WHO WILL you be cheering for at Euro 2008? This is the question being asked with some desperation by the BBC, in a series of television adverts designed to whip up interest in a tournament that most England supporters wish would just go away. The adverts have had a counter-intuitive effect upon me; all those perky geezers saying how much they’re looking forward to watching Cristiano Ronaldo play. Yeah, me too, mate. Can’t get enough of him. Hopefully he’ll be flattened by a spiteful Turk in the group stage and that’ll be the last we see of him.

It’s not the BBC’s fault, of course: if they hadn’t bought the rights to Euro 2008 and England had got through we’d all be moaning about the decline of a once great institution, the licence fee and Jonathan Ross’s salary, etc. But I’m not sure the corporation should be bragging about it right now. Run the matches after midnight and maybe shove a clip in the news if Ronaldo misses his third televised penalty on the trot. But worse still, the BBC has signed up as its top pundit none other than the great Steve McClaren — who, if he knew anything about football, would be too busy this summer to divest himself of inanities every night to Gary and Alan. They haven’t mentioned that on the adverts, and for good reason. Having McClaren give informed comment on Euro 2008 is about as appropriate as getting Kate and Gerry McCann to edit the 2008 Good Parenting Guide, or asking Sheikh Abu Hamza to juggle. Still, we can always sit and marvel at his new teeth. It’s quite possible that with the payoff from the FA he’s bought even more teeth, an entire second jawline.

I suppose that quite a lot of Manchester United supporters will be cheering for Portugal, it being their national side by proxy. I think it fair to say that, with the possible exception of France, I would prefer almost anyone else to win the competition. Even Turkey, a perpetually overrated side of snarling, spitting maniacs, or Germany. The Germans at least share with England the soubriquet of most loathed nation in Europe; they are also, with the Dutch, our closest cousins. But something deep-seated and primal stops me supporting the Germans. And there will be altogether far too many “footie” fans, of the kind who read When Saturday Comes and who have visited every single football stadium in the country (having taken days off from work at their IT company to catch Coalville Town playing Ashby-de-la-Zouch), cheering on the “total football” of the Dutch, and wearing a retro Johnny Rep replica shirt underneath their anoraks. Can’t have them win it. Luckily, they never do, despite everyone always saying they will.

Nor do Spain, the Newcastle United of international football, a nation which thinks itself terribly good at football, when all the available evidence, both historic and contemporary, strongly suggests the contrary. This year they are in what is probably the weakest group and will likely be favourites to win it. What’s the betting they end up third, behind a dilatory Russia and the catatonic stupor of Sweden and go home to usual abuse and recriminations?

I would like to get behind either Austria or Switzerland, because there is something very touching about people who hold a party in their house knowing that they will only be taking part in it for the briefest of moments and are likely to be spending the rest of the evening sulking in the kitchen while the revelry continues in their living room. Both of these teams are more torpid and witless than England though, which is saying something, the footballing equivalent of the Daily Mail’s “coffee break” sudoku. I cannot swallow my pride and support Croatia, either — not because they play in stupid shirts, but because in beating England, with some ease, they immediately became established in the minds of our deluded commentators as one of the favourites to win the competition. I do not understand why this should be the case. Put some jumpers down in the park and I reckon you and I could beat England, especially if Frankie Lampard and Shaun Wright-Phillips are playing. And they had Robinson in goal.

I would rather have my prostate gland expand to the size of a pumpkin than watch France win Euro 2008. They, too, have been overrated for many years and were, by my reckoning, supremely fortunate to be World Cup finalists; it would not surprise me overmuch if they failed to qualify from what is probably the toughest of all qualifying groups. In any case, there is at least the prospect of a thoroughly spiteful group match against Italy, with various people’s mothers being called a whore, the occasional nutting, and so on. That should enliven proceedings a little. I would tip the Italians and the perpetually surly Romanians to proceed to the next stage — partly, I admit, out of wishful thinking. One way or another, this will be the group to watch, the group of epic petulance and trampled hubris.

My allegiance, largely by default, will be affixed to the masts of the Czech Republic and Poland. This is also partly nostalgia; when other kids were pretending to be Roberto Rivelino, Pele and Gerd Muller in playground kick-arounds, I was always Ladislav Petras or Lubanski. I even once, a la Petras, crossed myself after scoring a goal for my school team and was smacked about the head later for this act by my somewhat protestant father. If the Poles or Czechs win it will mean free taxi rides and beers on the house in my — and almost certainly your — neck of the woods.