In the great football temple of the Azteca, in the midst of the chaotic, untrammelled fervour that football unleashes here, battered by the din, electrical storms raging around the stadium, reduced to 10 men for 40 minutes, up at an altitude of 7220ft, in the thin air that makes your heart race and your lungs gasp, England defied it all.
When the final whistle went, they breathed again. All England breathed again. All England, up in the middle of the night in packed pubs in cities and villages across the country, in front rooms and basements, the intrepid few who sat
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