#14 On, and on, and on, Eng-er-land

And on and on and on, Ariston. Remember that 80s white goods advert (one of Dave Trott’s picks)? It popped into my head on Sunday night, when the team in white came up with the goods.

The slogan that promised relentless reliability, no matter what you threw at it. A nifty way to sell appliances that's also describing the mentality you need when everything's going wrong and you've got to keep finding a way through.

Like the Lionesses at Euro 2025. Or Seve Ballesteros on any given Sunday when his ball decided to go west. Both understood something fundamental about scrambling: Don't worry about avoiding trouble, focus on what you do when trouble finds you.

Again. And again. And bloody well again.

What Seve knows about impossible statistics

England's route to defending their European crown was very messy, and not at all Messi. They lost their opening game to France. It was a clumsy, naive performance – the kind that spurs you on or kills your confidence. They were 2-0 down to Sweden in the quarter-finals. They went behind to Italy in the semis. And in the final against Spain, they trailed yet again.

The statistics just don’t add up. England led their knockout matches for exactly four minutes and 52 seconds across the entire tournament. Somehow, they kept finding ways to turn disaster around.

It's on a par with Seve's greatest ever scramble – and he had more than a few.

September 1993, Crans-sur-Sierre in Switzerland. The Wizard Spaniard had birdied five holes in a row and needed another on the 18th. Instead, his drive sailed 60 yards right, bouncing off an eight-foot concrete wall next to a swimming pool and settling among trees with only a dinner plate-sized gap to the green.

His caddie Billy Foster pleaded three times: “Chip it out sideways. You can still win the tournament.” Nah, not Seve. His response was pure scrambling gold: “Why? Why I listen to you? You are the caddy. Carry the clubs. I'm the player. Now give me a yardage and then piss off.”

Double bubble

What happened next was golf's version of England beating Spain on penalties. Seve laid his sand wedge wide open and fired the ball almost vertically over the wall and under the tree branches. It reached the edge of the green (Foster had guessed at 130 yards). Then – because one miracle wasn't enough – he chipped in for birdie.

Foster's reaction? “I had to get down on my hands and knees and bow to him. Seve Ballesteros, you are God.” Genuflecting and making quite a scene.

But here's the plot twist that wasn’t a plot twist. Not luck, just a culmination of decades of similar-but-different escapes, each one building the unshakeable belief that no situation is without hope or possibility. Seve hit the shot he expected to hit.

The chulesco gene

Fast-forward to Basel, 26 July 2025. Chloe Kelly steps up for the tournament-winning penalty, having already missed one against Italy (though she scored the rebound). Her response? That trademark prancing run-up, left knee lifted high, completely unfazed. In the post-match haze, she said: “I was cool, I was composed. I knew I was going to hit the back of the net. I don't miss a penalty twice!”

The Spanish keeper guessed right and dived low. But only saw the ball whistle above her head (apparently at 110km/h – faster than any WSL goal last season.) Not quite top bins, but solidly at height and in the corner.

After scoring, Kelly ran past the net, kept eye contact with the beaten goalkeeper, and celebrated with the England fans behind the goal.

By Monday morning, the Spanish press lost their shizzle. Diario AS called it “chulesco” – a tantalisingly untranslatable Spanish word that means cocky, but with swagger, streetwise attitude, and deliberate provocation all rolled into one. They wrote: “Esto es innecesario, amigo: el gesto chulesco de Kelly” – “This is unnecessary, my friend: Kelly's cocky gesture.”

But here's the sweet irony: calling Kelly chulesco is quite a compliment. Because chulesco is exactly what great scramblers need. Brimming with confidence, it says: I know something you don't, as you’re about to find out.

Seve was the ultimate chulo of golf. Hit it in the car park? Make birdie anyway, with attitude. Ball behind a concrete wall? "I'm the player." Need to thread an impossible gap? "Why I listen to you?"

The Lionesses and Seve share that peculiar scrambler's paradox: they need a bit of chaos. England never looked completely in control, yet they kept advancing. Each knockout match followed the same script: fall behind, scramble, survive, then somehow find a way to win in the dying moments. Each time you find a way through, the next scramble feels less scary and more meant to be.

When swagger meets pressure

The difference between lucky escapes and proper scrambling is pure attitude. Anyone can hole a long putt or tuck away a penalty. But doing it with chulesco – that swagger and belief that says “I belong” – separates the great scramblers from everyone else.

Seve's career was built on these moments. His swing looked wild and ungainly at times, yet he won five majors by making the impossible look routine. He didn't hit every fairway – he won because when he missed them (often)... cue some Seve magic.

Sarina Wiegman called England's Euro 2025 campaign “chaos”. It absolutely was. But it was also channelled chaos – the kind that comes from a team who are comfortable with feeling uncomfortable and relishing a fight (even when the mess is their own making.)

On and on again

"And on and on and on" wasn't just about durability at all. It was about persistence. And telling whatever life throws at you to kindly piss off.

Scramblers understand this instinctively. They don't need everything to go right – they just need to keep going when everything goes wrong.

The Spanish tabloids accused England of “robbing Spain's dream”, writing "No pudieron ser más crueles" – "They couldn't have been crueller." Which sort of misses the point.

England didn't steal anything. They earned it through sheer bloody-mindedness, the kind that keeps going on and on and on. At the final whistle, the celebration wasn't unnecessary at all – it was the expression of a scrambler.

Sometimes a bit of chulesco comes in rather handy. But it’s only worth something if you keep going until the job’s done.

Just ask Seve – he was the original chulo. And now Eng-er-land have one too. Twice over.