Light the touchpaper on your flares, because England stands on the threshold of two days of giddy possibility. There is, quite simply, no greater weekend available to an England football supporter than the one leading up to the climax of a major tournament in which the national side has made the final. Truth be told, there is not a whole lot more English than trying to sound insouciantly au fait with that type of weekend. Let’s face it, we barely know what we’re talking about on this front (also very English). The reality is that England have previously made precisely two of those finals in the entire history of the game, and one of those was on a Saturday, not a Sunday. But listen: three of anything makes a trend. Just as the long buildup to Christmas can be infinitely more joyful and infinitely less stressful than the day itself, so this is a weekend to be intensely savoured before the inevitable tip over into mindless something-or-other when the whistle blows for the end of play on Sunday night. To be clear: I am hoping for mindless euphoria but also preparing for one of the other mindless options available. Expect anything and everything other than mindfulness. With a dedicated breathing coach and movement therapist, there is a definite holistic approach to Gareth Southgate’s team bubble – but it’s fair to say English fandom remains wholly untouched by wellness. Unless you count sticking a flare up your arse – arguably the England fan’s equivalent of Gwyneth Paltrow sticking a jade egg up her vagina. You might recall that particular act of self-care took place in Leicester Square in the buildup to England’s last Euros final in 2021. The chaos of that day latterly became the subject of a Netflix documentary, which has helpfully managed to share our local magic to all the streamer’s global territories. We invented this game, doncha know – and then we invented putting flares up your bum as part of the buildup. You’re welcome, world! I can’t remember if we think we invented policing too, but do please recall that despite that day’s absolute disasterclass in it, the then Met chief was not relieved of her job, but instead found herself at Buckingham Palace within days, being made a Dame Commander. Again: that’s how we do it. If you have to ask, you’ll never know. The one change this time round is that the new government is not currently setting its arse on fire by stoking culture wars over the football. Ahead of the Euros final in 2021, there had been whole weeks of excruciating discourse about England players taking the knee, including from the then prime minister, Boris Johnson, and his ministers. But once they got to the final, even second-toughest-at-Rada Laurence Fox was issuing formal tweet-thread apologies. “I have always been behind England in any sport and any English team in any competition,” bleated Laurence, who – not four weeks previously – had stated he felt “embarrassed to be British” and declared: “I hope any team but ours wins in any future sporting endeavour.” He probably did another U-turn when England eventually lost that final on penalties – but then, many people of greater consequence did too. Once Southgate’s young side failed to clinch that 2021 final and a tide of racist abuse came in, even the prime minister was walking away from his farts. “I always said it was wrong to boo the England players,” lied Johnson, live on air. But all that, let’s be honest, is very England too: being a dick, and then either pretending you didn’t do it, or being tearfully apologetic about it the morning after. Hating people but loving them really but also hating them. Some travelling fans in Germany are probably right now not simply explaining that the beer they threw at Southgate earlier in the tournament was in fact a sign of gratitude and respect – but explaining it and honestly believing it. The pope famously accused Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton of “erotic vagrancy” after their carrying-on in Rome, and there is something of that chaotic sensuality to the England support’s relationship with the national side in pretty much any city in which they’ve mawkishly failed to break up with each other again. Certainly, as a fandom, we can put the booze away like Burton and Taylor. Spain have come the hardest way to this final and look clearly the best side at the tournament. England have come the easiest way, got lost in the woods, had a crisis, recovered, had another crisis, come together, come apart, dodged cup missiles – and that’s just the team. The fans have been on more journeys than Marco Polo. Take penalty shootouts. Spent my life dreading them, from bitter experience. But now? After this tournament? Extremely keen for Sunday night to go to penalties. I’ve said – I’ve ALWAYS said – that they are England’s happy place. This, then, is us: a country where the switchback ride sometimes feels it is the destination. Maybe that will change with this final, and maybe it won’t. Maybe the England fan who got Gareth Southgate’s face tattooed on his arse in 2018 above the slogan “It’s coming home” has since had it lasered, then re-inked, then lasered again, then re-inked. But if England do win on Sunday, you can assume he will enhance this eternal gluteal trauma site by adding a vast banner bearing what must, by now, be the unofficial England motto. All together now: “NEVER IN DOUBT!” Marina Hyde is a Guardian columnist