The House of Orange-Nassau is basking in the glow of not one, but two World Cup triumphs. This morning, King Willem-Alexander and Queen Máxima led celebrations for the Netherlands' victory in the women's football World Cup, a feat achieved just hours after the men's hockey team secured their own title. The juxtaposition of royal pomp with sporting prowess has, predictably, sent the Dutch media into a frenzy. But for those of us watching from London, the event raises a more pointed question: where is the British monarchy’s equivalent?
The British royal family, of course, has its own sporting traditions. Prince Charles was a keen polo player. The Queen’s racing colours are iconic. But in an era of austerity and declining national pride, the monarchy’s ability to tap into mass sporting success appears to be on the wane. The Dutch royals, by contrast, have positioned themselves as the embodiment of a winning nation. It is a savvy investment in soft power, and one that the British treasury might do well to examine. After all, every gold medal won under the watchful eye of a monarch is a deposit in the bank of national morale.
Yet, I cannot help but feel a twinge of skepticism. The cost of these celebrations is rarely disclosed, but rest assured, it will be borne by the Dutch taxpayer. The gilded carriages, the security details, the inevitable state banquet: all of it adds to a national debt that is already groaning under the weight of European welfare obligations. The Dutch, like the British, are fond of their monarchy. But at what price?
Still, the symbolism is potent. A twin World Cup victory is a rare and precious commodity in the world of sports. For the Dutch, it is a reminder of their golden age. For the British, it is a nudge that our own sporting institutions, tethered to the crown, must deliver results to justify their privileged position. In the meantime, I shall watch with interest as the Bank of England juggles interest rates and the Chancellor frets over inflation. The real contest, after all, is not on the pitch but in the ledgers of Whitehall.