This is what they came for: to see England’s captain blow the bloody doors off, Harry Kane style.
Kane has none of Jude Bellingham’s “give me the ball, I can do it all” swagger. He does not preen like a peak Becks nor crave our attention like Gazza. He just keeps banging them in with that boy-next-door vibe. Our Harry, the understated king of everything.
What makes a hero, anyway? Achievement? Demeanour? Can skilled pillocks ever be cool? Do we choose our heroes or do they choose us? They have to be doing something extraordinary, for sure, and we have to be witness to it. Thereafter, we must give a damn.
How many new admirers did Kane attract at Wembley, where he pulled on an England shirt for the 125th time? Perhaps some in the crowd were seeing Kane for the first time: young, impressionable kids defying bedtime to lap up the significance of a number that framed the Nations League meeting against Czech Republic.
I was that little boy once, cheering like mad in front of a flickering television set when Alan Mullery (not a great) gave England the lead against West Germany in the World Cup quarter-final in 1970. Martin Peters (almost great) put England two up to send me charging about the room, at which point my dad said: “Don’t count yer chickens, lad.” He bloody knew, bless him.

Like most, I was there for Charlton, England’s global brand and arguably the greatest of them all (sorry, Harry). In the turbulence of troubled sleep, I’m probably still processing the disappointment of his substitution and the subsequent defeat it triggered.
At least he won the bloody thing four years prior. Kane is still waiting to ice the cake. The Nations League won’t do it. The Euros at Wembley two years hence might. For now, he’ll keep racking up the personal milestones in the service of the team.
As well as equalling Peter Shilton’s appearance record, Kane scored twice and hit the cross that led to the first — two goals and an assist. The churlish out there might quibble at the value of caps in the modern era, suggesting the greater number of games somehow lessens their value, making Shilton’s contribution over a longer period, 20 years, the more profound.
Moreover, were the cat-like Shilton not required to share duties with the excellent Ray Clemence, he would have been pushing 200 caps, a mark perhaps that would have been his for all time.
Being the all-round good guy he is, Kane would have been happy for Shilton to have remained peerless. Which is, of course, the very position he occupies in front of goal, the two he claimed in sealing a third successive England victory taking his tally to an unprecedented 91.
Kane is remarkable for the absence of an iridescent attribute. He does not have the mercurial swivel of Jimmy Greaves, the balance and movement of Charlton, the brute force of Nat Lofthouse, the grace of Glenn Hoddle nor the elegance of Bobby Moore.
What he does have is an unrivalled instinct for goal, an intuitive awareness of space and timing. And few have ever hit a ball as sweetly.
His first against the Czechs was a gorgeous demonstration of that, whipping it past the keeper on the half-volley. Oh, and he’s pretty decent in the air, climbing highest to nod England’s third, just as he did at the start of his journey 11 years ago against Lithuania.
It says much about his attitude and dedication that he is so well preserved, looking barely a year older than he did wheeling away in celebration in 2015. His understated authority is his star power, of course, and what makes him the commanding figure of this generation, the player in whom we and his team-mates are universally invested.
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If you were to rank Kane in the list of England’s all-timers, it is perhaps enough to hand him the No 9 shirt ahead of those other net-busters Alan Shearer, Gary Lineker, Geoff Hurst, Lofthouse, Tommy Taylor and Stan Mortensen.
Take those twin pin-ups of 1966, Charlton and Moore, out of it, enhanced as they were by the ultimate glow-up of World Cup victory, and Kane has a shout to be THE man. Not that he would ever see it that way.
My all-time England XI: Gordon Banks, Kyle Walker, Bobby Moore, Rio Ferdinand, Ashley Cole, Duncan Edwards, Jude Bellingham, Glenn Hoddle, Bobby Charlton, Harry Kane, Wayne Rooney