Dan had been there for eight hours by the time Jude Bellingham’s winner hit the net. He’d lost count of the pints by then, although he joked his bank balance would provide a rough estimate the following morning.
He’d not sat down in that time, mind. In order to keep his place in the scrum of England fans that surround the central screen at Box Park Wembley, Dan had stood stoically in place from just after 7pm to this very moment, all in the hopes of being front and centre for a moment like this.
And what a moment it was. And then what a moment that was too. And then that. And then that. And then… well, you get the picture.
The motley crew that had descended on Box Park Wembley certainly got their money’s worth this time, with five goals, one red card, and most importantly an England win.
There’s a prevailing sense that the sort of England fan that goes to BoxPark is in some way ‘fake.’ Whereas in years gone by, these strange multistorey warehouses turned fanparks have been seen as the zenith of spontaneous celebration, people now turn their nose up.
Dan tells me: “People think it’s all for social media [and that] it’s forced, but these are England fans.” He’s referring to the pint throwing, which has seemingly gone from a happy reflex to something entirely choreographed.
And yet, when Jude Bellingham puts England 2-0 up against Mexico at the Azteca, and you’re greeted by a wall of lukewarm lager falling from the heavens, you feel the pull of the pint-throwing void, the urge to launch yours in the air and join in on the party.
I ask Dan another question but as he answers Mexico pulls one back, and we’re once again showered by a tidal wave of Staropramen, this time thrown in frustration.
Quite where attendees are finding these beers from I genuinely don’t know, it’s sort of like the football fan version of the magician pulling handkerchiefs out of his sleeve.
Either way we’re wet, nervous, and tired – three feelings Boxparkers know all too well. England vs Mexico at Box Park at 2am attracts the sort of people willing to tell people the next day they watched England vs Mexico at Box Park at 2am.
It is, in many ways, an objectively rubbish place to watch football. Built inside a black, metal warehouse that would give an El Salvadorean megaprison a sense of character by comparison, even at 2 in the morning it feels close to 30 degrees in the dense crowd, a feeling exasperated by the unavoidable smell of sweat and beer.
And yet, despite its apparent shortcomings, England fans descend on these halls in their thousands, even in the early hours of Monday morning. I ask a fan, potentially called Paul, what makes Box Park worth it.
“The atmosphere”, he says, “and that” – pointing to a huge man hoisted up on the shoulders of his much smaller friend. Beyond all the performative pint launching there is so much “and that” on display.
Teenagers covering each other’s eyes because they can’t watch the penalties, heartbroken Brazil fans wandering around at 3:40am because they’ve been swept up by the occasion. There’s laughter and chanting and singing and hugging and kissing for eight long hours right into Monday morning.
I find Dan, at 3-2, crouching in agony on the floor. He sees me and leaps up, immediately mimicking Jarrel Quansah’s mistimed challenge on my shin to show why he should never have been sent off (“It’s simple physics”, he tells me.)
He’s managed to get 2 more pints just in case – “one if we score, one for full-time.” Neither make it to the end. The first was launched for a well-timed Ezri Konsa block, and the other knocked over in frustration at a throw not being awarded England’s way.
When the whistle does come, it’s met of course, by more pints being launched, and a hearty rendition of a favourite chant. “Don’t take me home, please don’t take me home, I just don’t want to go to work.”
I ask Dan if that chant rings true. “I’m in at 9”, he tells me, before disappearing into the fray. Dan deserved this. Box Park deserved this. England deserved this.