Joe Cole, etc

Well, tomorrow is the big day - a proper football match, none of this attack vs. defence bollocks we've had to endure and ultimately break down for the first four matches. Tomorrow, Portugal will come at England, and all of the England manager/squad/press/fans' optimistic spiel about "playing better against the good teams" will be put to the test. Nervous doesn't even come close to describing how I feel if I think about this for longer than ten seconds. More like nauseous. A tad dizzy. And a wee bit excited. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Aaaaahhhhhhhh.

Google image led me to this piece of modern art entitled 'Nervous' which may or may not make you feel better. Either way, it provides a picture to break up the text so here it is:

Possibly painted by Luna Lampard, I don't know - it certainly looks as though it could be the work of a 1-year-old. (Rather than gratuitously displaying my narrow-minded artistic mindset, that sentence provides a great link to my next bit...)

Luna's dad, Frank, is apparently an injury worry for tomorrow's quater final. Swollen ankle. A 70% fit Lampard seems like a blessing in disguise - hurrah! Drop him, play 4-4-2, let Rooney do his linking thing (only - hey! - this time with a striker ahead of him), and then bring Lampard on at some point so everyone can coo about the depth of the squad which allows us to bring the Second Best Player In The World on from the bench.

Only, it's Sven, so it wouldn't be a blessing in disguise at all - it would just be a 70% fit Lampard running around for 90 minutes, complete with shit shots and shoddy passing. So I hope he recovers, or Sven has the balls to drop him.

So, FIFA honcho Sepp Blatter has had a go at the way England have been playing during the World Cup. That pisses me right off, but I'll let union leader Gary Neville answer him (really, if you've read today's paper at all then there's no need to read much of this is there?) - "My thoughts are that I don't listen to Sepp Blatter." Nice one Gary. In fact, from disliking him a few months ago, G-Nev is fast becoming a favourite player of mine - I call him G-Nev without a hint of irony and like the way he isn't afraid to speak what he's thinking. I especially like the fact that he's already said that England have no excuses if we mess it up tomorrow; that it would be letting the whole country down. That's fighting talk, G-Nev, and I like it a lot. Perhaps if we'd had him rather than Danny Mills at our last World Cup quarter final then someone would have stood up at half-time and delivered the speech the team needed to hear.... anyway, tomorrow is the chance to put right past wrongs, like Sam Beckett leaping into the Quantum Leap generator and vanishing (pictured).

COME ON ENGLAND!

Before those 120+ minutes of pure agony, however, we are to be treated to a classic in the making: Germany vs. Argentina, which kicks off the quarter finals this afternoon. I'm sure most 'proper' England fans, who retain a traditional emnity for both countries, find themselves stuck between a pile of shite and a cess pit, unsure of who (whom?) to support. The safe option is to accept that both are as bad as each other, both having committed heinous footballing crimes against Team England, and subsequently hoping "football will be the winner" in a 4-3 thriller. While obviously wishing for a 4-3 scoreline, I am not one for safe options (not when it comes to watching football, at least; in basically all other situations I love safe options) and shall thus be cheering on Argentina. They play attractive football; they have a nicer kit; I like far more of their players; and they have a vampire on the bench (Tevez, pictured).

In Germany's favour, they have Jurgen Klinsmann, an endearing touchline presence who I like for his obvious passion, and for coaching the German national team from the comfort of his Californian home - surely he spent ages on the internet looking at players rather than watching live matches, and hence has got the closest to actual real life Championship Manager than anyone else, ever. I like that.

I also like Robert Huth (pictured above) because I think he's funny: he can't defend for toss (often an endearing characteristic for a centre-back, especially if they play for Chelsea) and he has his own "HUUUUUUUUUTH!" chant, often mistakeable for "HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF!", which is often what he does. How many other players have such a multi-layered chant? Sadly, though, Huth is not in the German XI.... and even if he was, I'd still want them to lose.

