Last night, it finally happened. I had a severe dose of World Cup Fever™. I was sitting in the living room, minding my own business, while on the crystal bucket England performed a comeback of Herculean proportions against the 41st best team in the world, DR Congo, to reach the last 16. It was extremely debilitating.
For long periods, I suffered from depression and anxiety, of a sort, along with raised blood pressure, which later turned to waves of uncontrolled euphoria washing over me. By the end of the game, I was physically and mentally exhausted. Oh for the joys of watching England play football.
A tournament which has largely passed me by flickered and then exploded into life last night as Our Boys first laboured and later cruised past plucky DR Congo. As ever, the word ‘reactions’ on social media had to be preceded with ‘over’.
England are shit again, the players aren’t good enough, nothing’s changed, the manager’s not up to the job and, best of all, we are a two man team. It was always thus. That two man team is Harry Kane and Jude Bellingham and, so the story goes, we would already be home but for their brilliance and – guess what? – that is 100% true. And why? Because they are both world class players who would be in consideration for a place in Earth’s team to play Mars. They’d certainly be in the squad. England are not unique in having to rely on world class players if they want to win games, never mind the actual tournament.
Take serial winners Brazil. Who are their world class players? Goalkeeper Alisson Becker for sure, along with Vinícius Júnior, but alongside them are a combination of high class, not world class, players. And Argentina? Lionel Messi, perhaps the greatest player of all-time and Julián Álvarez for sure, and … ? Spain have their world class players too, as have France, but like every other team in the tournament they need their stars to perform otherwise they won’t win.
Why did we struggle for long periods against DR Congo? Because they’re very good, physical, well-coached players. On paper, not as good as England, perhaps, but how many games are won on paper alone? Not many.
So, yes: we were heading for defeat until Harry Kane scored two goals of the highest quality, both created by Anthony Gordon, a very good, though not world class (yet) Barcelona player. That’s how football can work, with the hod-carriers doing the heavy lifting in order to enable the artists to perform. (Not that Gordon is a mere hod-carrier, but I hope you get the drift.)
If one watches the World Cup expecting silky perfection in every game, especially the ones involving England, have we learned nothing? Even in the World Cups we did well in, it wasn’t exactly an easy ride, not even in 1966 when we won the thing. 1990 was a grim struggle until we lost heroically and unluckily in the semi-final to West Germany on penalties and Euro 96 where we – oh no, this gets repetitive – lost in the semi-final to Germany on penalties was similar. The odd great performance along the way, but otherwise it’s a grind. Yet when the next World Cup comes along, we’re somehow surprised, shocked even, when the team staggers along like a footballing clown car until our resident genius turns up and rescues things.
Now, it’s onto Mexico, at altitude in Mexico City and, trust me, it won’t be pretty. Mexico don’t lose at home, they don’t even concede goals. Although we are ranked higher than them, they will be the hometown favourites. Put simply, some people are expecting us to lose. Good, I don’t. With our two world class players, and a united squad of committed Englishmen alongside them, I believe we can, and will, win.
Now, for a few more days, the World Cup will recede to the back of my mind until the crazy early hours of Monday morning when I know I’ll be staying up, despite my protestations to the contrary, to be put through the ringer yet again.
England are never as good as some folk think but we are never as bad as others might say. The truth is somewhere in the middle and a combination of hard work along with sparks of Kane and Bellingham genius will, I believe, propel us into the last eight where a far from great Brazil may be waiting. Bring it on, I say.
From Sunday night, that fever is going to get a whole lot worse.
