With the World Cup in Russia looming ever closer, Euro 2016 has already faded into the familiar post-tournament haze, a flip chart of half-remembered moments. Goals from headers. Happy, well-adjusted Icelandic people. Cristiano Ronaldo close-ups. Roy Hodgson in a blazer looking noble and sad. David Guetta grinning and thrusting about behind his DJ plinth like the kind of uncle you have to keep an eye on at Christmas.
This week I was also reminded of the posters of smiling, face-painted fans Uefa slapped up around French city centres: huge disembodied mugshots of supposed football supporters from every country, eyes wide, gripped with an apparently cloudless childlike ecstasy at their proximity to this celebration of the power of the brave new shining joy of our own global tomorrow-sport.
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