Was that Iran triumph just a cruel mirage in the desert?
GAME two of the group stage and our streets are empty, the Black Friday sales abandoned and our pubs and fan zones rammed to their sweaty limits as we limber up to sink 30 million pints and shout ourselves silly.
Meanwhile, over in Doha, Gareth Southgate is back in the dugout in his ( presumably now sold- out) zippy M&S top, looking like he means business.
Doesn’t he always? In fact, so relentlessly focused is our new king of high street knitwear that, on Monday, after one of our best games in living memory, he was grumbling his players would have ‘to do better’ and declaring himself a ‘bit of a miserable so and so.’
On top of that, he then banned any ‘family time’ (as it is so delicately put these days), while our USA opponents have been allowed to loll about in their luxury hotel with their immaculately bikinied WAGs.
Now, it turns out, he’s been blanking WhatsApp messages from USA coach Gregg Berhalter – ghosting him, for goodness’ sake, despite previously being good pals and even mentoring him.
Well, hurrah for Gareth and quite right, too. Who doesn’t love a firm hand? And, after all, as the rest of us are busy planning where we’re going to support England in the final, someone needs to keep their feet on the ground – stay focused.
So it does seem a bit of a shame that after all that tough love and hair- shirting, the match doesn’t exactly start with a bang.
Yes, it’s the same formation and the same team as last time – which, for anyone who’s interested, is as rare as hens’ teeth in football.
There’s Harry Maguire looking tall and dark and reassuringly intense at the back. Jordan Pickford is fizzing with fury, as ever. And Harry Kane’s bruised foot is so much better, thank you for asking.
But there’s no flair, no spark and, by halftime, nothing whatsoever to be cheering madly about, other than that the USA haven’t scored.
Where are those brilliant English footballers of Monday night? Was it all just a cruel mirage in the desert?
Even our WAGs are looking a bit – whisper it – ‘girl-next- door’ as they anxiously bite their French-manicured nails, compared to the starspangled glamour of the oppo.
Because, yes, Marissa Horton – a
Radio City Rockette dancer (girlfriend of Sean Johnson) – and Sally (wife of Walter) Zimmerman, a clean-beauty entrepreneur, are glossy enough to perch with pride in any friends and family section. But, goodness me – Ashley Herron! She’s a supercharged WAG! A Harvard- educated NFL cheerleader who performed at the 2017 Super Bowl and looks like a goddess with abs carved by Michelangelo.
But back to the match where, halfway through the second half, there’s still nothing to report. Nothing to impress. Other than a quick, but very heady, rush of excitement when Jack Grealish flashes his six-pack at the cameras as he limbers up on the sidelines.
On and on, we struggle – the players on the pitch, us watching from afar.
PERHAPSGareth should, after all, have taken up the kind offer by Uri Geller to hover above the stadium in a helicopter ‘ willing England to win’. Which was very thoughtful. But if it worked – and the spoon bender extraordinaire was adamant it would – does sound a teeny bit like cheating.
And in any event, he was bound to have been banned by the dreary old Qataris – along with alcohol, rainbow armbands, interviewing people in wheelchairs and coming to the match dressed as St George in full chainmail suit, body armour and cardboard sword.
Speaking of our brilliantly passionate fans, perhaps right now, as the tension gets to us, the glory of our Iran triumph pales and the hope of this being our World Cup starts to fade, we should lend a bit of support to them?
Because, unlike our team, they are utterly consistent. Nothing can faze them. Not the players’ lacklustre performance. Or the taunts of ‘it’s called soccer…’ coming thick and fast from the American fans in the stadium.
Nothing can dim their extraordinary spirit, their cheer, their singing and their seemingly endless roaring of God Save the King. Not even a truly unreOh markable nil-nil draw.