The other two quarter finals I'm going to bypass here. Italy vs. Ukraine has got 0-0 written all over it in permanent marker, and France vs. Brazil is really right up my colleague's alley so I'll leave it hanging in case he comes on here anytime soon. Also, I'm out of time in the net cafe.

But to finish on a note of English optimism: The Pro Evo predictor ground to a halt yonks ago - we got bored of playing with rubbish teams, and the absence of Togo, T and T, etc, made it even more worthless than it was to begin with - but it's worth mentioning that yesterday England creamed Portugal 3-0, with a hat-trick of spectacular goals from Steven Gerrard. So, I hope it goes well, I hope everyone has a cracking weekend with the match as its centrepiece, and I repeat once more:

COME ON ENGLAND!

And so, like a school holiday, the second phase finishes as soon as it starts, leaving us with the best eight teams in the world:

Germany
Argentina
England
Portugal
Italy
Ukraine
Brazil
France

No debate there, obviously. None at all. The chaff has been cast away; here are eight strong stems of wheat, all vying to be a part of the biggest and bestest loaf of bread in the football bakery: the World Cup Final.

Brazil continued their unhurried progress through the tournament by disposing of Ghana with a rather flattering 3-0 scoreline. While ITV plunged to new depths of patronising the underdogs, Ghana were not downhearted by Ronaldo's record-breaking opener in the 5th minute and dominated possession in the first half and for much of the second. Alas, they had no Cutting Edge, although Dida was called upon to make several saves and on another day some of the better-struck shots which went straight at him would have perhaps nestled in the bottom corner. Some of Ghana's pot-shots were just plain silly, though, and often destroyed any sense of attacking momentum. "This is the greatest day of my life! I'm going to do it! I'm going to score a 25-yard volley against Brazil from near the touchline! VAN BASTEN! Shit."

This tournament has seen a number of underdogs set themselves out in a well-organised 4-4-fookin'-2 formation, making them tough to break down but highlighting a lack of individual creativity - hence the number of "1-0 to the favourite" matches in the early matches. Ghana - with individuality and a very attractive pass-and-move ethos infusing their attacks - would perhaps have done well to take a leaf out of Angola, Iran, Tunisia...'s book and apply a wee bit more organisation to their game. That isn't to say that they should have gone out to play Brazil looking ultra-defensive, but rather that the flat back four they played with was, well, rarely flat - their defensive strategy was theoretically viable but diabolically executed. A modicum of nous at the back would surely have prevented Brazil's first and third goals, while Adriano's second was the only time I have seen a player offside at three separate points before scoring.

And so the Brazilian juggernaut rolls on, helped by the fattest pair of strikers ever to make the last eight of a World Cup.

France and Spain then played out a gripping match which ended in experience triumphing over youth, and a personal sense of vindication that over-hyped, over-rated Spain were finally found out. Both managers seemed to bow to player-power and stuck with their respective past-it galacticos. Raul had a shite 29th birthday, and while I suppose Zidane ended up scoring France's injury-time third, I couldn't really see much special stuff in his performance (although that didn't stop Tyldesley ejaculating every time he touched the ball). Henry (pictured, somewhere below - he lost a lot of my respect tonight) looked like getting behind Puyol et al whenever a ball was played his way, so I think a 4-4-2 would have served France better - Saha could have had a field day. But... now Zizou's back in the team he's obviously not going to be dropped. Rob's francophilic post about five minutes ago calls Vieira "immense", and while he definitely grew in stature as the game went on (loved it when he took down Fabregas), he's still not exactly Vieira the Invincible - I'd fancy Stevie G to dominate him any day of the week (hopefully next Wednesday, actually).

(By the way, Rob - I don't want to be Steve Ryder. Can't I be Adrian Chiles?)

