Brief Encounter

England’s latest World Cup stay was shorter than a holiday romance

Averaging three goals a game over the first week of the tournament, the 2014 FIFA World Cup in Brazil has already established itself as the best such competition in years.  With a refreshing absence of the cagey affairs one normally associates with the group stages, teams literally threw themselves forward – witness the second half of Germany v Ghana. It's a trait that has hitherto continued into the knockout stages - witness Belgium v USA!

And it has to be said that even England joined the party, albeit briefly.  The opening game against Italy had me more excited than at any World Cup since France ’98.  Rarely, if ever, have I watched an England team so committed to attack and carrying as much pace going forward.  Unfortunately, mistakes and lapses at the other end – so often in the past the bedrock of England’s usual progress to a quarter-final exit – meant the game was lost.

Six days later a 2-1 loss to Uruguay and Italy’s defeat by Costa Rica confirmed England’s exit at the group stages of a World Cup Finals for the first time since 1958.  The following Tuesday Roy Hodgson's team were on their way home.  They had taken just the one point from three matches; ironically that coming from a 0-0 draw against group winners Costa Rica who had already accounted for most people's favourites, Uruguay and Italy.

While I watched the Costa Rica "dead rubber" in frustration from the comfort of my armchair (I didn't see the point in again wasting money at the pub), several thousand England fans had made the costly trip to South America, many arriving after their team's elimination had already been confirmed.  As such their loyalty is to be commended, especially the 7,000 or so in Belo Horizonte who stood for ages after the final whistle of the final game hailing their, erm, heroes...

"The scenes afterwards in Belo were also superb. A poor team being supported until the end. Congas, new songs, and upbeat support. Fantastic. Homages to Lampard, Gerrard, Rooney, Hodgson and the rest of the side that 'the man in the pub' would never understand. Support unquestioned. Thats not to say England fans are happy with performances. Not good enough. One day we will be back though. Support still stays until then." Dean Cornish (England fan) via Twitter

Of course, despite the pre-tournament lack of expectation from what had been agreed beforehand by public and punters was a squad selected with the future in mind, the knives were being sharpened as soon as Suarez struck home his decisive second in Sao Paolo.  
Soon we had the usual outpourings of hurt, frustration and anger on the various platforms available.  Twitter went into overdrive as did the various radio phone-ins.  BBC 5 Live, a station that does these tournaments so well, suddenly became a no-go area for those of a nervous – or in my case pro-Hodgson – disposition.
This for me was the most disappointing aspect.  Aside from the usual suspects and those with an anti-Hodgson agenda (step forward the majority of football writers at The Daily Mail) most observers had seen much to take comfort in from England’s first game and accepted that overall progress was being made in the right direction.  Yet all of a sudden pundits and public alike reverted to the usual hunt for scapegoats.  And most looked no further than the manager.  Or Rooney.
This annoyed me.  For whereas the exits at Germany 2006 or in South Africa four years ago had me totally fed up with the state of the game in this country, this one left me far more philosophical - as well as far less inclined to direct the sort of fire at Hodgson that Capello's stewardship had more than deserved.

The problems with England go - and have gone for years - much higher than the manager. And while I often find him opportunistic, I have to agree with Chris Waddle (often the BBC's critic-in-chief on these occasions) when he rants about the Premier League and the lack of quality grassroots coaching, not to mention his fears that none of the exciting crop of youngsters will kick on for Euro 2016.  Indeed, Paul Hayward probably hit the nail on the head most accurately in a fine piece for the Daily Telegraph, which looked beyond the manager when apportioning most of the blame. 
Thankfully, he wasn't alone in this.  Henry Winter is consistently on the ball in his appraisal of the national team and remained so this time, first by acknowledging that Hodgson remains the only man capable of trying to tackle the "impossible job" then offering up further advice on the way forward.  And, praise the Lord, even the Daily Mail has at least one man standing up for the beleaguered boss!
In short, I think Michael Owen summed things up as well as anyone in this quote from a piece for the Daily Telegraph:

“You can analyse his tactics as much as you like, but ultimately both games were lost due to a combination of wasteful finishing at one end and a more clinical approach at the other, aided by our defensive mistakes. Unlike in South Africa, we did not bore the rest of the world, and there was no great systematic failure like we witnessed against Germany in Bloemfontein.
“England have not been completely overrun or outplayed for prolonged periods. Quite the contrary, both matches ebbed and flowed. We just do not have enough world class players to make a difference in the way Luis Suárez did for Uruguay.”

