It’s here. And are we really not there? Nobody’s changed the rules for us? Who’d have thought football would have turned out to be more embarrassing than Eurovision.
Lets think back to that day. The day hopes and dreams were sent spiraling. The rain poured and poured and poured, oh and did I mention it pissed it down? On the night in question I was attending the Guardian Student Media Awards and as the rain came down further, I kind of figured it’d be one of those nights. I didn’t win and neither did England. After the ceremony finished we raced across the road to watch the second half at a pub across the road. As we entered the ale house, the mood was sombre, briefly lifted by an England equaliser and then dashed by the Croatians third. I think what angered me the most that night was conceding three goals at Wembley in a make or break qualification game. I found that infuriating, Alan Hanson would be proud.
During the second half, McLaren had what is affectionately known in the business as a “Sven v Brazil”. But what was he doing under that umbrella? Listening to Rihanna? Or maybe Paul McKenna’s ‘I can make you rich’ on his Ipod? If he was, it definitely worked. He was about to become a very rich man.
The F.A quickly disposed of McLaren in the best decision they’ve made since…I can’t actually recall one, and it’s not for the lack of research either.
Looking back, in some ways he was the perfect candidate to replace Sven. After all, in the run up to getting the job the papers alleged him to have a mistress. But at least England got results under Sven, we might not have gone beyond the quarter finals but at least we got there, at least Sven took us to the point of lukewarm ecstasy, had us teetering on the brink of that special once in a lifetime feeling, apparently he did the same to Ulrika too.
McLaren had the demeanour of a politician, smug, smiling, towing the party line. A student of spin, sure he said all the right things but did we believe him? I didn’t. He even took us on a “revolution”, dropping Beckham, Campbell and James from the squad in favour of a new direction. Unfortunately for York’s answer to Che Guevara the direction took us so far out of Europe it made even the most fervent Conservative wince.
Eighteen games in sixteen months proved to be a dull affair; the only thing that was bright about England’s qualifying campaign was the manager’s teeth. A fifty percent win record speaks volumes; he could have saved us all the time, expense and heartache and just flipped a coin instead. Still, even if we had flipped a coin to decide matches, we’d have still been unlucky with injuries, suspensions and Croatians.
The thing that made me joint most angry (on a par with the three goals conceded I’d say) about the whole situation is that after the Croatia game, the manager did not resign. He was still happy to stand there in front of the whole country and make claims he’d get it right. He knew his fate; he knew he’d be sacked. Paul McKenna told him so. Holding your hands up and saying you were wrong and simply were not good enough is worth much more in football than a couple of million quid compensation. Easy for me to say but I’d have respected McLaren if he had come out and said he was wrong.
But forgetting about England now, on the eve of this slightly less watchable major tournament we all know it’s still the best excuse not to watch Big Brother.
Unshackled by all the patriotism, without England a major tournament can be liberating, a chance to mix with a variety of people from many different nationalities without the prospecting of having to throw a plastic chair at them.
But who should I support, if anyone? There has to be someone. Footballs not about being neutral. There always one team you’d rather win, for whatever reason. They have a great player you admire, a manager you feel sorry for, a good kit, oh and their number ten has nice muscley legs. Apparently it was some women once said that. And it was probably Dani Behr in the mid nineties. Ooooh Dani Behr, where for’t art thou?! I wonder how many people are going to follow me now and google Dani Behr? Apparently she’s living in Australia now, possibly working her way through the NSL as we speak. Right, enough of that sort of talk, now I’m off to search for her on Facebook.
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