The day before England were set to play the Netherlands in the Euros semi-finals, I received a phone call from my dad. He opened with, “what are you doing tomorrow?” I already knew he had a ticket to the match, through the advantage of knowing a few well-off businessmen, but it seems his luck had, at that moment, extended to me. Following this 10 minute phone call, I booked a flight to Düsseldorf for the next day.

I will skip my less than ideal day of travelling, vendetta against TfL, and other such turmoils, and jump straight to my arrival in Dortmund.

Stepping out of the train station, it became clear that us England fans may have been a little outnumbered by the orange army. But that didn’t hinder our pilgrimage to the stadium, carefully marked by a mile long strip of astroturf that had been laid to help direct fans. The atmosphere built the closer you got to the stadium as more and more fans joined us on the path to the game, punctuated by half-and-half scarf sellers and policemen.

Once inside, I could take in the stunning view of the stadium and the whole pitch that I had from the upper level of the stands, midway between the halfway line and the Dutch end. From here, you could see why the Dutch were given the yellow wall. Adorned in bright orange, with drums and flags, they certainly are a fanbase to admire. You could see the smaller allocation of England fans trickle in over this time, but clearly we had chosen to drink outside of the stadium for much longer than the Dutch.

The crowd grew closer to kickoff, and the prediction that England fans would be outnumbered only became more true. Each side only got an allocation of 7,300 each - the rest of the stadium was mixed between fans and the Dutch being geographically closer tipped support their way.

I was sat between two Dutch fans and two England fans, who were most definitely German, but had gone through the effort of buying a shirt so were welcome all the same. But it was clear many attendees were just rich people with access to tickets. Some made the effort to adorn country colours and pick an allegiance, others less so. It’s an unfortunate downside of international tournaments and takes away from the atmosphere, leaving die hard fans to watch in a fan zone whilst the rich sit inside, the outcome meaning next to nothing to them.

The game began and the England fans roared, but at times were hard to hear over the Dutch and their greater numbers.

Conceding in the 7th minute, I’ll admit, was not entirely how I wanted the game to start, but it was a beautiful goal and it sadly came as no surprise. But no hope had been lost either, if we’ve shown one thing in this tournament, it’s that we love to come back from behind.

“Nothing beats the atmosphere of a penalty, the anticipation, the stress and then the jubilation when it goes in”

What was a surprise though was how excitingly the game had begun and how it continued in the second half. I’m sure I’m not the only one who had seen how England played at this tournament and expected another snooze-fest against the Dutch. But instead we actually pushed forward and had chances on goal.

Then came the slightly controversial penalty. Now there’s nothing like a VAR check when you’re in the stadium because you have absolutely no clue what’s going on. I wasn’t even aware they were checking for a foul until the fateful VAR check announcement appeared on the screens in the stadium. Only at half time did we realise how unfair the decision probably was. But nothing beats the atmosphere of a penalty, the anticipation, the stress and then the jubilation when it goes in. We were back in it, never in doubt.

The second half was somewhat of a let down after the excitement of the first. My 4 hours of sleep certainly caught up with me as I watched us pass around the back for 30 minutes, only interrupted occasionally by Phil Foden being very unlucky on goal. I was resigned to the fact it would be a late night for me and I would be in that stadium for an extra 30 minutes.

The only spark of hope came from the offside goal in the 78th minute, thankfully I had full sight of the linesman, so I didn’t embarrass myself too much celebrating that one. I can’t say the same for the owners of the beer I saw flung in the air.

Then came the wonder changes in the 80th minute, in true Southgate style, because why would you ever give a substitution more than 10 minutes to make a difference? But I can’t criticise him beyond that because, as we all know, they bloody worked.

“Celebrating that goal was amazing, I’m not sure I have words to describe it beyond that”

I was honestly so distracted by how well we’d been playing in those 10 minutes that I hadn’t realised it was the 90th minute. But I stood up as soon as Ollie Watkins got that ball in the box and as soon as it left his foot I knew it was going in.

It was one of those moments where you believe the football gods just couldn’t deny it. A strike that good, from a game so good, to contribute to a beautiful story just couldn’t not come true.

Celebrating that goal was amazing, I’m not sure I have words to describe it beyond that. Nothing can ever beat a last minute winner.

Then once it died down a little, you then remember your seating arrangement, and those poor Dutch fans next to you just had the worst time of their lives. A nail biting further 2 minutes passed, with some time wasting subs and the most celebrated winning of a throw-in I’ve ever seen before the final whistle blew.

Belting of Sweet Caroline, only interjected by letting by some dejected Dutch fans, was how my celebrations went. Then, only once all the players had gone back down the tunnel did I leave the stadium with a great big smile on my face.

I’m not going to say it’s coming home, because I do believe in jinxing football, but there certainly is a chance, and it was an honour to witness some of the journey.