Portugal.

That’s who I’ve drawn in our seemingly inevitable office World Cup sweepstakes: Portugal. Nothing against the Portuguese or Portugal itself, but it’s not exactly a team that fills me with a sense of proud certainty when it comes to winning the handsome top prize. But it doesn’t really bother me – the World Cup is about to begin, and sweepstakes are part of the fun.

England, my proud nation, will play their first match tomorrow. I’ll be watching it. Or rather, I’ll be listening to it while I work. I know, I know: How awful to have to work on a Saturday. In fact: How awful to have to work on the first Saturday of the World Cup, and during England’s first game. And I don’t even really like football.

I say like; I don’t necessarily mind football, it’s just that there seem to be so many, so much more interesting things I could be doing. That’s not to belittle those who love the sport – I can see the appeal, it’s just that it’s never really been a high priority for me. And yet, here I am, moaning about missing the first match. Why do I care?

And the only honest answer I can come up with is: I have no idea. Is it the fact that our lads are second favourite to win? No: I’ve been let down so many times – We have been let down so many times – that part of me doesn’t really believe that we’ll win. Is it because I’m fiercely proud of my country or heritage? Wrong again: Despite everything that’s going on, I still love my country, and I’m still proud that we can represent ourselves at this level in a global tournament, but I don’t really believe we’re special beyond all other nations. We don’t have any more right to win the cup just because we invented the sport…

The only reason for my interest, that I can put my finger on, is the atmosphere. The weather on our usually rainy little island has been gloriously sunny over the last few days. Every where I drive, on my route to work, or to the shops for groceries, I see England flags. They’re attached to cars, draped over back seats, hanging from the windows of houses, and even flying from flag poles in front gardens. Every time I turn on the radio, switch on the television, or load the BBC news page, I confronted with more stories about Rooney’s broken (or hopefully not so broken) foot, Sven’s plans for victory, and our national hero’s (again, hopefully) activities in Baden-Baden.

Radio One DJ Chris Moyles and team have been dispatched to Germany; for the next few weeks, my daily commute to work will be heavily tinged with eau-de-football. Television programs will be rescheduled to make room for matches. The office canteen have produced a television from somewhere so employees can catch the England matches. It’s everywhere.

And I don’t mind. I should. Usually I’d be heartily sick of all this by now, and the tournament hasn’t even begun. And yet there’s something about the World Cup that just hooks me in. I’m powerless to resist.

And so I’ll watch the matches. I’ll moan about being in work for the first one. I’ll cheer our lads on and hope we achieve the ultimate victory. And if the time comes to return home empty handed, I’ll be disappointed. Again.

But life goes on. It just pleases me to see a nation united in hope and pride, and who aren’t afraid to display their national colours – a statement which sounds impossibly cheesy but is true. So come on England: Let’s see what you can do.

And good luck to the rest of you.