They think it’s all over

Wembley, 1966. Extra time. Geoff Hurst hits the bar; the ball comes down; the Soviet linesman says goal. Germany are not sure. England are. Hurst scores again. Kenneth Wolstenholme says they think it’s all over. It is now. 4-2.

It is the only time the inventors of the modern passing game lift the World Cup. The Jules Rimet stays in England, then goes to a vault, then is stolen, then is replaced by a new trophy. The afternoon does not get replaced.

English soccer’s self-image still runs through that final: home soil, a hat-trick, a controversy, a line of commentary people who were not born yet can still recite.