Back to the Future
England's exit from previous World Cups has often been typified by hubris followed by recrimination and then ridiculous claims that 'we wuz robbed'.
So I was pleased to read this measured piece by Barney Ronay in The Guardian in which he reflects honestly about England's performance, why his national team so often fails to rise to the occasion and how it managed to finish six points behind a nation (Costa Rica) with a population the size of South London.
If the inevitable 'post mortem' that follows is conducted in the same candid spirit, then things can only get better as they say.
World Cup 2014: England go back to future with exit against Costa Rica
On the evidence of the collective performance by England’s new generation we are not in for much footballing change
By Barney Ronay - The Guardian
England playres acknowledge applause from fans after the 0-0 draw against Costa Rica in Group D. Photograph: Ian Walton/Getty Images
Well, then. That really is that. In Belo Horizonte England left the World Cup for the second time in a week – like the Queen and her birthdays they have been granted both a ceremonial exit and a de facto one – after drawing 0-0 with Costa Rica, who finished top of group D.
If this was a wonderful day for Costa Rican football, it was a meek, deathly and oddly familiar one for England, a match that felt less like an actual tournament encounter than a necessary act of footballing euthanasia. There will no doubt be a second wave of teeth-gnashing at the fact that England have now finished bottom of their World Cup group, six points behind a nation with a population the size of South London. Some will call for Roy Hodgson to be replaced. Others will target the FA. The Premier League will be anguished over, as will the structural problems of an overcrowded, over-built, over-stretched nation in which being good at playing football is given both every importance and, where it might actually matter, no importance whatsoever.
Swooping back down to earth in the reconditioned concrete bowl that is the Estádio Mineirão, it seemed at the final whistle an exercise in enduring optimism that this match had been billed – including, cautiously, by Hodgson himself – as a glimpse into England’s youthful future, a chance to build out of the immediate wreckage. On this evidence the future bears striking similarities to both the immediate and distant past.
No doubt reeling at the spectacle of another England tournament exit, Karl Marx once remarked that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it – and much has duly been made this week of the echoes of England’s on-field humiliation the last time they were in Belo Horizonte 64 years ago. But even then the wider picture wasn’t so much defeat to the USA’s team of odd-jobs and amateurs as a simple sense of being out of time against the rest of the world, a strange combination of a grand self-importance and a feeling of having somehow been ambushed by more skilled, state of the art opponents. Out of time: it is a familiar theme.
During the current autopsy-on-the-run, England’s football press have finally got around to turning on the team psychologist, but even here England are way behind. Brazil’s senior players were already growing tired of their own version, João Carvalhaes, at the 1958 tournament in Sweden. Nobody could ever accuse England of not having all the right ideas. Just not, perhaps, in the right century.
Post-mortems will come and go from here, but perhaps the most notable England football anniversary of recent times is the passing of 60-odd years since, in the wake of humiliation by Hungary, the great Jimmy Hogan, one of the godfathers of central European football, was invited by the FA to take English coaching in hand. At Chelsea barracks Hogan gave a group of managers a masterclass in how to teach technique and touch to young footballers, with the intention of introducing ball-mastery and short-passing to school and club coaching across the nation, spreading the word as he had in Holland and Germany. Except, it didn’t work out with the FA. The post was never filled. And on we went, producing for the last half century spirited and athletically impressive footballers who so often against better teams seem to have no clear idea exactly how they intend to play the game. England, to their credit, fought hard here, and ran to the end. It just always seemed oddly fruitless, on a pre-fruitless afternoon.
Hodgson’s starting XI was at least an attempt at something different, the selection equivalent of bringing out the Monopoly board on the last day of summer term, with an 18-year-old and five others in the 26 and under bracket. Plus this is still football, where hope dawns with relentless, creaking monotony. Here a 4-1-4-1 with Jack Wilshere and Ross Barkley central behind Daniel Sturridge looked exciting on paper, if not quite in practice in the first half as England struggled for any obvious passing rhythm against gristly and astute opponents. Wilshere started brightly, wriggling purposefully between Costa Rica’s two banks of four and three, and it was his ferreting run down the left that set up Sturridge for the first England shot at goal. After that, long periods of the match congealed into something close to an end of season Wembley friendly.
There were some bright moments from England’s tyros and they did dominate possession for periods, even if being probed by England’s midfield at this World Cup was the footballing equivalent of being thrashed with a wet tissue.
Indeed there was a back-to-the-future element to many of England’s attacks as the midfield tried to float passes over the top in the grand old style, a tactic tailored to this opponent no doubt, but still an unfortunate spectacle given the circumstances.
As a limp goalless first half faded into a slightly better goalless second half, Adam Lallana was eventually replaced by Raheem Sterling, making this one of those rare occasions (perhaps the only one) England have fielded two teenagers in a World Cup match. By the end they also had Frank Lampard and Steven Gerard in midfield, perhaps for the last time. At the final whistle it was that creaky old ill-fitting craftsman’s shoe of a midfield duo who led the players to receive an affectionate farewell from England’s flag-draped supporters who, in a strikingly retro move, were being penned in by a double layer of military police.
England were at least commendably consistent to the end at this World Cup, not so much coming to the party as remaining resolutely locked inside the downstairs cloakroom. They have not been brutally exposed here or ripped apart, but have instead simply been short in the details, lacking in those basic winning qualities, technical and tactical.
