How typical. While the House of Orange-Nassau basks in the reflected glory of a footballing triumph, the Windsors are reduced to issuing press releases praising 'sporting excellence'. It is a scene that would have made Gibbon weep.
We are watching the slow, polite dissolution of a national myth. The Dutch, those canny republicans in all but name, have perfected the art of the constitutional monarchy as a mascot. Their royals wave, the people cheer, the team wins.
It is clean, functional, and devoid of the sacral nonsense that still envelops our own crowned heads. The British monarchy, by contrast, now exists in a state of perpetual existential crisis. They cling to the outdated notion of divine right while desperately trying to appear relatable, a contradiction that yields only cringe.
The Queen is dead; long live the… well, what exactly? A brand? A tourist attraction?
A very expensive soap opera? The contrast with the Dutch model is instructive. They understand that modernity demands either a clean break or a quiet, symbolic role.
The British, too proud to break and too foolish to be quiet, muddle on. We applaud Dutch efficiency while tutting at their lack of pomp. But pomp without purpose is just pageantry.
And pageantry without a unifying idea is just a parade. The Dutch have a parade; we have a séance. So yes, the British monarchy 'notes' sporting excellence.
It notes the passing of time, the changing of seasons, the slow erosion of its own relevance. It is a tragic, almost beautiful thing to witness, like watching an old music hall star refuse to leave the stage. But the music has stopped, and the audience is leaving.
All that remains is the polite applause of the courtiers and the faint, desperate hope that another World Cup might, for a moment, make us forget what we have lost.
