OK. The World Cup starts here. The football season is essentially over. (Yes I’ll watch the Europa cup final because it’s Fulham. And yes there’s the FA Cup final and I might check the result after fifty-five minutes and if it’s still 0-0, I’ll take a look. But if Chelsea are four up, I’ll go and sit in the garden. And yes there’s the Champions league final but Jose’s in charge of one of the teams and the other team is German so I can’t say that I’m bothered either way). No, the way is clear to concentrate on the world cup. The initial thirty-man squad will be picked on Tuesday and the players know what they have to do. And more importantly, the WAGS have been banished to a safe distance (two hundred metres according to Wikipedia), which is a relief to everyone although now that they’ve lost Victoria, the de facto WAG queen, it’s hard to drum up the necessary interest.
So now we can think about the football. I’ve been projecting forwards which is what you do when the world cup fixtures are published and you have a lot of time on your hands. What you do is that based on your own personal prejudices and a wildly optimistic outlook, you imagine a scenario where your team nonchalantly dismisses your group opponents (surely!), breezes through the first knockout game (Assuming that Germany win the group, it’s a choice of Serbia, Australia or Ghana. Should be OK) and arrives fit and healthy (Ha!) in the quarter-finals where in England’s case the French (probably) await.
I may be wrong about this. There are eight teams we could meet in this scenario but I think the French are the most talented. Yes, their coach is almost certifiable (He believes in astrology. “We lost because Mercury was rising”) and yes, the players are an ageing, difficult and slightly arrogant group (the French! Who’d have thought?). But any team with Anelka, Ribery and Henry is not to be taken lightly. Having said all that, we have our great players too so assuming it’s the French, I think we can beat them because we have a similar level of talent and a better coach.
At this point, we’re through to the semi-finals (that wasn’t too difficult was it) and the country is getting more than a little excited. The media is in full world cup hysteria mode. Pundits are turning up everywhere (Newsnight?). So are ex-England managers. The newspapers are printing prayer mats for white van drivers to kneel on. There are hourly reports on the state of Wayne Rooney’s knee/ankle/back/mental state although he should be fit for the game (I told you. Wildly optimistic). And at 7-30pm on Tuesday July 6th, our boys step out against the green and gold of Brazil (it could be Holland, I have a sneaking suspicion they’ll do well this year, but Brazil are the favourites so we’ll go with them).
Well let’s just say we beat Brazil. I can’t really see how it will happen but let’s just imagine that by some miracle we keep it tight at the back, our goalkeeper plays a blinder and we go in 0-0 at half-time, Fabio makes an inspiring speech invoking Churchill and Henry the Fifth, Rooney nicks a goal and the boys scrape a 1-0 win. And after an enormous street party, the nation wakes up late in the morning on July 7th to the glorious reality that come Sunday, England will play in a world cup final for the first time in forty-four years.
Where we’ll meet a rampant Spain and, worn out by the exertions of the semi-final get beaten 4-0 by a team who only let us touch the ball four times in the entire game (Sorry about the result. I’m wildly optimistic but I’m not completely mad).
On the other hand, if we balls it up in the group stages and only get second place, we’ll probably come up against the Germans in the first knockout game and we could be home in time for the second week of Wimbledon. Of course if we do lose early on, it’ll cheer up Andy Murray to such an extent that he might win the tournament. Swings and roundabouts and all that.
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