We can expect the usual debrief from here: regrets, recrimination, a bellicose junking of whatever happens to be in the immediate eyeline. But without a reforming sense of zeal aimed not at the manager or the finished product, but at the raw materials of participation and coaching, both amateur and professional, England’s footballing present will continue, as here, to look quite a lot like the past.
Well, then. That really is that. In Belo Horizonte England left the World Cup for the second time in a week – like the Queen and her birthdays they have been granted both a ceremonial exit and a de facto one – after drawing 0-0 with Costa Rica, who finished top of group D.
If this was a wonderful day for Costa Rican football, it was a meek, deathly and oddly familiar one for England, a match that felt less like an actual tournament encounter than a necessary act of footballing euthanasia. There will no doubt be a second wave of teeth-gnashing at the fact that England have now finished bottom of their World Cup group, six points behind a nation with a population the size of South London. Some will call for Roy Hodgson to be replaced. Others will target the FA. The Premier League will be anguished over, as will the structural problems of an overcrowded, over-built, over-stretched nation in which being good at playing football is given both every importance and, where it might actually matter, no importance whatsoever.
Swooping back down to earth in the reconditioned concrete bowl that is the Estádio Mineirão, it seemed at the final whistle an exercise in enduring optimism that this match had been billed – including, cautiously, by Hodgson himself – as a glimpse into England’s youthful future, a chance to build out of the immediate wreckage. On this evidence the future bears striking similarities to both the immediate and distant past.
No doubt reeling at the spectacle of another England tournament exit, Karl Marx once remarked that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it – and much has duly been made this week of the echoes of England’s on-field humiliation the last time they were in Belo Horizonte 64 years ago. But even then the wider picture wasn’t so much defeat to the USA’s team of odd-jobs and amateurs as a simple sense of being out of time against the rest of the world, a strange combination of a grand self-importance and a feeling of having somehow been ambushed by more skilled, state of the art opponents. Out of time: it is a familiar theme.
During the current autopsy-on-the-run, England’s football press have finally got around to turning on the team psychologist, but even here England are way behind. Brazil’s senior players were already growing tired of their own version, João Carvalhaes, at the 1958 tournament in Sweden. Nobody could ever accuse England of not having all the right ideas. Just not, perhaps, in the right century.
Post-mortems will come and go from here, but perhaps the most notable England football anniversary of recent times is the passing of 60-odd years since, in the wake of humiliation by Hungary, the great Jimmy Hogan, one of the godfathers of central European football, was invited by the FA to take English coaching in hand. At Chelsea barracks Hogan gave a group of managers a masterclass in how to teach technique and touch to young footballers, with the intention of introducing ball-mastery and short-passing to school and club coaching across the nation, spreading the word as he had in Holland and Germany. Except, it didn’t work out with the FA. The post was never filled. And on we went, producing for the last half century spirited and athletically impressive footballers who so often against better teams seem to have no clear idea exactly how they intend to play the game. England, to their credit, fought hard here, and ran to the end. It just always seemed oddly fruitless, on a pre-fruitless afternoon.
Hodgson’s starting XI was at least an attempt at something different, the selection equivalent of bringing out the Monopoly board on the last day of summer term, with an 18-year-old and five others in the 26 and under bracket. Plus this is still football, where hope dawns with relentless, creaking monotony. Here a 4-1-4-1 with Jack Wilshere and Ross Barkley central behind Daniel Sturridge looked exciting on paper, if not quite in practice in the first half as England struggled for any obvious passing rhythm against gristly and astute opponents. Wilshere started brightly, wriggling purposefully between Costa Rica’s two banks of four and three, and it was his ferreting run down the left that set up Sturridge for the first England shot at goal. After that, long periods of the match congealed into something close to an end of season Wembley friendly.
There were some bright moments from England’s tyros and they did dominate possession for periods, even if being probed by England’s midfield at this World Cup was the footballing equivalent of being thrashed with a wet tissue.
Indeed there was a back-to-the-future element to many of England’s attacks as the midfield tried to float passes over the top in the grand old style, a tactic tailored to this opponent no doubt, but still an unfortunate spectacle given the circumstances.
As a limp goalless first half faded into a slightly better goalless second half, Adam Lallana was eventually replaced by Raheem Sterling, making this one of those rare occasions (perhaps the only one) England have fielded two teenagers in a World Cup match. By the end they also had Frank Lampard and Steven Gerard in midfield, perhaps for the last time. At the final whistle it was that creaky old ill-fitting craftsman’s shoe of a midfield duo who led the players to receive an affectionate farewell from England’s flag-draped supporters who, in a strikingly retro move, were being penned in by a double layer of military police.
England were at least commendably consistent to the end at this World Cup, not so much coming to the party as remaining resolutely locked inside the downstairs cloakroom. They have not been brutally exposed here or ripped apart, but have instead simply been short in the details, lacking in those basic winning qualities, technical and tactical.
We can expect the usual debrief from here: regrets, recrimination, a bellicose junking of whatever happens to be in the immediate eyeline. But without a reforming sense of zeal aimed not at the manager or the finished product, but at the raw materials of participation and coaching, both amateur and professional, England’s footballing present will continue, as here, to look quite a lot like the past.
