Saturday, June 26, 2010
SO, on the eve of renewed battle with the old foe, the big question for England: is the glass half-full or half-empty?
Ask the pundits at the Beeb and ITV and they’ll happily declare it’s the former; ask the brutal enforcers out in Montrose and they’ll laugh contemptuously and suggest you stop viewing the World Cup through the bottom of the said glass.
Aye, but there’s the rub.
Having apparently drained all their meagre resources against the USA and Algeria, England managed to source a modicum of Dutch courage against woeful Slovenia, even if Capello’s offer of a relaxing beer earlier in the week was apparently unanimously turned down by those abstemious Premiership pros.
Still, suddenly and unexpectedly, Don Fabio found himself singing from the same hymn sheet as my old mate Arthur Mathews, football fanatic, long-time supporter of Leeds and Drogheda and — what’s the other thing? — oh, yes, Bafta award-winning co-writer of ‘Fr Ted’. So here’s a man who knows a comic possibility when he sees one.
On the morning of the Slovenia game, Arthur told me he reckoned he’d spotted the fatal flaw in England’s preparations for the World Cup. And no, it wasn’t getting their altitude acclimatisation wrong, forgetting to polish the diamond formation or picking Emile Heskey. And it wasn’t even bringing David Beckham along for the ride. No, Arthur pointed out, it was bringing David Beckham — when they should really have brought Gazza.
But, of course. Who better than English football’s ultimate court jester to liberate a squad paralysed by expectation, bored by ultra-discipline and apparently leading an entirely joyless existence locked up in their monastic Rustenburg boot camp.
The moment Arthur said it, it made perfect sense.
Picture the scene: there’s Don Fabio in the dug-out as his players forget how to play football against Algeria, his face a frozen Easter Island mask of pure disdain.
Then the camera pans slowly to his right to reveal Gazza leaning into the shot, gurning wildly, sticking out his tongue and playfully fondling a giant pair of inflatable pink breasts.
If that sight couldn’t give the, er, deflated players a lift, I don’t know what could, apart maybe from the bonus of seeing Jimmy Five-Bellies shadowing Stuart Pearce further along the bench.
Anyway, for reasons that are simply too sad to consider seriously, Gazza has been overlooked for an ambassadorial role in South Africa but at least Capello recognised the essential spirit of the concept by eventually concluding that, when all else fails in English football, the pint of lager is your only man.
Whether that will be enough to see them through against the Germans is another matter altogether but at least we may be grateful that England’s unconvincing qualification behind a spirited US side has nicely set up a World Cup encounter of historically classic proportions. Me, I think the youthful confidence and unexpected verve of the Germans should see them through but, whichever way the result goes, I somehow doubt that the English boys will be sticking to their pledge tomorrow night.
For other big names, it’s already a case of nothing left to do but drown their sorrows. And be sure that a couple of them would actually rather they didn’t have homes to go to. Apres France, le deluge – or at least Italy, the second of the finalists from four years ago in Berlin to fall at the first hurdle this time around. Needless to say, their shared fate has inspired the ever-excitable ‘Liveline’ community to renew its by now wearying mantra that Ireland coulda bin there, shoulda bin there and, do y’know what I’m goin’ to tell ye Joe, I think we coulda won the whole damn thing.
And, yes, we can all agree that’s it’s a terrible shame that Trap and the boys aren’t out there giving it all they’ve got — which is more than some of the marquee names have been doing.
However, without wishing to rain on anyone’s wake, can I just point out that in the four qualifying games we played against the now disgraced, hapless and humiliated French and Italian sides, Ireland’s record was (cough) three draws and a home defeat.
So, rather than extending our delightful orgy of victimhood any further, might I humbly suggest that we now concentrate our thoughts on the fact that, in the upcoming European Championships, we will be facing a Slovakian side who won their World Cup qualifying group outright and who have perhaps now surprised even themselves by getting through the first stage in South Africa to set up the daunting challenge of a game against Holland.
Meanwhile, after a hesitant start, the whole tournament is heating up nicely, with plenty of candidates already in line for top man, best goal, biggest goalkeeping howler, worst refereeing cock-up, most spectacular managerial hissy fit and all the rest.
But before we say a final au revoir to our French friends, might I submit my nomination for the all too often unheralded award of ‘Unintentionally Hilarious Newspaper Caption’.
It appeared in what we like to call a rival organ beneath a picture of Nicolas Anelka arriving all on his ownio off a plane from South Africa, the incredible sulk looking very Duff Paddy — or whatever yer man calls himself — in hooded gabardine, aviator shades, pressed blue jeans, blue shoes and matching blue and white-patterned suitcase and shoulder bag.
And the caption? "Arriving back in Paris, Nicolas Anelka cuts a Roy Keane-like figure…"
Now, okay, if he’d been walking a poodle…
Contact: liam.mackey@examiner.ie
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