1. When Two Tribes Go To War – It’s been a long time since I genuinely looked forward to an England match, and by “a long time”, I of course mean seven months, and by “looked forward”, I mean without a sickening sense of fearful foreboding, dread and embarrassment. However such is my frequent opining for the return of semi-regular home internationals (to at least help restore some atmospheric intensity to the never ending charade of semi-dutiful bored attendance and Mexican waving that accompanies almost every friendly Wembley visit – and yes I’m aware this wasn’t a friendly, or at Wembley) that I thought I ought to at least try and muster some half baked enthusiasm for this all-British competitive showdown.
And early on, the signs were good. We were treated to some good old fashioned pantomime anthem booing and things seemed set for a rollicking good derby with passions high and stakes even more so, with the home side clinging tenuously onto their dwindling hopes of qualification and the visitors locked in an epic leadership struggle with the mighty force of Montenegro (Hoo-Rar!)
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2. My Captain, My Captain – To add a little extra spice to proceedings, and possibly to help distract the viewers at home from the aggressive and seemingly ubiquitous attempts to get us to buy a Vauxhall (which included that most staunch facet of fooballing culture – the avant-garde visual medium of Trompe L’Oei) both teams were led out by recently adorned controversial captains. In the white corner we had the evil man-beast come Thundercat (England’s Lion-O) for the 21st Century (depending on your position) John Terry, recently re-employed after a high profile debacle that involved someone going behind a team-mates back (oh the ironing!) and in the red corner we had 20 year old Wenger-boy Aaron Ramsey, a bold and futurist approach from Gary Speed, though he probably shouldn’t agree to play golf with Craig Bellamy any time soon.
3. Jumping Jack Flash – Unfortunately for the spectacle, if not for us English, any hopes of a battle royal were scuppered by a lightning start for the Three Lions and the suicidal flying spider monkey tendencies of James Collins. Once the Welshman had brought down Ashley Young with an assortment of arms and legs the result threatened to descend into a Rugby score, which despite being a medium the hosts are clearly more comfortable in, is a recklessly irresponsible approach to a football match. This could’ve been a spring board to spur Wales on, but before you had time to say “Conversion Lampard” England were two up courtesy of some attractive route one football from the Johnson/Young/Bent triumvirate. At this point satisfaction was tempered slightly by the realisation (or confirmation) that Wales weren’t really very good, and that even super Gareth Bale and his unstoppable hoof and run routine wouldn’t have made that much of a difference anyway.
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4. Times They are a Changing – The most pleasing aspect to this game, from a jaded, cynical and bitter England fan’s perspective, is that the team Capello sent out was – for once – a genuinely fresh and exciting one, of sorts. Despite all the pomp and bluster about a new dawn, looking to youth and trying new faces, Don Fabio has rarely actually risked his chips in any meaningful way since the debacle that was South Africa 2010. The most depressing defeat of recent times was not the shambolic last 16 display against Germany, but the toothless capitulation against France at Wembley three months later. There we were, playing debatably the only team more inept and embarrassing than us in the summer, a team who – through a combination of federation and manager – had put virtually their entire World Cup squad on the naughty step and filled their positions with young, enthusiastic newcomers and rising stars looking to prove themselves after their baffling omission from the tournament, and we lost. Badly. We were completely outplayed by a team legitimately involved in purging themselves whilst we continued to trundle on under the illusion that the emergence of Adam Johnson had solved all our problems and that squad filling with defenders that play for Wolves but not actually playing them constituted “changing things.” Transitionally, very little that Capello’s done this season has been a bold tactic of choice. Calling up Johnson and more recently Jack Wilshere weren’t exactly hard calls to make. Every man woman and dog had already edited them into their FIFA or PES squads by then anyway. All the talk of change seemed an illusion. England were the same old rubbish and Gareth Barry was still playing.
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However on Saturday, for once, things did actually look different. Again most likely more by necessity than choice. Had Steven Gerrard been fit for example, he’d almost certainly have taken one of the spots occupied so authoritatively by messes Wilshere and Scott Parker (henceforth to be know always as “Scotty” Parker apparently. Evidently I didn’t get the memo.) and long has it been evident that Capello would happily call on Owen Hargreaves at a moment’s notice, if only his joints didn’t keep falling off. But nevertheless this was a huge step forward, with three ostensibly central midfielders employed across the park and what seemed – in the first half at least – to be a genuine, non-rubbish attempt to play quick footed possession football. Wilshere even claimed they’d been made to watch Barcelona beforehand. That’s more like it. Aim for the stars lads, not Peter Crouch’s head.
5. New Kids on the Block – And in the end it was this endeavour that paid off, and the less glamorous, non-super dooper big four club players that won the game. In addition to the excellent Senor Scotty (winning what is scandalously only his fifth cap and precluding me from using the excellent line “he cannae take it cap’ain!”) the Aston Villa duo of Young and Bent caused the Welsh constant problems in the first half. And if Parker’s scant cap collection isn’t enough to underline the unflinching predictability of England’s team selections for over a decade, Darren Bent was starting his very first competitive game for his country, despite being on the radar as one of the Premier League’s highest scoring Englishmen since 2006 (when the Walcott debacle deprived him of a place) and collected his third international goal in the process. Things they are a changing. Slowly. Veeeery slowly.
You can follow Oscar on Twitter here Twitter/oscarpyejeary, where you can help him guess what excuses every member of Saturday’s starting XI will give for suddenly and inexplicably becoming injured at the same time.
Look out for Conor Coady in an England shirt in the not too distant future…
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