Happy Harry Kane day! And many happy Harry returns. There is a process in clinical psychology known as semantic satiation. Subjects are asked to repeat a word or phrase so many times that it loses any kind of meaning. Suddenly “daffodils” is just an absurd, empty set of sounds. So it was in the buildup to Harry Kane’s record-breaking 126th cap, at the end of Harry Kane Ballon d’Or fortnight, as Harry Kane’s England were led out by top scorer Harry Kane, climax to a week of Harry Kane tributes, Harry Kane montages, 26-page Harry Kane … wait. Where were we?
This was that kind of occasion from start to finish, a night where you expected to look up from your desk mid-match to see Kane’s head looming helpfully over your shoulder, to enter the Wembley toilets at half-time and find him silently offering you a breath mint and a scented tissue.
Football loves its rankings and ratings. England loves a formal march-past. The Harry Kane moment was always going to come at Wembley. And it duly arrived with 61 minutes gone and the score 1-1 in a meandering game of mid-November England product.
There may be less satisfying ways to decide a game of football than a VAR-screen penalty awarded for an overly prolonged grab of the collar on a player who wasn’t going to get the ball. But it’s hard to think of many right now.
It was enough here. There was a gathering roar from the Wembley crowd, luxuriating in the prospect of a Kane penalty sequence: the pre-kick close-up, the jaw, the stare, the iconic hairline. Kane delivered, rolling the ball into the centre of the goal. There was a leap, a punch of the air, an embrace in front of a billowing George Cross flag.
At times like these it is hard to remember a time when Kane wasn’t exactly here doing exactly this, to accept that he won’t just be out there doing it for ever. Although the good news is he now gets to re-break the caps record every time he plays, thereby ensuring more ceremony, more pomp, more of that sweet, sweet, neural fatigue.
No doubt the haters will say: typical Kane. A low-key Wembley. A cheapish penalty kick. The numbers ticking over. But that’s the haters for you, as relentless in their own way as Kane himself. The goal made it 92 in 126 games, which really is mind-boggling in its focus and longevity, the sheer will to keep doing this. Imagine not thinking Kane is England’s best player since Bobby Charlton. What else are you supposed to do out there?
Wembley had been cold and crisp at kick-off, gripped with the familiar echoey, midweek chill, the booming PA, the thin air, like being present at a vast corporate presentation or the opening of a mega-sale in the world’s largest out-of-town DIY warehouse.
The military personnel wobbled the massive flag. Tongues of fire leapt around the perimeter. And as the teams lined up there was a surprise appearance from the real star of this stage, the Ballon d’Or itself, wreathed in event glamour and star-flash.
Kane drew the ballon from its stone in Arthurian fashion, then held it a little sheepishly in one hand. Prince William walked out and gave him a massive framed shirt, which seemed weird in the moment, like the chief area sales manager presenting the prize from the Christmas raffle. Has Prince William ever been asked to carry anything before?
A little earlier a vast Harry Kane tifo had appeared at one end, showing Kane in full roaring lion mode. It carried the tagline “England’s finest”, which sounds like a type of cheddar cheese you can buy at the airport gift shop. But it’s also a good compromise. He is indeed very fine.
It was a striking coronation for a player who made his debut here 11 years ago as a promising other-guy under Roy Hodgson. There is still a similar element of double-take about that Ballon d’Or. Kane has always seemed like one of those sports people destined to be reaching for something, constantly in search of a final validation. This has been his strength and his energy. Well, we’re here now. Kane has his notch on the forever tree. Ultimacy arrived on a London stage dressed in a shiny tuxedo.
This does change something. Kane’s entire professional life is now divided into two parts. Everything up to 26 October 2026. And then the last 17 days. How does it feel now? Is the air pressure different, the noise in his head, the tension in his ears?
Here the whole team started slowly. In the opening four and a half minutes Croatia had 92 per cent possession and England made one pass. Thomas Tuchel was up early in his puffy winter coat, tight black slacks and black business shoes, like an actuary going sledging. Kane lurked in some strange deep position and played one or two overambitious passes.
Is this something new? Arrogant Kane. Big-shot Kane. Has he become our Ronaldo? Maybe he should have angrily retired straight after the game and promised to speak his truth on a YouTube chatshow.
Instead Kane helped to make the opening goal for Morgan Rogers, set up with a lovely floated diagonal pass and an expert cutback from Jude Bellingham. England faded a little and were pegged back around the hour. Lewis Hall played well. Trent Alexander-Arnold was fun to watch. They have now definitively qualified for the Nations League knockouts, which is certainly a thing. But in the end this was always going to be Harry’s day.
