Maybe the Sky Isn’t Falling, Afterall

Sven-Goran Eriksson is a wanking fuck and I want him to die a slow, horrible, grisly death. Death by Bongo seems an oddly appropriate option here. I just had to get that feeling out of the way. Now, moving on…

The first half against Sweden went extremely well. Our lads were creative, they were lively, they were smart. And it started with the largely unappreciated Joe Cole, who was positively exquisite. His looping strike after the 35 minute is easily one of the top goals of the tournament. Ashley Cole held solid, as did Owen Hargreaves, who proved many critics, myself included, quite wrong. For once, he played like Hargreaves the Bayern Munich player, not Hargreaves the England imposter. And Wayne Rooney ran with an energetic directness and impressive power that raised the level of the whole squad. When compared with our performances against Paraguay and the Rooney-less hour against the Caribbean islanders, the difference was so extreme that it was maddening.

Though it wasn’t our best half of football, our men put forth the level of performance I expect to see in group play. The only thing most world powers want in the early going is to survive the dregs of the group stage without serious injury or disaster (more on Michael Owen later). If they advance while playing like shite, fine – it’s a 7 game tournament right? Sure. But that attitude is rubbish and I’m tired of seeing it from the Three Lions.

I want to see signs that my side is bursting at the seams to get after it in the knockout stage. I want to watch our lads and know that when it comes time to own a team, they’ll be ready to bust some heads. So I was pleased to finally bear witness of such in the first 45. Had our side performed with this level of energy against Paraguay and T&T, I’d have saved my Chicken Little suit for next week. But alas.

When halftime sounded, Sven, the master demotivator, cast the usual sleeping postion and our boys returned to the match like they’d just hibernated through a Swedish winter.

Almost immediately, our much-vaunted defense became a sieve and our most damaging habit reasserted itself… we proved unable to hang on to a hard-won lead. Paul Robinson couldn’t direct the troops, John Terry couldn’t attack the cross, Sol Campbell – who replaced Rio after a miserable season as a Gunner this year – couldn’t grasp the concept that you don’t let the ball bounce when it’s in the 6. Frank Lampard looked great and was extremely active but couldn’t find the back of the net if it blew him. And David Beckham is still allowed on the pitch during matchtime. We’re a team that relies heavily on crosses and free kicks but that worthless cunt is slow on offense, non-existant on defense, and manages to get lousier by the day. Now we’ve lost Michael Owen for the duration of the Cup. But is the sky falling? Ehh… no more than it was 3 days ago.

It’s apparent to all that had we a suitable coterie of strikers, we wouldn’t be having this discussion, but with Owen out, only Rooney, Peter Crouch, and Theo Walcott (who has yet to see time) are in good health. It can be argued that the loss isn’t so tragic.

Owen wasn’t fit and firing to begin with, as the only thing he’d brought to the pitch thus far was the potential for magical goal scoring. Before he went out with that grisly knee buckle, he’d not shown us a thing… in fact, his play worsened since facing Paraguay. In a strange way, the best thing that happened that night was his departure. Our lads showed an instant and positive reaction, as if they’d finally found their rallying cry. As odd as it sounds, maybe this is what we needed… Maybe the absence of Owen will force Sven to make lineup and formation changes that he would have lacked the courage to do otherwise and our mouths will water upon witnessing Lampard and Gerrard backing up Rooney without restraint… Maybe this is one of those situations where an accident steers a team towards the discovery of its true form and nature… Maybe, just maybe, the sky isn’t falling afterall.