In Roy we (still) trust. Roll on the Euros!

On this day...

...I'm with the late, great Sir Bobby Robson when he wrote:

"First I am a patriot, in love with England, English football and the players; but, after that, Dutch soccer has always fascinated and thrilled me, going back to the days of Johan Cruyff and 'total football' in the 1974 and 1978 World Cup Finals.  Holland is only a short hop away..."

(From 'Against The Odds' - An Autobiography)

Guess I won't be supporting Spain tonight then!

Going Dutch

In honour of Hull's Orange links (think King Billy, the Ferries and Phil Brown) I'm now supporting the Netherlands in the World Cup...

Tigers Tigers rah rah rah!

I was over it.  No, honestly, I was.  Things had moved on quickly since Sunday.  As my last post describes, the Easington lads are back in pre-season, we've confirmed a couple more friendlies and I've had a Committee Meeting to occupy my thoughts.

In addition, Hull City have appointed a new manager; a shrewd one in my humble opinion, in the form of former Leicester boss Nigel Pearson.  And Yorkshire's fine start to the season has continued with a draw in the Roses match that took them back to the top of the County Championship.  With a US-based server at work denying me access to live commentary from either South Africa or Wimbledon, this season's availability of all Tykes creekit matches streamed via Radio Leeds has been a godsend, especially given the gripping nature of this week's contest.

But then this morning, Victoria Derbyshire interviewed Lucas Radebe on Five Live about tonight's Ghana v Uruguay quarter-final...and the whole sorry episode that was England's 2010 FIFA World Cup campaign suddenly came crashing back into focus.

For had things turned out differently - I'm not saying by much, just a minute off the clock in the USA-Algeria match or, perhaps more decisively, a safer pair of hands by a certain England goalkeeper - and it could well have been us lining up against Diego Forlan and company this evening...

...But it's not.  And, given our struggle to get past Slovenia and the abject nature of the performance against Germany, it's fair to say that had we topped our group we may still have struggled to get past the Black Stars.  Anyway, we'll never know.

As it is, I'm now rooting for Holland, or should I say The Netherlands (what's all that about anyway?) for the remainder of the competition (which may be this tea-time given that they're playing Brazil).

The Great Deliverer...or Reliever?

Don't ask me why.  It's partly historical (Hull has strong links, well King Billy's Bogs in the Old Town and the fact that like many others I was mesmerised by Cruyff and co in West Germany 1974 and Arie Haan's shooting at Argentina '78); it's partly geographical (they're my local team out of those remaining); and partly - very - tenuous (the first Easington side I really followed played in "Brilliant Orange", which was then replaced by a version of the famous Dutch World Cup strip of the Seventies).  Oh, and their flag is red, white and blue.  Ahem.

 The Dutch - traditionally strong up top

Another reason stems from a Stag Trip to Amsterdam in June 1994.  Booked onto the Ferry from Hull as "eleven inspectors visiting Rotterdam Docks" (male-only parties were frowned upon then by the Ferry companies) we arrived in Amsterdam on the lunchtime of the memorable USA v Holland World Cup quarter-final of 1994.

Our intention was to support Brazil, given that the Dutch had eliminated England - aided, it must be said, by an awful refereeing display in the meeting of the two in Rotterdam the previous year (a game forever remembered thanks to Channel 4's brilliant  Do I Not Like That documentary).  However, buoyed by an afternoon spent enjoying the delights of the city's cafe culture (!) and finding ourselves surrounded by thousands of Oranje-clad beauties come kick-off time, we quickly changed allegiance.  Shallow I know but what the heck.

The game itself was a cracker, won 3-2 by Brazil after the Dutch had come from 0-2 down at one stage.

In the wake of the defeat there were scenes I've become all-too accustomed to over here when England exit tournaments - minus the glass throwing and aggro of course!

