Well that’s an early night and decent sleep I won’t get back—and with it the likelihood of another four more years of hurt. In fairness, Jules Rimet’s probably given up dreaming, and flicked over to another channel to avoid being droned to death by Phil Neville.
He might have been a decent footballer, and might know what he’s talking about . . . it’s the simple act of “talking” that is seemingly beyond him. Usually, when your team is losing, the clock reaches ninety minutes in the blink of an eye; last night/this morning’s game seemed to last an eternity.
In some respects, England actually played well in patches, but were beaten by a better Italian side marshalled by the hugely impressive Andrea Pirlo. Perhaps that’s where Roy Hodgson made his fatal error . . . only picking players with blokes’ names. Where was Casey Stoney when we needed her?
The Liverpool trio of Sterling, Sturridge and Gerard were England’s best performers on the night—the first two in particular gave the watching millions some reasons to be positive about the future of the national side.
That said we were wobbly at the back, and I thought the Italians exposed the defensive frailties of our full backs. Jordan Henderson was anonymous and, apart from a lovely cross for Sturridge’s goal, Wayne Rooney looked pretty much what Paul Scholes had said he was. We have some really exciting talent waiting in the wings, and it’ll be interesting to see what line-up the manager picks for the all-important clash with Uruguay on Thursday.
Overall though, my biggest concerns are the fact that my gearbox &/or clutch on my trusty Corsa have waved the white flag, and that means yet more expense . . . and I’m also worried for Zoë Hanna in Casualty, who is being horribly undermined by the scheming Connie Beauchamp. Never trust anyone whose name bears no resemblance to the way it’s pronounced. . . .
Time to go back to bed, I think. Buonanotte everyone.