There’s something slightly surreal about heading out to a pub for a football match when most people are just settling into bed before a workday. Yet, that’s exactly what thousands of England fans across Birmingham—including myself—did in the early hours of Monday morning to catch the 2am World Cup knockout clash against Mexico.
At first, I questioned my sanity. Common sense urged me to stay home where it was warm and comfortable. But ultimately, I chose the unpredictable thrill of being among fellow fans, soaking up the electric atmosphere. I set off alone through the city centre towards Luna Springs in Digbeth, taking in the buzz and chatting with strangers who shared my passion.
Walking through the city at 10:30pm felt odd. Some streets lay quiet, while others hummed with life as small clusters of England supporters gravitated toward pubs screening the game. Many bars that weren’t showing sport had already closed, leaving only a handful of venues alive with energy.
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By the time I reached Digbeth just after 11pm, the atmosphere had shifted palpably. More noise, more England shirts, and growing crowds spilled onto the streets. Conversations buzzed with line-up predictions, chants, and excited countdowns to kickoff. Cigarettes and pints circulated as groups grew closer, united by hope and anticipation.
I paused for a Guinness at The Big Bull’s Head, where a DJ spun energetic 90s rave tunes to a compact crowd. The infectious enthusiasm made it clear: this wasn’t just a game, it was a shared experience. Exiting, I pushed on toward Luna Springs—already packed with eager fans.
Inside, I met a man unfazed by the looming workday, grinning confidently, “I’m in at nine, but it’s coming home!” Others looked more uncertain but equally determined. “This is either going to be worth it or utterly ruin me,” one fan said, “actually, probably both.”
Despite the adopted 2am kick-off, optimism never waned. Supporters clung to faith in Harry Kane, hailed as “the best striker in the world,” and comforted themselves with another pint. It was clear both were essential fuel for the night ahead.
By the end of it all, I’d been awake for nearly 24 hours, having started Sunday at The Ritz in London (thank you, Dad). The long day was a small price to pay for witnessing one of the most dramatic World Cup matches ever: England’s 3-2 victory, featuring two quick goals from Jude Bellingham, a Kane penalty, an early red card, and a nail-biting finish with England down to 10 men.
Before the game, many talked of Mexico’s altitude, wondering if it would tire England prematurely. In reality, England played a man down for nearly half the match — and still pulled off a memorable win.
After the final whistle, thousands poured out of Luna Springs, some near tears of joy. “If I knew how to cry, I would,” one fan said quietly before disappearing into the pre-dawn streets.
“That was one of the best games I’ve ever seen,” said another. “I’ve got work in a few hours, but it was totally worth it,” a third added, detailing his plan of working, quick napping, and indulging in a “horrible takeaway” to beat the inevitable hangover.
As the city began to wake, fans slowly trickled away, and I made my way home exhausted but elated. Earlier doubts about venturing out at such an ungodly hour vanished completely. Staying on the sofa would have been easier — but far less memorable.
Now, in the light of morning, the birds are chirping, traffic humming, and the smell of beer still lingers on my crumpled England shirt on the floor. I’m in no rush to wash it off. Tomorrow can wait.