The two countries met again at the semi-final stage in France '98 with Holland this time everyone's favourite other team thanks to Bergkamp's goal that had disposed of the Argies in the quarters.  Again, though, the Brazilians prevailed.  
Perhaps it'll be third time lucky this afternoon...

Tomorrow, I'm at Beverley Races on a works freebie.  Had things turned out differently, I'd have alternated between the horses and an England-Argentina clash, for which there would surely have been screens provided.  It would have made for a cracking afternoon.  Instead, along with thousands, nay millions of others, I'm left to wonder what might've been...

As one door closes...

It was very considerate of England to crash out of the World Cup just in time for our return to pre-season training...

 All this way for nothing...

The lads are back.  Looking suitably refreshed from their three weeks away and keen to get the feel of a football again after so long without seeing one, they appear more determined than ever to throw themselves back into their club environment.  But enough about England's pampered prima donnas, Easington United's players tonight resumed training ahead of the new season.

 "Any chance of a ball out here?"

I don't know why I'm trying to make light of our latest World Cup debacle.  Perhaps it's because I'm now of an age where I can accept our early exits slightly more...erm...gracefully?  But that doesn't mean I'm not hurting like hell again over what appears to be our most inept campaign since...well, before I was born!

The only difference between this week and its 2006 counterpart (in the immediate wake of the last time the so-called Golden Generation failed to deliver) is that I chose the slightly more level-headed approach of Radio 5 Live in preference to TalkSport as my vehicle for the traditional post-Cup inquest.  But a lot of the stuff being spouted is in much the same vein.

 "...and we're not gonna get back for Easington's first training session"

We all have our views as to the causes behind England's failure and on how things can, nay must, be improved next time.  There were three such sets of opinions expressed in today's Telegraph, courtesy of Henry Winter, Kevin Garside and Ossie Ardiles, each of which made some valid points.
However, what really galls me about such articles and the countless comments expressed by telly and radio pundits alike is that come August and the start of the Premier League season, the misery of the past few weeks will all too easily be forgotten.  Well, not by me it won't!
Alan Green and Chris Waddle spoke a lot of sense about England's shortcomings on 5 Live's World Cup Breakfast yesterday, only for Greeny to then come out with an absurd call on England fans to either boycott the "meaningless" friendly against Hungary in August or, if attending, to boo the players.  Ridiculous.  For a start, to call any England game "meaningless" really pisses me off.  To play for your country in any fixture should be an absolute honour and treated as such. 
Secondly, I wouldn't expect half of those players who performed so poorly in Bloemfontein, Cape Town et al, to be even in the side come August; while booing the likes of Wilshere, Dawson, Gibbs and Rodwell will simply result in another set of players either too scared or too scarred to play well for their country.

 "Easy peasy, lemon squeezy"

(As a German fan had predicted beforehand)

The Germans have got it spot on - they put their national team first and the league second.
To this end it was incredible to hear Wigan chairman Dave Whelan spouting on that the Premier League should take over the running of the National team.  They're the feckers that got the team into this mess in the first place.  Mr Whelan's club is managed by a Spaniard and full of foreign players i.e. it is indicative of what is wrong with football in this country.

Walking back to happiness 

So, given the hand-wringing prompted by Fabio's far from fab footballers, it really was refreshing to get back to basics tonight with a trip to watch the lads' first pre-season session. 

A turnout approaching the thirty mark wasn't bad in view of holidays, work commitments and wedding anniversaries (!?) and with the bulk of last season's first team squad there and raring to go, it surely augers well for the forthcoming campaign.  

And not a German in sight.  Mind you, I did think Manager Mack turning up in a Scotland shirt was just taking that little bit too far...

 A ball at last. I'll be Klose, you're Muller...

 

Finally, as it's a week in which we have been made to look very, very second best by our Teutonic brethren, I might as well sign off with something else that's German and very good at the moment...

 

For you Englander ze war is never over!

England's clash with Germany is just a football match...isn't it?

The morning after Germany's win over Ghana, which confirmed yet another meeting of the "arch-rivals" in the last 16 of the World Cup, the topic of Nicky Campbell's phone-in on 5 Live was "Can England v Germany ever only be about football?"

The answer I deduced from listening to most callers to the subsequent programme (whilst busy with my work of course) was yes it can...if you're of a certain age.  For others like me, now in their forties, it's perhaps not that easy.

