Supporting England in a major tournament is like nothing else.
When club loyalties are repressed and the whole country comes together, the collective anxiety causes an alarming build-up of potentially explosive energy.
And how is this energy released? Through apocalyptic celebrations.
England have made it to the semi-finals of a World Cup.
By now, you would have seen numerous montages and standalone clips of lager raining down upon rabid mosh-pits of bearded blurs clad in retro shirts.
The beer-throwing celebrations have annoyed a few onlookers.
They say it’s pre-meditated, that it’s all for social media.
These accusations imply that those who launch their pints into the air are not actually experiencing true joy in the immediate aftermath of a goal.
The haters believe these fans have an ulterior motive other than celebrating an England goal.
What a load of rubbish.
I myself am not a pint-thrower, merely a pint-spiller.
Once the initial adrenaline dump subsides, I am left holding a near empty plastic cup.
But at times I have certainly felt an impulsive twinge that could have perhaps developed into a full-on launch if the circumstances were right.
The Fun Police want to shame the pint-throwers for enjoying themselves, for surrendering to the joyous chaos of uncontrolled limbs and guttural yelps.
You may never feel compelled to throw a pint in celebration, but that just know this compulsion is capable of overwhelming others.
Despite the pain of recent times, England fans have once again dared to dream.
This widespread sense of belief requires full abandon, commitment without a safety net.
Such an attitude produces visceral celebrations and a byproduct of that is having to scrub lager stains out of your England ’82 reprint.
The naysayers look down upon the beer-throwers with snobbish contempt, claiming the mob’s actions to be deceptive.
But down in the pit, we know such raw emotion is impossible to fake.
I salute you beer-throwers of England.
Let it rain.