The Pub Was My First Mistake

After some pressure from my stepson, it was off the chaise longue and down to the pub for last night’s game, a decision I would later come to regret. One side of the pub was watching a television around two seconds ahead of the side I was sitting on, which meant cheers, groans and anguished cries were erupting before I had any idea what had happened. There is nothing quite like watching a dangerous attack develop while twenty people behind you have already shouted “YES!” or “OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” It takes some of the suspense out of it. In fact, it ruins it.

I have therefore decided that I still like some pubs, but I no longer want to watch football in them. It is difficult enough trying to concentrate on England without listening to tactical analysis from men who watch football twice a year and believe every problem can be solved by “getting it forward quicker”. By the end, I was watching two screens, listening to four separate commentaries and trying not to throttle a bloke who kept shouting “pressure him” at players on a TV screen.

Twenty Minutes of Absolutely Nothing

The game began about as dully as an international football match possibly can. Norway appeared content to let England have possession, while England seemed perfectly happy to stroll around with it in the stifling heat, presumably waiting for somebody else to come up with an idea of what to do next. It was possession football in the loosest possible sense. England had the ball, Norway had no interest in taking it, and everyone else had begun checking their phones. It was the antichrist of the Mexico game.

After around twenty minutes, England finally created something. An O’Reilly cross beat everyone, was hooked back into the danger area by Madueke, but O’Reilly could not quite get enough on the return ball. It wasn’t exactly Brazil in 1970, but at least everyone briefly woke up. Around ten minutes before half-time, Norway registered their first attempt, with the worryingly anonymous Erling Haaland heading tamely into the hands of Jordan Pickford. Haaland had spent most of the opening half moving around so quietly that he could probably have taken up a second job collecting glasses.

Pickford Gets in a Pickle

Then everything went wrong. England tried to break, Harry Kane appeared to be fouled, and Norway immediately went the other way. Martin Ødegaard released Andreas Schjelderup, who either attempted a cross or had a shot. I’m not convinced even he knows but he’ll tell his kids it was a shot. Pickford got himself into a bit of a pickle and the ball flew into the net. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Was it a foul? It might have been if Kane hadn’t leapt into the air like a brown trout during duffers fortnight.

Then, on 44 minutes, Alexander Sørloth broke clear with Haaland charging through unmarked to his left, leaving England in enormous trouble. John Stones did everything he could to make the two-against-one situation awkward, Sørloth panicked and made a proper cock-up of it, prompting his manager to smash a bottle of water into the ground. I don’t think he was very happy. Had that been France, Spain or Argentina, England would have been 2-0 down and halfway to the airport. It was a glaring opportunity and one Norway would come to regret almost immediately.

Bellingham Drags England Back Into It

So, what happened next? You already know. Elliot Anderson picked up possession and released Anthony Gordon, who drove a low cross towards the onrushing Jude Bellingham. Bellingham brushed past the defenders and hammered the ball low into the bottom corner. It was a magnificent goal. That is what happens when you have a genuinely world-class player capable of dragging you through difficult moments. One minute England were inches away from being 2-0 down, the next they were level and Norway were wondering how on earth they had managed to fuck it up. The Norway manager dished out further punishment to a largely innocent water bottle, which was funny.

Then, in an almost exact replica of the Mexico game, England broke again. A clearly rattled Norway retreated, Kane was released and produced a lovely dink over the goalkeeper. It was a great goal, made slightly less great by the fact Kane was just offside. So ended a first half that had been painfully dull for around forty minutes before suddenly transforming into a basketball match. Funny old game as Jimmy ‘Greavsie’ Greaves used to say to his mate Ian ‘Saint’ St John. He wasn’t wrong.

Norway Dominate, England Somehow Survive

Thomas Tuchel made two changes at half-time, bringing on Eberechi Eze for Declan Rice and Bukayo Saka for Madueke. He clearly wasn’t happy, although he would have been even less happy a few minutes later as Norway piled on the pressure and won a succession of corners. One of them ended with the ball in England’s net, only for the goal to be ruled out because Haaland had shoved Anderson to the ground like he was playing the part of Basher Briggs in a school playground bullying incident. It was obvious, unnecessary and not particularly controversial, though the uncomfortable truth was that England were, at this stage, being dominated by lots of big blokes who weren’t bad at football. Surely we weren’t going to have a Sunday dominated by “Maggie Thatcher, can you hear me”, emanating from sports programmes dissecting a national disaster?

Another corner caused more chaos, with a looping header bouncing off the crossbar of England’s increasingly charmed goal. England weren’t so much defending as turning into an episode of Dad’s army. The game eventually calmed down and drifted towards extra time as both teams began to tire, although Saka nearly settled it when he wriggled free and flashed the ball across the face of an empty net. Nobody got a touch, which was Norway’s turn for a little fortune. Then, in the dying seconds, Djed Spence chased down goalkeeper Ørjan Nyland and nearly got lucky when a blocked clearance spun across goal. It could have gone anywhere, but thankfully for Norway it went wide. Extra time it was. My evening had already lasted approximately three days.

Bellingham Pounces and Argentina Await

England started extra time strongly, while Norway suddenly looked like a team whose batteries had been removed. A Kane header was somehow kept out by Nyland, but England recycled the ball and substitute Morgan Rogers tried his luck from distance. It was a fairly tame effort, but Nyland fumbled it and Bellingham pounced like an accomplished predator to slam England ahead. Get in. I would have felt for the keeper in normal circumstances but with Lord Beaverbrook, Winston Churchill, Henry Cooper and Lady Diana circling around my head, now wasn’t the time to give a fuck. So, I didn’t.

England were now the better side and, more importantly, clearly the fitter one. Spence was unfortunate not to win a penalty after bursting into the box, although awarding it would have made the closing stages far too comfortable, and that is not how England operate. Saka went close twice, Spence continued to cause problems and both proved excellent substitutions. England’s superior squad depth was there for all to see as Norway huffed and puffed but gradually ran out of ideas, energy and probably oxygen.

It had been an ugly game for long periods, but England are scrappers, you have to give them that. When you have Kane and Bellingham both sitting on six goals, you are always in the fight, and that may be the best thing about this side. They keep finding ways to win matches that, in previous years, would have gradually turned into an unfolding disaster zone.

Now It Gets Serious

Now it gets serious. Argentina are next, and they remain the one team I genuinely dislike. It has nothing to do with the Falklands or any of that ancient nonsense. It is because they have traditionally been an absolute shithouse of a football team. They will waste time, surround the referee, roll around, whisper sweet nothings into Bellingham’s ear and do everything possible to get an England player sent off. It is what they do, and nobody will convince me they aren’t complete shitbags. I probably hate the keeper the most, even if he did play his trade at Reading a few years back.

Hopefully, having a German manager who can create and maintain an orderly team will help England survive the dark arts. I genuinely believe England have the better players. Argentina have a 39-year-old Lionel Messi. England have a 32-year-old Harry Kane and a 24-year-old Jude Bellingham. Two younger world class players versus one ageing.

It is time to ruin their World Cup, so some of us of a certain vintage can lay 1986 and 1998 to rest. 2002 when John Mostson told us to hold on to our cups and glasses then smash them when Beckham scored a penalty was lovely but that was a group game. This is a big one.

This time, however, I’ll be watching from the chaise longue, where everyone sees the goals at exactly the same time.

Morten Harkat, Ole Gunnar Sjolskaer, Erling Haaland…can you hear me?

Probably not.