It happened yesterday in France where England's soccer eleven were ignominiously ousted from EURO 2016.
We might term this, BREXIT # 2.
England, once a soccer Titan (the inventor of the game no less), were sent home by peanut size Iceland, total population 340,000!
It was another example of a team with the roar of a lion being vanquished by a mighty mouse.
How could it be that a galaxy of stars could be beaten by a team ranked 94th in the world (the final score was England 1, Iceland 2); that an awesome assembly of 'somebodys' could be humbled by a collection of 'nobodys'.
That a stellar cast of multi-millionaires could be daunted by a team of part timers, a bewhiskered set of norsemen who looked as if they had just rowed to France on a Viking Long-Ship.
Perhaps therein lies the secret. Everyone of this unlikely crew had a 'son' at the end of their name. Erikson, Gunnarson, Thorson, Haraldason and so on. They were all sons of somebody and they played as a team. At the end of the game they approached their twenty thousand fans and led them in a wild Norse cheer that went off like a collective thunderclap and, you can bet your life on it, that everyone of those fans had 'sons' at the end of their name.
In other words "FAMILY" triumphed over "FAME"
As it always must and always will.
Now that the United Kingdom is about to leave the great conglomerate of the European Union we can get back to being our own family with 'sons' at the end of our name. If we do, you can bank on it, we will be world beaters once again.