I promised myself it wouldn’t happen this time. I thought I could keep it cool and that the physical distance between us and the memory of how you’ve hurt me and let me down so many times before would be enough to prevent me from repeating past mistakes. But try as I might, I just can’t stay mad at you. Damn you, England.

In just under two weeks time, the 2012 UEFA European Football Championship, the biggest international prize outside of the World Cup, will kick off in the two host countries of Poland and Ukraine. Looking at the current FIFA rankings, the England team is the fifth-best European squad, but with three of the teams ahead of it drawn together in the “Group of Death,” my home team should be looking to, at the very least, reach the semifinals. However, life is never that easy for an England fan. It seems almost inevitable that this team, consisting of many of the world’s top players, will crash and burn and that we’ll have to divert our sporting interest to London hosting the Olympics unnaturally early.

It never used to be this way. Back in 1966, we actually won a World Cup, and even when I was a kid, there seemed to be real hope. England rarely got beyond the quarterfinals, but our exits, though painful, seemed respectable. You could feel proud of the team’s performance and know that soon it would break the run and make it to a final.

On the back of ex-coach Fabio Capello’s dreadful campaign at the last World Cup two years ago and the increasingly misguided decisions and appointments by the English FA—who renegotiated Capello’s contract just days before his abysmal showing in South Africa to ensure we were subjected to two more years of his “genius”—that hope seems to have run dry. Tuning in to watch a game, especially a tournament qualifier or friendly, has become a chore, something you know you’re supposed to do but won’t really enjoy.

There are frustrations too about the leadership of the global game. FIFA appears to be plagued by corruption on such a scale that it makes even the dirtiest politicians look squeaky-clean. It is also no real secret that many of those in charge of international soccer are no fans of England. Apart from criticizing the United Kingdom’s free press for investigating corruption allegations and making it pretty clear that the World Cup won’t be hosted on England’s shores any time soon, FIFA has also grabbed hold of the preposterous idea that soccer is not in fact an English game, but instead a Chinese one. No one in England has ever claimed to have invented the ball, but it is a clear, indisputable fact that the roots of the modern game lie in this little Northern European country.

And don’t get me started on violence and racism. England once had a serious problem with these issues, but it remains one of the few countries to have taken significant steps to correct this and has become a leading light in the fight against both. In contrast, reports surfacing from Poland and Ukraine suggest that both countries have failed to address these serious problems. Just this year, masses of Ukrainian fans were reported giving the Nazi salute to their team, and, two weeks after that incident, the same club’s fans turned on a handful of Indian supporters in their midst.

The worst thing about this, though, is that we don’t have our own house in order. With FIFA besieged by corruption allegations, our FA attempted to bribe the executive committee ahead of the World Cup selection, and included on our squad for Euro 2012 is a player, defender John Terry, facing allegations of racial abuse.

Faced with all these things, there are easily enough reasons for me not to tune in this summer, to not to drag myself out of bed early to watch live games and deal with the inevitable defeat when it comes.

But even over here I can already sense what must be going on back home. In the vacuum after the end of the regular soccer season, the media will be seizing on this story to fill the next month or so, pubs will be preparing for the onslaught of fans unable to travel to the tournament, TV ad after TV ad will be seeking supporter’s custom by relying on their patriotic spirit, sales of T-shirts and replica jerseys will be soaring and, most significantly of all, flags will start flying.

Unlike in the United States, flying our flag is not a routine thing to do; it marks you out as a little too nationalistic for comfort. When England heads to a major soccer tournament, though, this taboo gets cast aside as the infection takes hold. And even thousands of miles away, I’m already falling ill.

England’s flag-waving customs prevented Tom Taylor from successfully joining AxeComm. Give him tips for next year’s tryouts at tom.taylor “at” stanford.edu.