Spain. Ah, Spain. Where are their deflected free-kicks and easy groups now, eh? Was Torres even on the pitch? Did they create a single decent chance? No. They looked attractive and completely ineffective. That'll teach them for dropping their one proper holding midfielder - Xavi and Xabi Alonso both fit into the rather bizarre new breed of holding midfielders who, well, can't tackle (see also: Pirlo, Carrick). Post-Makelele the clichéd "unsung holding player" has become very much sung in the football world, and fancy-dans think they can do the job just by standing near the centre circle all the time and playing 67 ten-yard passes with a success rate of 97.6%. Well, they can't. So there.

Shit, no football tomorrow for the first time in two and a half weeks - the shivers are already starting. Still, Wimbledon, and the rather enticing prospect of Henman v Federer - well, it's a perfect opportunity to rehearse those plucky loser platitudes, really....

Posting irregularly has recently made me feel like the American anchorman to Mikeyboy’s Steve Ryder. Much like the impressive France tonight, I aim to improve as the tournament progresses, before finally peaking with an amusing, yet analytically sound summing up of the third and fourth place play off.

But for tonight I’ve been shafted again. A long piece about this not being a changing of the guard world cup after all has just disappeared again. I’d love to write it all again but I’m tired and I can still smell white spirits. In short Figo, Beckham, Ronaldo and Zidane are all through while the much hyped Robben, Torres and Marquez are out. The “last hoorah crowd’ are beating the “I’ll be advertising the boots from now on, thankyou very much’ mob. Oh well here is a rapid-fire review of tonights game.

Like a team not so far from your hearts France have been widely criticised, but as Domenech put it earlier this week, “What’s the point of euphoria after a first round win?” Or to put it another way, “Well done you beat Ukraine four to nothing but… come on! Your Spain, the jokes of European football! You’re going to bottle it when it counts.” From the moment Gallas furiously replaced the ball on the centre spot after Villa’s penalty, you just felt that experience was going to win the day. Viera was immense, a brilliantly timed ball through to Ribéry and then a goal to put his team in front. Henry blighted his card with a shameful piece of gamesmanship but looked sharp and interested. In fact the whole team looked sharp and interested which should have the Brazilians worried. As Domenech put it after the match “Our little team of old timers goes on”

More to come later in the week if my computer lets me, great look-a-likes mikeyboy, did you notice the Sri Lankan opener playing the holding role for Brazil?

Yes, they're out now, and yes, he's got a dislocated shoulder, and yes, he's wearing his Arsenal shirt - but here is a wonderful one, regurgitated from a different part of the interweb by popular demand:

Well, I said I'd be back on later (I seem to be posting like buses these days) and I am - all ready to praise Cole (A., for once) and Rooney ad nauseum.

Except, I can't be arsed.

It's not that I'm tired, although I am very tired.

And it's not that I've had enough of the World Cup, although if any day was going to tip me over the precipice then it would be today (two matches, zero excitement, four penalties... one boring quarter final).

No, my problem is this: my hitherto infallible sense of perky, semi-ironic optimism has been completely and irrevocably blown away by yet another piss-poor performance from our lads in Germany. To return to that favourite saying, a massive case of bellendism has broken out in the England camp, and I can no longer be bothered to try to make the best of it by focusing on Cole (J.) and murmuring "good touch for a big man" every so often. I could focus on the positives of Sunday: Ashley, Wayne, Hargreaves, the energy levels, the result itself. But they all pale in comparison to how abominably crap the overall performance was, and has been for the past 360 minutes of football. (Not to mention the friendlies, and the qualifiers.) So, it's time for some catharsis, and by catharsis I mean less an overwhelming emotional journey, and more a personal naming-and-shaming of the England team's prime proponents of bellendism.

Lampard: bell-end. Get on the bench or remember how to shoot properly.

Robinson: bell-end. Lose a stone, stop bricking it every time the ball comes into the area, and never, ever, punch one of your own defenders in the back of the head again.

JT: no, I can't bring myself to type it. But get yourself sorted, man.

Beckham: bell-end. Clear the first man, and next time you're feeling pretty ill before the match why not think of the team first and tell someone about it? (Er, good free-kick though.)

