By Anthony Pope
Yes so it appears that the most specialist of occasions has arrived on our calendar again this month. Unless you’ve been living under a rock or Scotland these past few weeks it’s been hard to get away from the build up to the 19th World Cup Finals. I myself, like any respectable and decent Englishmen will be putting my hand on who’s ever broken metatarsal is on the front page, donning plastic St.George’s flags to an automobile and sending death threats to whichever South American official is to blame for our heroic quarter final exit. As our boys do battle out in South Africa a nation will once again hold it’s breath as yet another golden generation flatter to deceive at yet another major competition.
Of course this time around we pin our hopes not on the majestic right boot of our talismanic captain nor will it be on a blubbering flawed genius but instead it’ll be The Godfather himself, Fabio Capello. The burden of reasonability lies squarely on the Italians’ shoulders, good luck my friend, good luck. The disciplinarian has banished the ghosts of Super Steve‘s and El Tel‘s orchestra of managerial buffoonery and appears to have assembled a side who have half a chance at winning the bloody thing.
At this moment in time there are two distinct set of England fans, those convinced that this year is the year, England’s name is on the trophy, it’s a cast iron guarantee, come July 11th Stevie Gerrard will be hoisting the trophy and come July 13th we’ll be reunited with Sir Stephen Warnock, Sir Robert Green and Sir Emile Heskey. On the other hand there will be a fair proportion of doom mongers who think we’ve got about as much chance as John Terry and Wayne Bridge settling their differences and starting a Jedward tribute band. I tend to change from day to day, normally depending on which inspirational advert I’ve seen on the tele, once Kit Kat have finished telling me to cross my fingers and Carlsberg have given probably the best team talk in the world I’m fully convinced that Glen Johnson vs. Lionel Messi is an even contest and we’ll end all those years of hurt we keep singing about.
Talking of songs I’m bitterly disappointed that there will be no official World Cup anthem this year as Fabio ’If your late I’m taking 3 of your fingers” Capello has banned it, which quite frankly has robbed us of the potential of Shaun Wright Phillips’ rapping. I see this almost on par with the injustice the Irish must feel after Thierry Henry’s handball, now that Sean St.Ledger won’t be at this years World Cup I feel it’s hardly worth watching. The only question that reminds is who will join the elite group of Chris Waddle, Gareth Southgate, David Batty and Darius Vassell of having to trudge back to the half way line after sending England crashing out as back home England weeps into their Stellas.
Personally I reckon it’ll be Michael Carrick or Aaron Lennon, there’s something about them that just screams “I’m gonna crumble under the pressure and scuff it.” I feel bad ending my first blog entry on such a negative note before a summer of optimism and expectation so I’ll end by saying that England have just as good a chance as anyone, Rooney could shine as Gazza did in Italia 90’, that Gerrard can boss the midfield like Robson and Ince before him, John Terry can inspire the heart of the defence like Moore or Butcher and that on their day they have the ability to beat the Spanish, Argies, Germans, Brazillians and the French and finally bring football back home and win the World Cup.
But they probably won’t.