We love an underdog. There seems to be an overarching discomfort in crowing about success so, in retaliation, we end up backing a loser.
The truth is that we love underdogs so much, we don’t quite know what to do with ourselves when someone wins.
Take Eurovision. It was Katrina and the Waves who last won the contest for Great Britain 16 long years ago.
Every year we laugh at our own entry, moan about political voting, and then grunt our way through the scoring.
What would we do if next year’s entry (fingers crossed for Right Said Fred) suddenly sailed off into the lead?
Even Graham Norton would be lost for words.
Our cricketing prowess used to be a laughing stock too, but since we won the Ashes in 2005 we’ve been one of the best Test sides in the world.
We needed something new to focus our attention on – something we were never going to do well at.
Ah! Wimbledon! Fred Perry, 1936! Seventy-odd years! Tim Henman going out in the semis!
We’re never going to have a British champion in the men’s singles at SW19.
Does Andy Murray know anything about the Great British public?
He ruined the whole “he’ll never make the final” thing last year, then the whole “he’ll never win a grand slam” thing at the US Open.
Now we don’t have any stats that show how bad at tennis we are!
Andy Murray has systematically ruined next year’s Wimbledon for everyone by winning! Sheesh!
Goodness knows what would happen if England ever won the football World Cup.
We wear our “47 years of hurt” badges with pride and actually breathe a sigh of relief when we go out on penalties in the quarter-finals.
It truly would be the beginning of the end.