Rio: bell-end, despite playing alright.

Downing: bell-end. It's not your fault your club manager happens to be Sven's number 2, but if you come on one more time then I will cry.

Jenas: bell-end. Has done nothing to offend me per se, but his very presence in the squad is a) so utterly pointless it makes me want to scream, and b) is taking up a position that could otherwise be occupied by his namesake Defoe. If I could have a one2one with JJ, I'd ask him: what do you do? He's apparently quite an articulate fellow but I bet he'd be flummoxed.

Eriksson: the bell-end to end all bell-ends; the source of all bellendism. Defensive substitutions against Ecuador? Four formations in as many matches? Only four strikers? 4.5 million quid a year? Emblematic of the over-paid, over-hyped, ill-prepared, utterly inadequate national team we find ourselves with...

(...ahhhhh that feels better...)

...and yet, we're through. Portugal await on Saturday, and I'll be wearing my shirt and yelling my lungs out as per usual.

COME ON ENGLAND!

Ferris Bueller once said something along the lines of life moving pretty fast, and that if you don't stop to look around once in a while, you might miss it. I think the same can be applied to the knockout stages of an international football tournament. It seems like five minutes ago I was eagerly cracking a beer open and looking forward to Sweden showing Germany what real World Cup opponents are made of, and now here I am with only three second round matches left. And one of those is Switzerland vs Ukraine. Humbug. But, rather than chide myself for not posting between then and now, I'm just going to knock off a rambling entry about the last few days. Maybe give the England match its own post, I don't know.

Germany. Well, I don't want to dwell on that match for longer than a few lines. Rob has already picked up on (and devoted an entire entry to) Lagerback's bizarrely-timed substitution, and beyond that I have little to add. Yes, Klose and Podolski combined well, and yes, Ballack never gave the ball away, and yes, Jurgen Klinsmann is a surprisingly endearing presence on the touchline. Hurrah for the Germans. But Sweden looked devoid of any great ideas - of their magic triangle (or whatever they call it) Freddie looked unfit, Larsson looked his age, and Ibrahimovic looked like a mardy arsehole (albeit a mardy arsehole with an occasionally attractive first touch).

Germany are going to be playing Argentina in a quarter-final we can only hope will be more exciting than their last World Cup meeting, in the final of Italia '90. (I don't remember watching the game live, but not even the highlights video can make it seem anything more than utter pish.) Argentina overcame Mexico 2-1 on Saturday night in a very entertaining match. Mexico were fast out of the blocks, and these tactics... (the brainchild of Argentine Mexico coach Ricardo La Volpe, pictured) (it's Tim Curry, by the way - a lookalike a bit too close to what La Volpe actually looks like, and maybe too obscure, to really work. But don't they look alike?) (yes, they do)

...perhaps point the way forward for Germany and anyone else Argentina may face: get as much pace on the pitch as possible, and then run around a lot. It makes sense, really - take advantage of Argentina's lack of speed, hastle and harry Riquelme. Thus, La Volpe dropped two-goal striker Omar Bravo in favour of colleagues fleeter of foot, although the hardly quicksilver Jared Borgetti kept his place to lead the Mexican line and subsequently missed several presentable chances that Kevin Davies would have buried. It worked for at least the first ten minutes, which saw Raphael Marquez score a great opener, and the entire Mexican team work their socks off to exert early pressure... but it wasn't enough, and Argentina equalised pretty damn quickly. A combination of Borgetti and Crespo forced home a Riquelme corner after 12 minutes, and thereafter the match ebbed and flowed inexorably towards the tournament's first (and thus far only) period of extra time. Throughout the match, Riquelme would threaten to take control, normally in the form of one decent pass and an accompanying note from the commentators along the lines of "Riquelme seems to be coming more and more into it"... and then a quiet ten minutes: Mexico's tactics worked, and he had his least influential game of the tournament. Of course, keeping Riquelme quiet doesn't mean diddly squat when Maxi Rodriguez is perfectly capable of controlling a crossfield pass on his chest, turning sharply, and arcing a sweeeeet left-foot volley into the top corner. Which, as it turned out, is exactly what happened.