Anyone who has read the brilliantly hilarious start to Harry Pearson's Achtung Schweinehund - A Boy's Own Story Of Imaginary Combat will probably understand why.

I was 139 days old when these chaps lined up at Wembley

People born in the Sixties were surrounded by "the war", especially if like me you had a father, grandfather and great-grandfather who'd all served King & Country; with two of them having done that in conflict with "The Hun".

Like Pearson I was brought up on Airfix models and toy soldiers, along with a TV diet of Dad's Army and It Ain't Half Hot Mum, Colditz and The World At War as well as a whole host of films that actually highlighted our contribution to eventual victory (unlike recent Hollywood attempts to airbrush Britain from the conflict altogether).

War, in particular the 1939-45 conflict, even became a source of comedy in mainstream programmes, something that continued throughout the Seventies (Fawlty Towers) and Eighties (Auf Weidersehen, Pet), while as recently as the Nineties Harry Enfield introduced a German character whose fall-back line was to apologise for his nation's conduct in "ze war".

Given so much material there's little wonder that people of my generation had Germany engrained as public enemy number one in all facets of life, from football to Eurovision and even Jeux Sans Frontieres (It's A Knockout).
Of course in football there was even more reason to want to beat "the Boche".  Too young to share in the glory of '66 or the despair of Mexico 1970, the first England v (West) Germany encounter I can recall  - albeit vaguely - is from the Saturday night in April 1972 when Gunter Netzer inspired the visitors to a 3-1 win at Wembley, realistically dumping us out of the European Championships at the now familiar quarter-final stage.
In his worthy read England v Germany - The Best Of Enemies David Downing describes that particular West German triumph as "a real watershed for both the English national team itself and the expectations which surrounded it.  It knocked the incipient cockiness out of English football".  For me it also set the tone for a lifelong catalogue of disappointments at the hands of our Teutonic rivals.

The bloke in the middle's a right Gunt

Obviously Italia 90 and Euro 96 rank among our greatest setbacks, made worse  by the fact that in both cases the Germans went on to win the actual competition.  Even when we tasted all-too-rare success in our meetings - Shearer's winner in Charleroi and the 5-1 demolition job in Munich - there was to be no long-term gain.

I observed each of the above in the company of like-minded souls in packed boozers or at organised gatherings.  The only Anglo-German meeting I've witnessed at first hand came in the World Cup qualifier at Wembley in October 2000; the last game to be played under the famous Twin Towers and the one that prompted Kevin Keegan to walk away from the "impossible job".  No need to tell you who won.
Obviously the Munich meeting more than compensated for that defeat (although, in the bigger picture, it was again Germany who advanced to the Final) and 2008's friendly win in Berlin suggests that there has perhaps been a slight shift in power in recent times.  But  that will count for zilch come Sunday!

 German Kuntz

So despite what Downing describes as the "peculiar piquancy of the Anglo-German football relationship", including "the legacy of that political and military enmity which afflicted the two nations in the first half of the (20th) century" (and also "the barely conscious recognition of the fact that the two nations are similar in so many ways") it's plain to see there are enough footballing reasons alone to "hate" the Germans.  No "Achtung Surrender" headlines this time please. 
However, that said I do think people are a little bit over-sensitive when they  go overboard about the familiar tunes that will no doubt emanate from the massed ranks of St George on Sunday.  "The Great Escape", "The Dambusters Theme" and yes, even "Ten German Bombers" should be accepted for what they are - bad taste songs sung (badly) by  football fans for football fans.  It's banter - ignorant banter perhaps but banter all the same.  Despite Bernard Manning once saying, "if their football was as bad as their sense of humour they wouldn't be in the World Cup", many Germans spoken to ahead of recent meetings on the football field no longer take exception to such "wit".  Indeed, I'm sure they will also have their own anti-English "ditties" to fall back upon.  As long as it goes no further than the sharing of such (non)musical offerings and supporters can otherwise peacably enjoy a gripping contest then football will again be the winner.  Not that we'll hear them anyway - thanks to those bloody vuvuzelas!

