The morning after the night of heartbreak. The adrenaline that had sustained England supporters through 90 gruelling minutes has now ebbed away, replaced by a heavy knot in the stomach and a hazy disbelief — that uneasy feeling of trying to piece together what unfolded, much like guilt seeping through a hangover.

It’s a familiar scene, one that England fans know only too well. The surroundings of this emotional abyss are well recognised. England’s exits from the World Cup in agonising, gut-wrenching fashion have become something of a four-yearly custom — as much a part of national culture as Sunday roasts or the ceremonial attire of the Beefeaters. There’s little to do but accept the anguish, embrace the despair, and let the sorrow wash over.

England’s eliminations from the World Cup are rarely straightforward. They are often decided by the slimmest of margins, dubious refereeing calls, bizarre twists of fate or moments of pure folly. England seldom just lose. The Hand of God, Ronaldinho’s audacious lob; Beckham’s dismissal, Rooney’s red card, Lampard with his head in his hands. Is there another footballing nation burdened by such raw, haunting scars? Why are there so many that they almost form a tragic poem?

Anthony Gordon stares into the distance after England’s World Cup exit, the image encapsulating the collective gloom.

Because defeat, for England, is never straightforward, it brings with it a strange kind of mourning — a sense of loss for the tournament that continues without them. How will it carry on now? Will the remaining teams even think of them during hydration breaks?

Yet, this particular loss feels different. Argentina 2–1 England. No controversy, no post-match debates over refereeing decisions, despite the match being played with an edge from the first whistle until long after the final one. Referee Ismail Elfath never once uttered the dreaded “after review…” into his microphone.

So many times before, England fans have woken up feeling robbed — by officials, by cunning opponents, by cruel fate, or occasionally by one of their own players committing an inexplicable blunder.

But not this time. England’s 2026 World Cup campaign told a painfully simple story. The autopsy could have been written long before Argentina’s goals, back when England dropped deep, retreating to the edge of their own box, transforming into a timid 5-4-1 formation. That was the moment they abandoned any ambition of scoring, effectively inviting the greatest footballer of all time to take control.

Lionel Messi orchestrated Argentina’s comeback, but it was Thomas Tuchel who had designed the stage. Appointed specifically to navigate these high-pressure moments, Tuchel’s mandate was to guide England across the finish line. When he took charge, he diagnosed the team’s long-standing problem under Gareth Southgate: “They were more afraid to drop out of the tournament than having the excitement and hunger to win it,” Tuchel observed last March.

And in Atlanta on Wednesday night, Tuchel’s England looked paralysed by fear in the final half-hour. Argentina sensed the hesitation and pounced, exploiting a vulnerability that should never have existed. Perhaps that stark clarity — the undeniable truth that England should have won but deserved to lose — makes this defeat even harder to digest than those that leave room for argument.

Lionel Messi was eventually hoisted aloft by his teammates, a scene that underlined Argentina’s joy and England’s despair in equal measure.

England must now turn their attention to the much-derided third-place play-off. Soon enough, the Premier League will resume, and before long, a home European Championship will loom on the horizon. England will rise again. But one never truly escapes a World Cup defeat; each one becomes another compartment of grief, stacked upon the last, making the weight of history ever heavier to bear.

There will always be the memories: Harry Kane’s thunderous strike against DR Congo, Jude Bellingham’s graceful run through Norway’s defence, the echoes of Wonderwall, Jordan Henderson’s leadership, John Stones’ celebratory shoulder shuffle. Yet the six decades of hurt persist — and this one, somehow, cuts even deeper.