We must thank Chris Coleman and his Wales players for bringing a little cheer to the territory still known - perhaps a little satirically - as the United Kingdom.
Even if the English majority must wonder why, when it seems so easy for the Welsh to find inspirational managers, they have seemed recurrently to struggle, at least since the latter days of Sir Bobby Robson.
Wales owe much to Coleman. Gareth Bale is rightly lauded for the humility with which he lends his talent to the cause, and Aaron Ramsey is another example of the squad ethic that binds the 23 who will be on duty for tonight’s quarter-final against Belgium in Lille, but teamwork doesn’t come from the tooth fairy and Coleman has run a campaign well worthy of the memory of Gary Speed, whose tragic death led to the former Fulham manager’s appointment.
The FA of Wales, once something of a joke, have made a succession of successful choices over the past 17 years, starting with Mark Hughes and continuing with John Toshack, Speed and Coleman.
But there must be more to it than judgment that, right now, appears radically superior to the English FA’s. Roy Hodgson, after all, made an even more distinguished contribution at Craven Cottage than Coleman.
National pride is also responsible for Wales having outlasted England at Euro 2016.
So how do the English get a slice of that? If they have to ask, I suppose, they will never truly understand the answer.
But it’s definitely not to buy some, as they tried to do when throwing their weighty wallets at Sven-Goran Eriksson and Fabio Capello.
That the English FA have even considered doing that again is a measure of what might reasonably be called the national plight.
For the moment, Wales can enjoy the escapism that Coleman and his men - and the similarly pride-inducing behaviour of their followers - provide.
I fear they may all be heading home after tonight for, although Wales have a good recent record against these adversaries, Belgium seemed to move into a long-awaited fifth gear when they overwhelmed the spirited Hungarians in Toulouse.
But who knows with an affair of the heart?