My jeans are stuck to my legs and I'm not really enjoying this post - maybe I'm just too excited by the prospect of Switzerland vs Ukraine, I don't know. I'm going to do one final lookalike (on the same spectrum as La Volpe/Curry, actually) and then watch the insightful pre-match build-up on ITV, which will doubtless consist of reading the team sheet out before going to Gabriel Clarke, ensconced in Baden-Baden, for the lowdown on England's new-look 3-1-2-2-1-1 formation (it can change to 4-2-4-0 at the drop of a hat, apparently). I'll be back later for some unrestrained praise of Ashley Cole and Wayne Rooney. (Just turned the TV on, and it's on BBC - so no Gabriel Clarke, and no adverts, thank goodness. 0-0, coming right up.)

I've had a banging headache for the last two days. Watching the football on a wide screen TV doesn't really help but its the football, so I have to watch it. Very brave of me.

I've been incapable of writing anything long and coherent (harsh jibes about this being the case before the headache are not welcome here) all week but I have to get this quick post in.

Lagerback (pictured below) has just made the worst managerial decision of all time (thats happened today). Sweden penalty, Larsson has the ball on the spot, presumably thinking about how Jens vowed to take his revenge on all things Barça. Throw in the fact that he is two to nothing down in the final important game of his career against the host nation and you've got a fair amount of pressure. He needs to score quickly and get on with the game. What does his coach do? Send on a substitute. Gamesmanship against his own player! Unbelievable.

Good game though. Funny the amount of Kahn shots there are. In Germany he is advertising a beer with the catchy tagline of "Some things are worth being on the bench for." Him and Southgate could get together and discuss how they became laughing stocks by making fun of their own professional demise. He narrowly tips that little Podolski brat as Garmany's most hated player (I know Frings got Lucic sent off but I liked the little smile he did when he fluked in that goal). Looks like they will play Argentina in what no-one but us will be calling the quarterfinal of hate.

More to come. It's been said before but during these ill times I feel it more.

I love the world cup.

Yes, here we are: the business end of the World Cup, the "winner takes all" knockout stage. I'm a bit strapped for time but there are a few things I'd like to throw out there:

France vs Spain as the final second round match is a mouth-watering prospect. I stated the obvious when I said a whileback that Zidane's suspension would be a blessing in disguise; in retrospect, it wasn't even disguised, it was just a far better France team. Vieira rolled back the years with some style, I was properly impressed. Meanwhile, although Scarface doesn't seem remotely composed at any point when he's in the final third, his nervous tics and sky-high misses are somewhat endearing, and I enjoyed watching Henry barely stop himself from screaming whatever the French is for "that's shit! just shit!" about three times yesterday. (With my AS-Level 'B' at French I could probably have a bash at translating it but with a bona fide francophone hovering on the edges of this blog I don't want to get my tenses in a muddle.) Spain, meanwhile, need to show that they can live with the hype that their easy group and myriad flukes/goalkeeping error-assited goals have generated. It'll be a cracker.

Meanwhile, poxy poxy Italy seemed to have poxed their way into one of the easiest quarters of any World Cup draw I can remember (about three, then): if they defeat Australia then they'll face a potential 0-0 draw with either Switzerland or Ukraine. I don't particularly like any of the four teams and am gutted that one of them will make it to the semi-finals. I am especially gutted since, if Italy cock it all up as is their wont, Australia may make it, and from the semis... well... knockout football, anything can happen, etc... ergo, I am now absolutely terrified that Australia will win the World Cup. If that happens, I'm moving out of London, definitely before the Ashes starts. So, I hope Italy grind out a 1-0 against them before crashing and burning against Ukraine.

