The roar from the crowd inside Wembley was one that sent down chills to those of us gathered outside, desperate to part of something that we thought would never happen again; England in a semi-final of a major tournament, the opposition, the old enemy, as my Dad once glorified in shouting at the television whenever an international match came on television, his absurd way of shuffling forward in his chair and then standing erect with his head bowed as God Save The Queen, a man of the old school, good, forthright, obedient.