 Man with the Horn

Postscript: The first person I met en route to work yesterday was a man some twenty years' older than me whose morning greeting consisted of sticking his head out of his van window and shouting, "We'll do them square-headed bastards on Sunday!" I allowed myself a wry smile.  Anyway, here's to a "Hun-Nil" victory on Sunday...

'Nuff said

 "So it would be Utopia to win the World Cup...but every time England wins, it's the most marvellous feeling, every time.  Because you know you're representing the whole nation.  When we did well at Ipswich, we did well for that community - but when Ipswich win, nobody in Plymouth gives a monkey's, do they?  Nobody in Carlisle gives a monkey's.  But when England win, the postman in Carlisle, and the girl who sells papers in Plymouth, they care. Because it's the nation." 

Bobby Robson

(From All Payed Out - The Full Story of Italia '90 by Pete Davies)

A different Italian Job?

Following England's faltering start to their World Cup campaign, memories of Italia '90 are being trotted out as justification of there being no need to panic.  But are the two campaigns that similar?

And you think you're pissed off?

Seemingly everyone agrees that England's performances thus far in South Africa are not of the level anticipated beforehand.  Indeed, there's general consensus that the display against Algeria was the worst by an England team in many years.

So it's no surprise that in rushing to remind doubters that progress in the competition is still very much in the team's own hands - and we must remember that a win on Wednesday assures them of a place in the last 16 - people hark back to Italia '90 for evidence of a campaign that got off to a similarly inauspicious start.

And with good cause it would seem...

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  As with South Africa 2010, England arrived on the back of an impressive qualifying campaign (people remember the desperate draw against Poland in Katowice but forget that England remained unbeaten in the group and conceded only one goal in qualification). 
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  In 1990 they also came into the tournament on the back of an uninspiring performance in their final friendly when only a last-gasp equaliser rescued them against Tunisia.
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  Uncertainty surrounded the manager's position leading up to both tournaments.  In 1990 Robson eventually agreed to join PSV Eindhoven immediately after the World Cup once it became clear that the FA would not be renewing his contract regardless of England's progress in the competition; twenty years later Fabio Capello was being touted for the Inter Milan job just days ahead of England's departure for South Africa.
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  Both the 1990 and 2010 England squads lost their skipper to injury -  Bryan Robson's World Cup misfortunes continuing for a third time in Italy after just two games, while Rio Ferdinand was forced out of the current competition before a ball had been kicked.
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  On both occasions England's first two games ended in draws.
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  And in both 1990 and 2010 the Press and (reportedly) the players were pushing the manager for a change of system and personnel.
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  Finally, but not specific to England alone, the opening games of the 1990 World Cup were also dismissed as dour.

What would he say about all this?

Obviously, those like me who remember Italia '90 with some fondness willingly put up all the above as pointers to a successful tournament this time round.

However, before we get too excited, perhaps it's worth considering just a few differences between the two "Italian Jobs".

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  For a start, whereas England's goalless draw with Holland that marked their second game in Sardinia was accompanied by a performance far improved on that against the Republic of Ireland in their opener, the display against Algeria last Friday was actually worsethan even the mediocre first game against the USA.
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  It should also be remembered that in Italia 90 the Holland game had already seen Manager Robson change team and tactics, with Mark Wright employed as a sweeper.  (Although it still remains a point for discussion just how the change came about.  In his autobiography Against The Odds, Robson says he'd always intended to play the sweeper system though most other observers maintain that the decision was actually made following discussion with either a mentor or senior players.)
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  This notwithstanding, there's no doubt that Robson was regarded as a manager very much at ease with talking to his players over matters of team selection and tactics.  This is not the Capello way and despite much campaigning by the Press and, reportedly, by the likes of John Terry and other players within the camp, the Italian has so far resisted any temptation to stray far from his trusted 4-4-2 and/or bring Joe Cole in from the cold.
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  And personnel-wise, the England team of 1990 had in their goal a keeper who could quite rightly claim to be the best in the world - Peter Shilton.  The 2010 version can't even claim to be the best in the team!

Taking these differences into account puts a whole new complexion on things.  The "omens" suddenly don't look that good.  Which is why I've decided to discard them altogether and stop looking for reasons to think England will finally come good in this tournament...other than that too many of the players are staring at a last ever appearance on the big stage for them not to finally pull their fucking socks up and match the efforts of their supporters.