Klose is now out of my team so I predict a hat-trick from him tonight and a subsequent big-money move to Newcastle (please; 'twould be hilarious). I jiggled with my strikers yesterday to try to optimise the end of the first phase. Neither Torres nor Villa started, but Henry got a goal which was a relief.

Yeah, my time's up. Hopefully get time to preview the England match tomorrow, but if I don't: COME ON ENGLAND! It could be an absolute nail-biter, or it could follow the Denmark paterny whereby we score a few early goals and then cruise through the rest. JT header in the first ten minutes... please.

This makes it feel as though I'm posted twice in 10 minutes - dedication, that is. But I haven't... I wrote this one last night and this morning:

A day of pure BBC coverage saw the station’s much-vaunted digital interactivity shizzle all come together in a flurry of red and blue buttons. It was hardly being in two places at once but it was better than Beckenbauer managed.

In the afternoon, Italy looked entirely unimpressive in defeating an equally mediocre Czech side 2-0, gaining a modicum of respect from me only because of Gattuso’s beard and the fact that they’ve headed into a World Cup with the Italian Marcus Stewart (circa 2001) leading the line – that takes balls (and evidently not the sort of balls that Totti et al have been supplying him with, as Toni was dropped today). Beyond my distaste for individual Italians (naming names would be fish in a barrel) (Totti, Inzaghi, Camoranesi – bang, bang, bang) I dislike their unimaginative style of play – no width, no great possession. Kinda like England, but slow. Totti said the other day that the team needs to rediscover its Italian heritage and start being defensive – while this may simply be because Totti experienced a moment of clarity and realised he’s a bell-end with the creativity to match, it’s emblematic of a football philosophy best described as boring.

Thankfully, Italy aren’t going to win the World Cup, and will face a tough 2nd round match against the organised and resoundingly physical Australia. I kinda liked the Czechs following their attractive 3-0 hammering of the USA in game one, but the subsequent hyperbole from the press felt unwarranted (c/f Spain), and faced with a half-decent defence they looked uncomfortably like Aston Villa. Probably due to Baros (pictured, with Juan Pablo Angel) and his delicate first touch. So, the Czechs crash out. A giant-killing? I suppose it all began when Koller got injured…

Meanwhile, over in some kind of digital alternate universe, Ghana pleased neutrals everywhere by ensuring the presence of at least one African nation beyond the group stage, beating the USA 2-1. Unfortunately for them they must now a) play Brazil, and b) play Brazil without what Motson would call their one World Class player, Michael Essien. Still, you never know. The USA will be back four years time with Freddy Adu and a 38-year-old Brian McBride (who I saw do a header today. It was pretty good.) Will Landon Donovan’s forehead have got any bigger? Unlikely.

This evening then saw Brazil finally concede a goal, and thus finally deign to play some decent football for half an hour, while Australia join them in the second phase having come from behind twice to draw 2-2 with Croatia in an epic, occasionally bizarre battle. But first: Joga Bonito, or a close approximation thereof.

Well, first up: he’s fat, isn’t he? No two ways about it. The boys in the studio were a bit harsh (especially Gary’s closer – “Mr Blobby” – unnecessary), but when he wears a quite baggy footy shirt and you can still make out cleavage you know there’s an extra stone or two knocking around somewhere underneath. But he scored! A close-range header to cap a fine move (did anyone count the passes? 24?) and a great drive from outside the area after playing a part in the build-up to boot. He missed several other chances, but not in the embarrassing way he’s missed chances in other games; here he forced two good saves from Kawaguchi and put another well-worked opening just wide. Whether or not his unarguable lack of mobility continues to improve remains to be seen – against a decent defence he’ll surely struggle as he is, although he may find some room against Ghana. Robinho showed Joe Cole how to really do a step-over (you run really fast at the same time) and in general Brazil looked a lot better than they have done. A potentially ominous match.

