales, where Oasis spent several weeks working on what would become the towering (What’s The Story) Morning Glory? album.
Tuchel appeared mesmerised by the riotous assembly and communal explosion of English joy Credit: Getty
The mesmeric epic captured the moment of elation impeccably and cemented a bond between players and fans Credit: Getty Images
Fabled to be about Noel’s then-partner Meg Mathews, the song was initially named Wishing Stone but altered after taking inspiration from George Harrison’s 1968 solo album Wonderwall Music.
Criminally, it has never reached No1 on the UK charts, thwarted by some long-forgotten piffle from imposters Robson & Jerome — proof not everything was perfect in the 90s. It peaked at No8 in the US, the band’s strongest showing.
Yet its enduring pan-generational popularity is evidenced by nigh-on THREE BILLION Spotify streams.
I first heard it in September 1995, when Steve Lamacq previewed the album on his Radio 1 show.
Our jaws collectively dropped as we drove home from Liverpool that night. This was our Beatles.
Wonderwall became our wedding song and, despite hearing it thousands of times, it is something I have never tired of listening to.
This spiritual canticle must be declared England’s official anthem forthwith — during this World Cup and beyond.
With Wonderwall ringing in their ears, perhaps this glorious paean can be fuel to thrust England deep into the tournament.
And, I said maybe, it can propel the track to the place it has always truly belonged — at the top of the British charts.
during the World Cup match against Croatia must have been up there with one of Sir Alex Ferguson’s best.
His words jolted the players into action in what was one of the most exhilarating, front-foot halves of football involving the Three Lions in recent times.
Fergie was nicknamed The Hairdryer for his blistering team talks and, when he stepped down, one of my most-loved Sun front pages was born, above.
So, to celebrate Tommy Tickle’s memorable World Cup debut, it seems only right that we commemorate this with his very own Herr-dryer.
JEZZA LOVE
WE are all fans of Jeremy Clarkson’s journalism and broadcasting here.
The razor wit and sparkling humour in his writing have always been an inspiration.
So, please join me in wishing Jezza, who has been suffering with prostate cancer, a recovery as speedy as one of his laps on the Top Gear test track at Dunsfold Aerodrome.
Let’s get UK’s fave Jack back
Let’s get Geri Halliwell’s Union Jack dress back on UK soil Credit: Getty
I’VE tracked down the current location of Union Jack dress, that glorious symbol of Cool Britannia.
The tiny iconic outfit is not in a British museum, but at the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel in , Florida.
No, me neither.
It is criminal that, as we approach the 30th anniversary of its memorable unveiling at the 1997 Brits, the clobber is not where it belongs – here on UK soil. It’s up there with the Crown Jewels – ironic because, when she wore it, you could almost see Geri’s.
My campaign starts here.
Email customer_care@hardrock.com with the subject “Bring Back Geri’s Dress To Britain” and this travesty can stop right now, thank you very much.
ANDY'S FREAK SHOW
AND, in the end, Andy Burnham romped home with 55 per cent of the vote in the Makerfield by-election, Reform trailing on 35 per cent with Restore’s goose-stepping goons on seven per cent.
Make no mistake, this freak vote was simply a referendum on S’Keir’s leadership, or lack thereof.
Long-term, the dead-eyed extremists of Restore will serve to detoxify Reform and make them more palatable to many British voters, but only if they stop fielding candidates like gormless Robert Kenyon, a moron in an England shirt with the eloquence of a Love Island contestant, post lobotomy.
Slathering Restore fascist-in-chief Rupert Lowe appears worryingly aroused by the idea of a death penalty and would deport me immediately because my great-great grandfather hailed from County Monaghan.
He sits somewhere to the right of Mussolini and his chaotic one-man operation and bizarre backing from X boss Adolf Musk serves to paint Farage’s party as organised, reasonable and more centred.
With weirdo Lowe going low, Reform can fly high.
A.I. AND A LIST OF LIES
The fake AI-generated graphic which is littered with factual errors Credit: Supplied
STUMBLED on a fascinating and informative graphic listing of the world’s top seven actresses this week on – where else? – sowshuul me-me-meeja.
It has at numero uno, with an estimated fortune of $400million.
She is closely followed in second place by another similar-looking actress also named Reese Witherspoon with, eh?, $440million in the bank. What kind of tomfoolery is this?
To compound my confusion, in sixth is someone supposedly called Setayne O’Hara with an apparent wealth if $960million, but she doesn’t appear to actually exist.
On first inspection, the graphic looks credible and professional but was clearly created by a sloppy piece of malfunctioning AI experiencing a level of hallucination not seen since a John Lennon whitey circa 1967.
There was clearly zero human oversight and that is proof right there that all AI-generated “content” needs to be handled with extreme caution.
FILTHY MITTS
LEATHER flying gloves worn by former naval officer Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor in the Falklands were expected to sell for £2,000 at auction.
Alas, not one soul wanted to part with their hard-earned moolah to own the sweaty, or maybe not, mitts once worn by a perverted, lying and cheating weirdo former prince – the lot received no bids. A royal Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Eff all.
Let us pray it won’t be long before Andrew becomes familiar with a somewhat different pair of gloves, namely those of a latex kind, worn by a uniformed officer performing a rather intimate early morning search at HMP Belmarsh.
POLICE against a parent who failed to call her transgender child by their new name.
The case was reported after the youngster told teachers in Dyfed-Powys that they were unhappy their mum was not using the alias.
Not, and never, a hate incident, but rather an extreme waste of precious police time.
Eze Chidiebere Paul
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