England’s football team has had more than its fair share of excruciation down the years in penalty shoot-outs. And England followers waiting for a return to the heights of 1966, when the World Cup was won on home soil, have waited on.

Patience derives from the Latin word meaning to suffer. How very patient we England followers have been down the years as Germany (World Cup 1990 semi-final), Germany (1996 Euros semi-final) and Portugal (2004 Euros quarter-final) have won the end game located at the penalty spot. And now Italy….

In the wake of another cruel defeat, England manager Gareth Southgate, whose missed penalty meant Germany reaching the 1996 Euro final, hugs a traumatised 19-year-old whose failure to score has cost the 2020 title. It’s like a bloody Greek tragedy, except it’s an English drama.

Sport is like human relationships. Of course you can proof yourself against hurt. All you need to do is avoid engaging. But once you’re in, you’re in for it…

The end of last night’s football match will have prompted millions to joy and millions to glum despair. Midway through the second half, with England one up, watching my silent screen (I couldn’t bear to have the sound on) I decided the status quo was partly dependent upon the fact that I had my legs crossed and was holding the handle of my mug of tea.

When the Italian equaliser was bundled in – a scrappy, ugly thing, so unlike Luke Shaw’s sublime half-volleyed opener, but you don’t get points for style – it was like watching a replay of something already known. Expected.

I decided I needed to up my game. So I moved across to the sofa. Then I decided it might be best if I watched while doing something in the hall, just glancing in at the screen. Then I decided I might as well sit down, telling myself how absurd this was, that it was only a game, that nobody would die (probably, one hoped) and I got a handle on the whole thing – my tea mug again.

After the third England penalty miss signalled finita, la commedia I was filled with emotions I couldn’t even name. I didn’t know what to do with myself. The only thing that seemed to work was pacing up and down in my kitchen until the unmanageable, ungovernable mix abated.

Absolutely ludicrous behaviour. A year ago we were watching football with no spectators. A bit further back there was no football to watch as a real-life pandemic took hold. I know. And yet that’s the crazy lure of sport. Once you’re in, you’re in for it…

The cruellest twist, I find, is that you can catch yourself imagining a different outcome in all these sporting disappointments as your mind wanders back to the road not travelled.

Marcus Rashford’s gamble as he takes England's third penalty pays off, the hesitation, the keeper going the wrong way, and the ball, rather than bouncing off the post, diverts in. It's 3-3 and all to play for...

Captain Harry Maguire holding up the trophy. Southgate beaming, once more punching the air in the solar plexus…

And then your mind spins back through time on a similar random mission.

Britain’s Dave Bedford moving away from the main bunch in the 1972 Olympic 10,000 metres final, the length of the straight clear by the bell, off on a victory lap…

United States Olympian Lindsey Jacobellis, "having fun" on the run-in to gold in the 2006 Winter Olympic Games snowboard cross, accomplishing to perfection her showboating "method grab" before gliding over the line to victory…

A 35-yard piledriver from Liverpool’s Steven Gerrard in the final seconds of the 2006 FA Cup final smashes against the post, and seconds later West Ham United have won 3-2 and got their hands once again on the trophy they had last lifted in 1964…

Jean van de Velde, having arrived at the 18^th hole of the 1999 Open course at Carnoustie needing only a double bogey six to become the first Frenchman since 1907 to win a major golf tournament, gambles rather than plays safe with his second shot, which bounces off the railings of the grandstand by the side of the green, lands on the stone wall of the Barry Burn but then, miraculously, backspins down, leaving him with the simple task of accomplishing his shock victory with shots to spare…

Franz Beckenbauer’s bobbling drive towards the end of the 1970 World Cup quarter-final in Leon is easily pounced upon by goalkeeper Peter Bonetti, “The Cat”, and England’s 2-0 lead holds good to take them past West Germany into their second successive semi-final and a meeting in the final with Brazil…

Sad; pointless; ridiculous. Unavoidable.