The Big Whatsit

Hmm, it’s been a few days, has it not? Unfortunately, this has been a rough old week for me, in more ways than one. But on to business, and thanks incidentally to Dawn and Tom for providing the first comments this site has ever received. Comments are great. Even if you don’t agree with what I have to say, it’s nice to know you care.

For reasons that aren’t instantly clear to me, I spent a couple of hours at the weekend watching England’s World Cup Fever. Bought for 97p from Amazon as a stocking filer for The Boy, and mainly because we got a free flag with it, the two-disc set contains a documentary about Albion’s progress through the qualifying campaign for the Germany-based World Cup, and the full match from our boys’ gallant 3-2 friendly win over Argentina in November 2005.

Looking back at it now, I still feel a sad lump rise in my throat at the opportunity lost in Baden Baden and beyond. I can recall the optimism I experienced before the World Cup. Hey, we were all there. It’s easy now to claim we were never going to win the thing, but before the tournament I think England were genuinely rated amongst the favourites. You’re not going to tell me that Italy had the best squad in the world, are you? The competition was thrilling, entertaining and stuffed with shocks, yet one of the most tedious aspects of it was being an England fan. Even passionate flag wavers would have to agree the team was dull, and under-achieved at every turn. There was a sense that no one’s heart was quite in it, that despite being crammed with fine players the team reached the quarter finals by virtue of playing also rans. As soon as they met something of a test, a Portugal side that wasn’t as good as the 2004 vintage, England ran out of steam.

All this makes watching the DVD even more tragic. Did England have a good enough squad to triumph in Berlin? Almost certainly. The documentary shows a side that could roll over anyone given the correct motivation and tactics. David Beckham, lambasted after the World Cup for lingering long past his best, definitely had the talent to deserve a place in the squad, and probably still does. I have never felt he was captain material, and am more inclined to agree with current picks like Terry or Gerrard, but the man played his arse off whenever he donned the three lions. He cared, scored a surfeit of goals (most of them were great), led by example even if he seemed too nice to bollock his teammates for a lack of effort, and was central to everything the team achieved. Sadly, the manager’s faith in him was too unwavering. During the finals, we got a glimpse of Aaron Lennon, Tottenham’s right winger who isn’t the finished article but who brought some vital pace and energy to his role. Beckham was far too entrenched. Sven-Goran Eriksson allegedly had a core of players who would get picked to start, no matter what, and this meant a Becks lacking in form and match practice could still lead his country.

Yet for much of the qualifiers, he did a good job, as did his compatriots. Only a 2-2 draw in Austria, which saw England allow a two-goal lead to pass them by, and that defeat against Northern Ireland at Windsor Park, let them down. Clearly, even in a straightforward group like the one we enjoyed, there was room for folly. For the most part, England swaggered through the petty obstacle of lesser national outfits. Yet there were signs that all wasn’t well. Whether via David James’s clumsiness, the incompatability of Gerrard and Lampard, Wayne Rooney’s occasional fallibility, the incomprehensible selection of Sol Campbell, and the fact that Sven-Goran Eriksson obviously didn’t know what to do with Owen Hargreaves and Ledley King, England were far from perfect. They were, in fact, perfectly capable of messing things up. Losing to Ulster was one black mark. Making hard work of a number of lesser opponents was a damning other.

So who’s to blame? The Sun made no secret of the fact it despised Eriksson, following his departure from the England job (not to mention the high wage he continues to draw from the FA by means of compensation), and I can’t say I disagree with it. The DVD contains a lengthy interview with Sven, some segments of which appear in the main documentary as he elaborates on his charges’ performances. I found myself not liking the cut of his gib. Much has been made of Eriksson’s lack of emotional involvement, the way he appeared to be detached from the passions of his adopted country. Worryingly, this has led to calls for never having a bloody foreigner manage our beloved national team again, despite the abject truth that the best coach this country has going for it simply isn’t up to scratch at the top level. Nonetheless, they were right about Eriksson. Cast your minds back to 2001, when he first got the job. Then, we admired his air of culture, his intelligence and pedigree. You could buy a classical collection of music that he had personally selected. Training departments across the country had the choice of purchasing a Leadership guide that was inspired by his management techniques, or even his own Sven-Goran Eriksson on Management volume.

All that seems a very long time ago, and I imagine there aren’t too many copies of either book remaining in directors’ offices around the nation. By 2006, Eriksson was revealed as an arch-conservative in his thinking, not to mention a bit of a slag where the ladies were concerned. This being the official account of England’s road to Germany, there are no Fake Sheikh revelations here. Oddly, Faria Alam is absent also. What sticks is the fact that Sven says nothing, despite talking an awful lot. He’s media-friendly, all right. He gently berates his charges when they don’t do the job, and praises them when they’re a success, but there’s never a sense that we’re getting to the root of him, that he ever comes out with anything beyond what we would expect him to say. Inflexible in terms of his tactics and too unwilling to take a chance with dropping players who are (i) past their sell-by date (ii) out of form (iii) not all that good, only they are on a top team’s books (iv) a combination of the above, Eriksson is charged with nothing more or less than ruining the best days of a group of players’ lives in leading them to moribund showings where it counted. The really sad part is that when he decided to take some risks, it was at the worst possible moment e.g. taking the raw, untested Theo Walcott to Germany for the experience, when England were short on proven strikers, and besides, was there anything wrong in allowing him to tag along for the ride, but not as part of the selection?

In this month’s Four Four Two magazine, an interview with Fabio Capello reveals that ‘Il Don’ was in talks with the FA at around the time Eriksson got the nod. How might things have been different if he’d been handed the job? We’ll never know.

What this DVD shows so well is the potential England have, the potency behind all that good feeling as the World Cup beckoned. Everyone was excited about our chances, and rightly so. Rather than seek the opinion of players, which would have been spectacularly boring (let’s be honest, England’s lads aren’t blessed with articulacy, are they?), the disc seeks out proven journalists for its soundbites. Henry Winter, The Telegraph’s elegant sports writer, makes some insightful comments about the nation’s road to Germany, so much so that I ended up wishing for more of him rather than the anodyne commentaries that accompanied the match action. I got extended highlights of the home games. If Peter Brackley mounted the mic, it wasn’t too bad. Otherwise, the pre-scripted banter was as boring and remote as following any of England’s games during the finals.

The team’s win over Argentina is rather more fun. Meaningless as it was, the game at least exerts some passion from its participants, so that a mere friendly turns into a tussle both sides actually try to win. The John Motson commentary shows everyone from disc one how it should be done.

Having taken a glance at Amazon, I see the set has now gone up to £6.97! And you don’t get a flag either! Even at ninety seven pee, it didn’t feel like that much of a snip, the account of a time of vain hope before the usual shattered dreams settled in. My God, we’ll buy anything when a major international tournament is due, won’t we?