I phoned my Mum at 1:30 Sunday afternoon.

“How did the game go?”

“Still on,” came the hollow reply from England. “We’re winning 1-nil.”

“I’ll call back.”

I waited, as a deckhand on the Titanic might tug on a sweater because of the chill air. I have grown up used to disaster. After all, I am English. We no longer rule the waves; we no longer rule the soccer field. Indeed, we no longer rule anything.

Since that one glorious day in July 1966 when the English soccer team won the World Cup, I have learned to accept defeat as graciously as possible.

Mexico 1970, we’re ahead of West Germany, and our best player Bobby Charlton is substituted to allow him to “rest for the semifinal.” Ha. The game wasn’t over. The Germans won, and Charlton never played in an England shirt again. Then 1973 in the preliminaries, the Polish goalkeeper shrink-wrapped his posts and we didn’t even qualify for the finals. More embarrassment followed. Then 1990, a tied semifinal went to penalty kicks. Germany won. You get the picture.

Fast forward to the European team championships in England in 1996. I’m actually there, behind the goal at Wembley Stadium, when star striker Alan Shearer scores early against Germany in the semifinal. You can guess the rest. An equalizer, stalemate in extra time and the nightmare of a penalty-kick shoot-out. I then watched Germany win the trophy with the first Golden Goal in FIFA history.

The trill of the ringer signaled fresh doom 10 minutes later.

In “Pride and Prejudice,” Jane Austen, England’s second-best writer, wrote: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”

If I may borrow and bend such brilliance from the bard of Hampshire, it is a truth universally acknowledged that if the English men’s soccer team is leading … it will not last. And a penalty kick will seal inevitable disappointment for fans far and wide.

The phone was my Mum, of course. Not crying, but cross. “They messed it up again,” she wailed, and handed over the phone for Dad to fill in the details.

National team captain David Beckham (who plays his club soccer in Spain) had floated a free kick onto the head of Chelsea star Frank Lampard for a first-half goal against European powerhouse France. The lads with three lions on their shirts had gone into the locker room for their half-time cups of tea ahead, and come out again rather droopy. Liverpool’s young phenom Michael Owen was actually substituted for not trying hard enough.

Meanwhile, Beckham reportedly scurried around the field wanting to do everything. Indeed, when England earned a penalty kick, up he stepped … and made a hash of it. It was saved by Beckham’s former Manchester United teammate, Fabian Barthez.

In the 90th minute – remember soccer matches last an hour and a half plus added minutes to make up for injury stoppages – it all came apart. France tied, scoring from a close-in free kick from Zinedine Zidane, Beckham’s current Madrid club teammate. Then in added time, the English goalie fouled London Arsenal star Thierry Henry and that pesky Zidane did what Becks had failed to do earlier and slotted home the penalty to make the final score 2-1 to France. (“God save Zidane!” a French newspaper headlined today.)

Thus the European championships taking place in Portugal started with a whimper for English fans worldwide. And more disappointment is on tap in opening-round play Thursday when lowly Switzerland are the Britons’ opponents, then Croatia June 21. I can hardly wait.

But Sunday was not all grim for soccer fans.

The United States’ national team, ranked ninth in the world thanks to its great showing in South Korea and Japan in 2002, dispatched Grenada 3-0 in the first of two World Cup qualifying games. Next weekend, the lads travel to the Island of Spice, a nation with 90,000 people and two stadia, for the rematch. (ESPN2, 1 p.m. Sunday).

It was pleasing to see the Americans shine. Landon Donovan, whose work rate has been suspect in his most recent games, stepped up. Brian McBride, who has been performing well for London’s unfashionable Fulham club, played his guts out in front of his home Columbus, Ohio, fans. DaMarcus Beasley notched two fine goals, the first a header on a sweet cross from Claudio Reyna, then Greg Vanney raced forward in injury time, flummoxed an opponent and, having never scored before, obviously thought “what the heck” before letting fly a cracker of a shot that bulged the onion bag rather nicely.

It was a resolute team showing; the highlight was Jovan Kirovski’s splendid decoy run that took two defenders out of the play and opened a chasm for Donovan to pass to an unmarked Beasley who comfortably scored his second.

This World Cup qualifying group is no picnic. The USA team will have tough contests against Canada and Mexico and cannot underestimate these Caribbean “minnows.” But come summer 2006, I hope to be packing my bags for Germany to cheer them on. I despair whether my “other” team that wears red, white and blue will be there with them.

Patrick Webb, a referee and avid soccer fan, is managing editor of The Daily Astorian.