Any brief discussion of the Australian match, meanwhile, is inevitably going to bypass the players and head straight for Graham Poll, who can cheer England on whole-heartedly now since he’s not going to be refereeing any World Cup matches any time soon. Unfortunate that the occasion apparently got to him (how English), but at least now we won’t have ITV going on about his chances of refereeing the final. In fact, goals aside, the most interesting points of a very physical, involving match are related to Poll in some way. Ronaldo-alike Mark Viduka was wrestled to the ground in the first half, in an astonishingly blatant grapple by Stjepan Tomas – no penalty and a crap decision, although the linesman should have flagged. How did they miss it?

Poll also failed to control a goal-line incident in the second half in which Australia apparently forgot they were playing football and tried to make a scrum to bundle the ball, goalkeeper and defender in. Poll seemed a bit like an unconfrontational English barman having to sort out a ruckus between some pissed Aussies and the Croatians they’ve picked a fight with. The last ten minutes saw Dario Simic sent off for a petulant second bookable offence, although Poll evidently evinced so little respect from his charges that Darijo Srna actually stopped him from pulling his card out of his pocket at first. Brett Emerton was then sent off for hand-ball following a petulant bookable offence (there was a fair amount of petulance flying around), as Poll reasoned that if he was barring a Croat then he needed to chuck an Aussie out too. Finally, to top off what was already a pretty poor display, Poll gave Josip Simunic a second yellow card with no accompanying red. I personally think he realised his mistake soon afterwards, but also realised there was nothing he could do about it (I was half-expecting his now-ruddy complexion to shed a few Gazza-esque tears) and so decided to bide his time until Simunic committed another offence – anything at all – so he could rectify the situation, a la Partridge (“Who’s cup is this? You’re fired.”). Which is precisely what happened – Simunic farted in his general direction, Poll took umbrage, sent off Simunic, and then, his work done, blew the final whistle.

Beyond this World Cup, it's worth posing the question: will Graham Poll ever referee another football match, ever? After a few months of therapy, maybe. But, as Gavin Peacock hinted, is it not the biggest refereeing mistake ever witnessed ever, and on the sport's largest possible stage? I can't imagine any player giving him any respect at all, especially if he does that schtick where he laughs along with them mid-match at something... Graham, if you persist with that would-be ingratiating technique then be aware that they're taking the piss out of you afterwards. Possibly right there and then, I don't know. If you see them laughing at you, just book them. And again. And again.

On the whole, an entertaining day’s football. One more day of the group phase to go, and then it’s onto the knockout bit, where a whole new batch of clichés are set to come into play. Bring it on.

Here's something I wrote on my laptop yesterday lunchtime. Tried to get online by hanging it out of the window and using all my computer prowess to borrow some of the internet floating around my road... but it didn't work:

Two days after the 2-2 draw with Sweden saw England top Group B, and the match’s ramifications are clear enough to be neatly categorised and, yes, even stuck under a few sub-headings.

Starting with the most obvious (although, let’s be honest, they’re all fairly clear):

Sven Should Have Taken Five Strikers, Or At Least Defoe Instead Of Walcott

A somewhat cumbersome sub-heading, yes, and indeed one that doesn’t leave too much space for elaboration: Sven should have taken five strikers, or at least Defoe instead of Walcott. This much was apparent after Owen failed to go the distance in either of the first two matches, but the usual mumblings of “playing himself back to match fitness”, coupled with Rooney’s apparent recovery, seemed to disguise the mistake quite well. Not any more. About a minute into the match, down goes Owen in one of those incidents that gets slower and slower every time it’s replayed, and hence more and more painful, and on comes Crouch; another nail in Theo’s World Cup coffin, and another six months out (at least) for Mickey Owen. Poor Owen, stupid Sven.

