The realisation dawned as the clock hit 91 minutes.
Time was winding down, the scoreboard showing Spain 2, England 1. Desperation faded into despair and the tears began to solemnly flow freely throughout the pub, the city, the country.
When the final whistle sounded three minutes later, almost total silence.
It is not coming home. Fifty-eight years of hurt in the men’s game will become 60.
That was the scene in an East Dulwich pub called the Bishop. But it is one that would have been replicated across the land.
It was a day that reflected the past five weeks.
Every other man, woman, child and dog — not joking — was clad in England kit throughout South London yesterday, as anticipation brewed.
Did they genuinely think they would win? Certainly there was the belief that they could.
But there were no delusions.
That Spain had been far superior was widely recognised. Yet England, as poorly as they had played, were there in the final. That was enough. They were a chance, a moment of magic from entering football nirvana.
It was something to cling to. And cling to it they did.
For two hours on a Sunday night, it was every mood imaginable. Excitement and tension gave way to shock and, very quickly, frustration and anger at their own team, after conceding early in the second half.
Ollie Watkins’ introduction brought the biggest cheer of the night to that point, before the unrivalled ecstasy as Cole Palmer — London’s favourite son right now — put England back on level terms.
And for 15 minutes they believed once again.
They hung on every shot, every save, every attacking movement.
Then came a second wave of shock as Mikel Oyarzabal, onside by the barest of margins, finished a superb goal to give Spain back the lead in the 86th minute.
It was undeniably a huge blow. Yet still, they believed.
Tension reached fever pitch when England were denied three times in front of goal, the second by literal inches.
That was the moment. Everyone knew it.
When Watkins was booked a minute later, the realisation came — and you did not have to look far for tears.
What a ride. Just as the past five weeks have been.
How quickly the pre-tournament optimism turned to wild pessimism then back to, perhaps not optimism, but belief.
And that belief is all you need sometimes.
It was only a week and a-half ago the whole country seemingly wanted Gareth Southgate gone — mid-tournament, no less. It’s not working. He needs to make changes. They are poorly coached.
So everyone said. And in fairness, a lot of that remains valid.
But he and the team found ways to win.
In a tournament, after all, winning is all that matters. It is where so many England teams before them have fallen over.
And it is delivering in those moments — Bellingham’s bicycle kick, Saka putting to bed the demons of three years ago, Watkins’ late introduction to find the back of the net in the semifinal — that got this England team to that final point.
With each of those, they won the nation back just that little bit more.
How close they came. But the dreams go on. They never stop, really.
Three lions on a shirt, 60 years of hurt.
