By STIG ABELL
Big summer football events are often as much about the past as the present. They carry with them instant access to nostalgia, a set of sights and smells immediately comparable to the previous occasions that came along with metronomic regularity every couple of years (disastrous qualifying excepted, of course).
This year, as ever, I find myself helplessly watching games in the evening, with no stake in the outcome, and feeling my fondness for the game rekindle. Because it is not that easy to love football, in my experience. And each summer tournament is a chance to love again.