Joe Cole…

…has been our best player in the tournament so far. What is it about step-overs? I thought that’s why defenders are taught to keep their eyes on the ball, not the player – the opposition can do as many step-overs as possible but, well, the ball doesn’t move so can’t you just take it off them? Maybe this is a case of over-simplifying the game, I don’t know. Anyway, whatever the reason, Cole does a step-over, and the defenders fall for it, and I like it. Arguably this renders Cole as much of a one-trick pony as Downing, but Cole has six or seven things in his favour: a decent trick; more confidence; a bit of bulk; Champions League experience; good vision; an increasingly effective tackle; a 35-yard volley into the top corner, followed by a perfectly delayed cross for Gerrard’s header; and the sweatband thing (although it seems to have disappeared – odd, given the conditions they’ve been playing in. Hargreaves has taken up the mantle – maybe it’s an anti-captain’s armband?). And he sometimes looks like Ronnie O’Sullivan. Or as though he’s slept in a gutter. So, does this tournament propel Cole to the ranks of World Class? Does it? I hope so – certainly the winner he’s going to score in the last minute of the final won’t do him any harm. (And if so, do the performances of the rest of the team mean that they’re all relegated back to only being Really Really Good?)

Will Theo Ever Get A Game?

No.

Set Pieces

Shit, what the hell happened? I keep repeating to myself: it’s only a half, it’s only a half. Rob’s excellent and thoroughly convincing bigging-up of our defence last week really convinced me that we’re capable of shutting up shop against the best of them – G-Nev, Rio, JT, and Ashley, all backed up by the not insubstantial figure of Paul Robinson: a World Class back five (collectively, at least. Individually, three out of five ain’t bad – Neville has never really made it to the World Class ranks, has he? Poor guy. Maybe it’s the moustache. What World Class right-backs exist these days, Cafu apart? Huh? Exactly.) Then on Tuesday a slightly modified back five (Carradonna for Neville) go and defend like Saudi Arabia for 45 minutes – goals, crossbars, clearances, handballs, utter bedlam – and the team’s rock-solid foundations come crashing down, or whatever it is foundations do when they go horribly wrong, I don’t imagine they’ve got very fall to crash. Confused metaphor (simile?) aside, the fact remains: they all played bollocks.

The papers today were filled with sheepish defenders admitting just that, and proposing some intensive training before a vastly improved performance against Ecuador – good idea, lads. Rio even floated the notion that it was a good thing, and that such a performance is at least now out of the system – so maybe at Euro 2008, when England have qualified with a game to spare (touch wood), Rio will lash in an own-goal because, you know, at least that way it’s out of the system. Rio my lad, put down those Jaffa Cakes and listen: “out of the system” is not how football works. Just don’t defend like a bell-end and I think you’ll be alright. (That said, a brief mention for a great piece of defending in the first half when he pulled off an amazing tackle on Larsson in the box. He even had to slide, which for Rio is pretty freakin’ rare. It was absolutely amazing. World Class, even.)

Formation Conjugation

4-1-4-1. It writes itself, really. Who needs Owen when you’ve got Owen? It may be a bit optimistic, but Mickey’s injury may turn out to be a blessing in disguise (obviously not for him, poor guy) in that Hargreaves’s place in the side now seems as assured as the performance he gave on Tuesday. That is to say his place is quite assured, but with definite room for a bit more assurance at a later date. Perhaps his assurance will grow and grow until he scores the winner against Brazil, at which point people will forget assured and call him fucking brilliant instead. Joe Cole was quoted as calling Hargreaves “world class”. A bit excessive, but he did play very well on Tuesday – he made more tackles than anyone else, which is what he’s there for.

My own previously established liking of Hargreaves aside, Lampard looked better on Tuesday than he has in any other match, and this was down to the boy from Calgary. Lampard’s shooting has been gradually improving too – first he was shit, then accurate, now accurate and powerful – so with him and goal-machine Stevie G bombing forward we’ll hopefully camouflage the fact that Rooney never plays as a lone striker with a barrage of headers and 35-yard volleys (is Rooney going to link play between the midfield and himself?)

So, a promising 45 minutes, hampered by a horrible injury and some schoolboy errors from set-pieces in the second half. At this point on England reports I normally write “at least we won” but, well, yes.

At least we’re through.