England 2 Slovenia 0...then we can all start worrying about the Germans...again!

COME ON!

My England...

...Or, not another World Cup blog!

 A nation expects...again

It seems a long time since Sven's limitations and those of the so-called "Golden Generation" were last shown up on the big stage, in Germany; probably because thanks to McLaren's even greater shortcomings we didn't have the 2008 Euros to help break the wait. 

But at long last it's here and on Saturday 12th June 2010 an England team will again carry the expectations of a nation into the world's greatest footballing competition (after the South Holderness Cup of course).

I love everything about the World Cup when England are involved.  The anticipation, the excitement, the nerves, everything...well, perhaps with the following exceptions:-

For a start I could do without the way the Press build everything up to such a crescendo before seemingly taking great delight when it all comes crashing back down.

Then there are those thousands, nay millions, of people whose only interest in the game comes around during a World Cup and who then suddenly become experts on all things football; taking their opinions  straight from the pundits sofa or the back pages they'v already lined up Fabio's perceived refusal to deviate from his preferred 4-4-2 formation as the reason for it all going wrong - as indeed it surely must - because that's what many of the pundits think.

But the biggest bane of any World Cup experience for me is the ABE ("Anyone But England") Brigade.  Popular north of the border, the most irritating members of the group are in fact English themselves.  You know the sort, those "chattering classes" types (usually of a pinko political persuasion) who think that anything  that involves wrapping oneself in the national flag is a glorification of the days of Empire and a sop to the politics of the far Right. To them the sooner this wave of "nationalism" is ended the better.  They actually take great delight in our exit (especially if it comes via penalties) and can't wait until the stage is left to the "real artisans" like Brazil, Spain, Italy et al.  Soft cocks.

 Obviously the local BNP HQ?

The first time I encountered such people was twenty years ago during Italia '90.  
Of the eight World Cups England have participated in during my lifetime, it's still the one that evokes most memories (and those of the Daily Telegraph's Jasper Rees evidently).  Pete Davies' masterpiece, All Played Out, provides a brilliant record as does the film inspired by it, One Night In Turin, which was released earlier this year.

It's all there (including, unavoidably, the crowd trouble) - Nessun Dorma, Platt's volley, those missed penalties and of course Gazza's tears - and it serves as a fine reminder of just how close Bobby Robson's side came to emulating the achievements of the Boys of '66, the year of my birth.

Too young to take-in Mexico '70 (though Jeff Dawson's excellent Back Home does a good job of making you feel you're there) I "supported" Scotland in the next two tournaments. due to England's failure to qualify.  Still not old enough to drink during Espana '82 and convalescing after an operation for Mexico '86, the 1990 competition was therefore the first I could enjoy in the company of fellow fans and, more importantly, with pint in hand!
My venue of choice, after suffering the opening draw against the Irish at home, was a flat on Hull's recently-opened Victoria Dock Development.  No.4 Plimsoll Way, just off the Myton Bridge roundabout, to be precise.
Co-owned by a couple of mates ("Men Behaving Badly") it became populated by the bulk of those with whom I spent my Saturday nights round town.  This led to some twenty of us packing into the lounge area of the two bedroomed apartment on matchday (and gave some fairly surreal sights such as Dutch fan Lee "van Lager" Freeman having his own segregated chair (with restricted view of course) for the Holland game and not being allowed to partake of the communal refreshments...while the rest of were packed in like sardines across the remainder of the lounge!).

1990 saw the "New" Silhouette Club on Park Street take over from the legendary Spiders as our club of choice for late-night drinking.  It was the year of "Madchester", baggy dancing and even baggier haircuts.  The soundtrack to the World Cup was provided by the Stone Roses, Happy Mondays, Inspiral Carpets; the North of England was where it was all happening.

Several local memories stand out from that tournament - the main one being the scenes on Ferensway the night Platt's last-gasp volley beat the Belgians, which were akin to those we are accustomed to seeing on the Continent; blaring horns, car-surfing, flags waving and incredible noise (matched by the crowd packed into Student night at LA's where World In Motion had the dancefloor throbbing).
And when it came to THAT night in Turin the whole country really did seem to grind to a standstill. 
Even in 1990, though, there were plenty who wanted to see the country's footballers fail.  Post-Heysel football was not the "family game" it's seen as now and the national team were held in low esteem (especially following the 1988 European Championships in West Germany where defeat on the pitch had been accompanied by the usual aggro off it).   Every bit of trouble that could be pinned on England fans was done so with particular gusto by the likes of Sports Minister Colin Moynihan and the right-wing Press.

