This is a fact - something I believe the way I believe I will die if there's no oxygen.
Curiously, I also know it's not true.
Welcome to the strange schizophrenia of the England fan.
The illness begins in fairly benign form; after qualifying for the World Cup there's an
inkling that we have a chance - after all, "there's only 32 teams there and one of them has to win."
Within a few weeks, the sufferer subtly deteriorates. "We're a top ten ranked team so we've got a better chance than most."
Come the draw for the group stages and the sickness is clear. "The US? Algeria? Slovenia? We will waltz through our group."
A few weeks out from the first game and a mild hysteria takes hold. There is now less host and more disease. "Second round is likely to be the Aussies. Easy. Then it's probably France and not even the French think they'll do very well."
This is the last chance of recovery, but in most cases it is too late. "Brazil in the semis - tough but surely it's our time. Then the final against Spain who are notorious bottlers. Victory is ours."
The cure to this terrible affliction could, it seemed, have been a below-par performance and a draw against the US.
"Goalkeeper Rob Green is woeful. Rooney was largely anonymous. The talentless Heskey was our best player! James Milner? Really?"
And for a time I had peace from this illness. I realised we were not going to win the World Cup and for a very short time it almost didn't seem like it would be the end of the world. I could enjoy a month of football without the weight of expectation.
But after 24 hours that cure has turned out to be placebo.
"The US are actually a very good side. Now, two straight wins against two of the weakest teams and we're back on course."
England will win the World Cup. It's a fact.
