Eight days ago, I was privileged to be at Wembley to watch England beat Germany 2-1 to win the European Championship final. It’s still hard to find words to adequately describe the occasion.

England winning a trophy? Never.

87,192 people watching a women’s game – the highest crowd for any Euros final, male or female? Really?

(By the way, as Wembley’s capacity is 87,200, where were those 8 of you who didn’t make it?)

More than a week later, I’m still pinching myself and wondering ‘Did that really happen?’

It was all a bit unreal, to be honest – especially as I was an accidental attendee.

Last September, an event I was due to take part in was cancelled and I went for a long coastal walk with my friend Andy instead. During the walk, he mentioned that he was thinking of buying tickets for the Euros final. Did I fancy it?

I did.

At the time, July 31st 2022 was a long, long time away – and we had no idea who would be in the final.

Any combination of Spain, Germany, France, The Netherlands or Sweden would have made for a cracking game and I’m certain I would have enjoyed it. I love watching any game of football; I’ll sidle over to watch a few minutes of a Sunday league or youth game if I walk the dogs past a pitch.

But as someone who grew up in Derbyshire, and lived the first 28 and a half years of my life “down south” (before moving to Scotland), of course I wanted England to be there.

I watched all the England games on TV, the scrappy start against Austria followed by an astonishing 13 goals without reply against Norway and Northern Ireland.

People were beginning to dream the dream, but Spain were very good. They bossed England and surely, it was another tale of woe to write in the English football annals.

The game looked dead, then I leapt off my seat when Ella Toone equalised – and bounced around the room after Georgia Stanway belted home one of the goals of the tournament.

What amazing character the team had shown – but with that came the expectations that they would breeze past Sweden.

Anyone who saw the final score, 4-0, but not the game, would think it was easy. Oh no. Sweden could have been 3-0 up by half-time but for the crossbar and Mary Earps, a wonderful mixture of shot-stopper, sweeper-keeper and shouty leader.

On the Sunday of the final, Andy and I got the early train to London, full of excitement – tinged, as ever, with trepidation and fatalism. As someone who has supported Derby County for almost 50 years, and England (and Scotland when the two aren’t playing), I’m not used to success.

The game went by super-fast – although time did seem to stand still as Ella Toone lifted that glorious first goal into the German net. The ball seemed to be in the air for an age before nestling in the corner.

And then Chloe Kelly’s scrambled toe-poke and that shirt-waving celebration. Unbelievable scenes.

The team killed the game off through gratuitous time-wasting that English commentators would have lambasted in any other team as “not in the spirit of football”. England had won and the stadium erupted – and continued bouncing through the absolutely joyous celebrations.

Looking back, it was one of the most compelling, competitive and intense games of football I have ever seen. There was sublime skill, exemplified in the first two goals, and passages of scrappy, angry play – it was a game of 42 fouls. And the winning goal, with Kelly showing great strength to hold off the defender and then forcing the ball over the line at the second time of asking, illustrated that fierce competitiveness that drove England on.

English teams don’t often display that kind of character to get the job done. They rarely, if ever, show that incredible togetherness, that collective will to win. Of course, the likes of Beth England, Nikita Parris and Alex Greenwood – all great players – would have liked to be on the pitch more. Yet they celebrated the victory with the same unbridled joy as everyone else. This was a true team effort.

It was also brilliant to see those players who went before – like Farah Williams, Karen Carney and Alex Scott – sharing in that joy as the players slid through the confetti, sang with the crowds and cradled the trophy proudly.

There was something about that team spirit, never-say-die attitude and confidence in each other – on and off the pitch – that hasn’t been obvious in the men’s game, even as Gareth Southgate’s team reached a semi-final and final in the last two tournaments.

Led by the peerless coach Sarina Wiegman, the teams worked tirelessly – on and off the pitch – and it paid off handsomely.

There has been a lot of talk about these women being pioneers – the ones who will take women’s football to a new level – but everyone has to play a part. Let’s not bandy around that over-used word “legacy” too much just yet.

There’s a long way to go to build up crowds throughout the game, and to create truly competitive league (in Scotland as well as England) – to ensure the top teams don’t just become part of a Europe-wide elite group and cut off the pipeline of players to feed them.

Only 2 players from the squad of 23 were not on the books of the big 4 – Manchester City, Arsenal, Chelsea and Manchester United – when the squad was named.

Gabby Logan, who was a magnificent anchor throughout the tournament, urged people to just go along to a couple of women’s club games this season. I certainly plan to go and watch Hibs, and to watch the Scotland women’s team in their World Cup play-offs.

I’ve seen the Scotland team twice before and watched my daughter play for a local team for several years – so I’m not a complete newbie. There was some criticism during the tournament of fans “jumping on the bandwagon”.

My experience of talking to people at Wembley (and before and after) was that a lot of the crowd were women and girls who played football, and their families. Many of them also watched football and they were all very knowledgeable.

However, if some of those at Wembley hadn’t seen a women’s game before, what of it? It was a great place to start – one of the greatest games ever played at Wembley.

Not a man’s game, not a women’s game, just a magnificent, passionate game of football.