“IT’S COMING home, it’s coming home, it’s coming…” With a round-of-16 match against Colombia looming, even the gloomiest English football fan could be forgiven for believing the chant echoing around the country. Somehow, after two wins against lowly Tunisia and Panama, an insipid loss to a Belgian second team, an unusually generous draw and Spain’s unlikely exit, the Three Lions find themselves as the strongest team left in their half of the knockout bracket. FiveThirtyEight, a sports statistics website, reckons that this talented but largely unproven England team would be slight favourites against any country they could meet before the final.

The result has been nationwide euphoria. Most of it has been accompanied by “Three Lions”, a song written for the team when it hosted the European Championships in 1996, by David Baddiel and Frank Skinner, two comedians, and Ian Broudie, a Britpop singer. The refrain, which promises that “football’s coming home” (to the country that codified the rules but won its only title in 1966), returns every time the side reaches a major tournament.

Never, though, with this much gusto. Obliging Russian officials have been playing the chorus on the stadium speakers whenever England’s players have found the back of the net. According to Google, at least 5,000 articles containing the words “England”, “football” and “coming home” have been published in the last week. An hour before the game against Belgium, as your correspondent was walking on a bridge across the Thames, he passed a boat carrying hundreds of (mostly shirtless) English fans belting out the refrain.

They will probably be disappointed. At the time of writing, FiveThirtyEight computes a 90% chance that football, alas, is not coming home. It gives England only a slight edge against its hypothetical opponents in the next three rounds before a possible final against Brazil, France or Uruguay. If you are reading this on July 4th, the English squad may already be on the plane home.

By far the most likely outcome of the tournament is the one described so poignantly at the beginning of “Three Lions ‘98”. The sequel was written after England lost to Germany in the semi-final in 1996, in which Gareth Southgate, now England’s manager, missed the final penalty. The lyrics begin with “tears for heroes dressed in grey: no plans for finals day, stay in bed, drift away.” The song is remembered by most fans for its patriotic hook, which is perfect for chanting. But it is actually a wistful reflection on the masochism of supporting a football team, especially one as hapless as England.

Both versions of the tune start with a plinking harpsichord, cello and mellow bass, dubbed with commentary from England’s defeats. The result sounds like somebody has partially taped a football game over a pensive Paul McCartney composition, rather than a stirring anthem. The verses describe the perpetual disappointment of following a team that, excluding tournaments played on home soil, has only ever won five knockout matches in major competitions. For most English fans, their entire lifetime has been one of “so many jokes, so many sneers, and all those all-so-nears”.

The dejection in “Three Lions” makes it completely different to any other World Cup anthem. Most of the songs released for the tournament are unequivocally about glory, such as Ricky Martin’s “La Copa de la Vida” (“just steal your destiny, right from the hands of fate”) or Shakira’s “Waka Waka”: “People are raising their expectations, go on and feed them: this is your moment, no hesitations.” A few are about football’s artistic qualities, such as New Order’s “World In Motion”—“express yourself, you can’t be wrong”—and “La Cour des Grands”, by Youssou N’Dour and Axelle Red, which celebrates “emotion and passion in the service of the ball”. Only one acknowledges the pain of fandom.

Nick Hornby, a writer who in “Fever Pitch” chronicled a lifetime of misery at the hands of the beautiful game, put it best: “the natural state of a football fan is bitter disappointment.” But that changes in the weeks before the World Cup. The randomness of a knockout competition means that almost anything can happen. Some forecasts suggested that perhaps 20 teams had at least a 1% chance of winning this time. Thanks to a quirk of the draw, this year’s final will feature at least one country that has not made it that far in the last 50 years. As Mr Hornby wrote before the tournament, the result is an irresistible tinge of optimism. “Expectations, both great and grim, come out in precisely the same place: we think we have more than half a chance either way.”

“Three Lions” captures that quivering between hope and despair. Every four years, it is hard to suppress the feeling that “England’s gonna throw it away, gonna blow it away—but I know they can play”. It makes the World Cup addictive in a way that few other forms of entertainment can be. Most fans will end up wretched, but almost all have a chance of delirious happiness. The 30 years of hurt lamented by Messrs Baddiel and Skinner in the original lyrics have been extended by 22. There is probably no upper limit that could stop the English dreaming.