But as the tournament progressed, gradually Robson's team won people round.  Of course, like all World Cups since '66 it ended in tears.  And not for the first  or last time, eventual defeat came at the hands of "those Germans".  As Gary Lineker (or "Line-Acre" as Mick Channon so amusingly called him during the 1986 tournament) observed, football is a game between 11 players on each side which the Germans win.

Despite the head of steam built up in Italy, when England's exit was confirmed, there were many who couldn't wait to take delight in the fact.  Like the man encountered in The Mint bar on Lowgate as we attempted to drown our considerable sorrows in the immediate wake of Waddle's ballooned penalty.  Sporting a ridiculous rotating Stars & Stripes dickie bow tie (well it was 4th July I suppose) this resident of Hull proceeded to tell us that the better team had gone through and that "we'd" been lucky to get this far.  Surprisingly he remained upright.
Thankfully, the sights and sounds around Luton Airport the following Sunday, where three of us decided to head to see Gazza and co's return, helped restore the faith.

Although passionate in my support of the national team in most sports and in spite of the fact that since 1990 there have been competitions well within reach (France & Germany providing two recent destinations) I've never really entertained the prospect of taking in a World Cup or a European Championships first-hand.  Admittedly, part of the reason has been down to the media's portrayed image of the "baggage" that comes with attending such tournaments - why have all the hassle of Marseilles and Charleroi when you can instead join England's cricketing "Barmy Army" without risk in Melbourne and Cape Town?
Indeed, seeing England's footballers in the flesh is an experience I've all too rarely felt.  A school trip to Wembley for Viv Anderson's debut (the first by a black player for England) in a 1-0 win over Czechoslovakia was my first, while my most recent came back in 2000, the final game beneath the twin towers and was accompanied by defeat - at the hands of Germany of course.
Meanwhile my only taste of an "away" game for the national side was a rather chastening one; a 1989 trip to a sodden Hampden Park from which I, along with several thousand other Englishmen, were forcibly ejected by Strathclyde Police at half-time following 45 minutes of sporadic crowd trouble in various parts of the ground.  While we struggled to find our coach (a Simon Gray-organised Connor & Graham no less!) Richard Gough headed the only goal of the game for the Jocks.  Not the sort of experience that has you rushing back for more.
So, tomorrow evening in Rustenberg SA begins another quest to justify the hype  and hopefully silence the doubters. Top the group should be achievable, quarters par for the course, the semis a bonus and reaching the final, well...
I will watch the opening game in my local, The Granby, where I will hope to sink a pint or three of Great Newsome Haymakers Tipple in accompaniment to an opening win over the USA.
It won't be easy (the game that is, not sinking a few summer ales).  Not only are we notoriously slow starters in major competitions but the Yanks looked impressive in last year's Confederations Cup wherein they beat World Cup favourites Spain.

 No, please, not again!

And as if to ensure there's no over-confidence, tonight's BBC World Cup coverage included a fascinating piece recounting the 1950 "Miracle On Grass" from Belo Horizonte, Brazil.  It's a story I've just read about in Mark Pougatch's fine Three Lions Versus The World (along with the other two books mentioned a must for any England fan).
That day a goal from a Haitian born striker proved England's downfall.  Let's just hope Jozy Altidore doesn't replicate Joe Gaetjens' feat tomorrow?

But whatever the outcome tomorrow, next Friday or some time later in the competition, there's no doubt that the World Cup is the most eagerly anticipated part of most, if not all, football supporters' calendar.  Millions will board the national bandwagon in a way that no club competition can hope to emulate.  The effect England's success has on the nation should be held up every time the boring "club v country row" resurfaces.  All rivalries can be put to one side when Rooney is wearing three lions on his shirt.

So come on England, do us proud just like these boys did...ahem...

 

 

..well, possibly not!  COME ON ENGLAND!