Are we in or out of Europe?

So this is the eve of an event that could have a profound effect on Europe, that will place the continent in sharp focus, make and break careers, and will have a measurable impact on the economy.

But enough about the Brexit debate, tomorrow night Euro 2016 kicks off, here in France. This will be the third time I've been living in a European Championships host nation - the previous two being Euro '96 (England) and Euro 2000 (the northern half of Netherlands & Belgium). The contrast, however, couldn't be any different.

In 1996, England was awash with the Cool Britannia spirit and fuelled by Britpop. We English were beside ourselves with excitement at hosting the first major football tournament since the 1966 World Cup, and we all knew how that turned out for us. However, if we needed a reminder, there was Three Lions, the song written by David Baddiel and Frank Skinner with Ian Broudie of The Lightning Seeds, with its bittersweet refrain of "Thirty years of hurt".

Everywhere you went, people were singing "It's coming home, it's coming home - football's coming home!". A new national anthem was born, a replacement for God Save The Queen (not the Pistols' version) and an alternative to Land Of Hope And Glory and all those blood-pumpers by Elgar at The Proms. And it fitted right into the cadence of intrinsically English sounds at the time by Blur, Oasis, Pulp and others.

Euro '96 was a magical time. As magical as the 1990 World Cup in Italy had been - even with a similar outcome for the Lions. In 1996 the sun shone and England were on a high. Though their opening game against Switzerland was an unexpected 1-1 stumble, there was that piece of Paul Gascoigne magic in the 2-0 win over Scotland that followed. Then came the 4-1 demolition of the Dutch which came next, along with the abiding memory of away fans clad in their customary luminous orange attire partying throughout London with home fans. There was a lot of love going on. And then England's quarter-final with Spain, one of the fancied teams, which ended 0-0 and had to be decided on penalties, not England's strongest point. Except they won it by four strikes to two and went on to yet another semi-final with Germany. Which they lost on penalties, obviously.

The reason I drag all this up is that the contrast between England in 1996 and France 20 years later couldn't be greater. Well, I say France, but I can only really speak for Paris. But if the French capital is anything to go by, I'm not seeing much excitement here. Yes, there are official flags and banners hanging from lamposts and the enormous Fan Zone is up in the Champ de Mars park behind the Eiffel Tower, but there is no obvious fervour, no cars driving around bearing patriotic penants - nothing to really indicate that Europe's 24 top teams (which, surely, must be almost all of them...) are here for at least the next two weeks, if not the tournament's duration.

Maybe it is a consequence of the gloom I posted about on Monday: the Seine floodwaters may have receded, but the strikes go on, including industrial action by refuse workers leading to piles of uncollected rubbish on the streets of Paris. Coupled with the very real threat of a terror attack or attacks (with fears nuanced heavily by the fact that the national stadium, the Stade De France, was targeted by suicide bombers on November 13), people just don't seem to be enthusing about arguably the world's second most prestigious international football tournament taking place on home soil.

Perhaps it's simply nonchalance, the local sangfroid you grow used to, rubbing off on me. Perhaps it's the weariness we all feel after months of scandal and the foul taste international football administration has left in our mouths. But, either way, Iam yet to succumb to the child-on-Christmas-Eve giddyness I would normally possess the day befor a big tournament. I haven't spent hours studying a free newspaper wallchart, and dutifully transplanting all the dates into my calendar; I'm not au fait with all ten venues; and given that a staggering quarter of the total players at Euro 2016 play in the Premier League, I've failed to be that bothered by the traditional mystique of not knowing who-is-who that accompanies watching nationalities compete with each other.

The sense of local malaise notwithstanding, perhaps my jadedness comes from the fact that, as an Englishman, I've grown used to disappointment. "30 years of hurt" was achingly brutal 20 years ago. When the 50th anniversary of Bobby Moore lifting the gleaming Jules Rimet trophy comes around on July 30 this year, it will be even more painful that, potentially, half a century will have passed without England progressing further than a semi-final in either the Euros or a World Cup.

The closest we've come are two semi-final penalty shootouts. We have, to be honest, and to borrow from José Mourinho, become a specialist in failure. Even that damn brass band accompanying every England match still insists on playing the theme from The Great Escape, which may have been one of the finest films made about the Second World War, but also depicts a brave but ultimately doomed attempt to break out of a German POW camp (76 escaped, 73 were captured or which 50 were shot...). Stirring as the music is, there's a heavy irony to its use in getting crowds going.

It is regularly pointed out that the primary source of our angst may be that we're just not as good as we'd like to think we are, that just because the Premier League is the world's most popular - and lucrative - football league doesn't mean that the English national team can match it. Not for nothing the current European champions, Spain, have such a player foothold in the English top-tier. The debates rage on message boards and in radio phone-ins about the impact of foreign players and coaches on England's chances at a national level (and not just England - it's a debate in other national leagues too).

When you look at England's tournament history since 1966, it really isn't that good. For the nation that invented association football and is, along with Scotland, the joint oldest national team in the world, for every euphoric Italia '90 and Euro '96 there are the ignominious appearances, disappearances and even no-shows at World Cups and Euros. Compare this to the Germans, who've reached 13 finals at either World Cup or European level. Compare this, too, with Spain who've won the European title three times, France twice, and even the Italians, Czechs, Dutch, Danish and Greeks have each won one European Championship trophy since England last touched silverware.

We've been there before, too, with talk of a "golden generation". Even when that illustrious club of gifted young pups from Manchester United were forming the core of the England side, success was elusive. So what this time? No one is going to overdo it. Roy Hodgson does have in his squad an emerging force of prospects - like Kane, Alli, Sterling and Rashford, along with Jamie Vardy, fresh from his Player of the Year exploits at Leicester. But will these relative lion cubs be good enough on the European stage? Talent they have, but not the experience. And, perhaps the stamina, after another gruelling domestic season, though that is too often an excuse rather than an explanation. England might have some enticing options up front, but there's a thinness to their defensive capabilities that only suggests vulnerability.

In the end, the jaded England fan will take it as it comes. We've been disappointed before and we'll be disappointed again, so there's no point pinning even the most optimistic patriotism on this time. Even if we're all surprised but what actually transpires.