The pain of supporting the England football team over the past 40 years has been such that not even the surprise and delight of a fine early goal does much to raise the fans' spirits. Our brief elation is undercut by a lurking dread of the adverse reaction that is surely waiting for us just a little later, the karmic measure of sudden woe to outweigh our unexpected joy. We remember, for instance, the 1982 tournament, when we opened with the fastest goal in World Cup history against France, but then failed to make much further impact and crashed out in the second group stage (which they were trying instead of a knockout 'round of 16' that year). The few occasions when an early breakthrough led to an exuberant rout (beating the Dutch 4-1 in Euro '96, beating the Germans 5-1 in that qualifier in Munich in 2001) fade in the memory in comparison to all the times when a promising start was but a prelude to disaster. So it was last night: a brilliant goal by Stevie G after just 5 minutes, and I immediately felt that sinking feeling in my heart - Hmm. Nice. So, what's going to go wrong?
But, oh boy, I did not anticipate that. I am ordinarily a very kind and forgiving sort of chap. I do not approve of the media pillorying our sportsmen for rare lapses of concentration in the heat of competition. I would normally advocate giving players a chance to rehabilitate themselves, to atone for a costly error.
And with outfield players, I think that approach usually works. A fiercely competitive spirit will drive them to try to compensate for their mistakes, to redeem themselves with a flash of genius that may turn the game around again.
With goalkeepers, it doesn't work. They have too few opportunities to make a decisive contribution during the course of a game; rarely more than a handful, sometimes only one or two. And their performance is so sensitively dependent on confidence: one terrible error - however untypical or unlucky - generally leads to a string of others.
Not only that, but the goalkeeper's confidence has such a huge influence on every other area of the game. If the keeper makes a huge foul-up, his defenders lose faith in him, and get more nervous on the ball. The opposing team sense a possible weakness, and are more incisive, more self-confident in going forward. And, above all, nasty and regrettable though this is, the fans will go after him, taunting, teasing, mocking, abusing. In a major tournament like this, the support of the travelling fans can provide a huge boost to the team's morale. If you lose their confidence, dampen their enthusiasm, the whole team's performance may suffer as a result.
And that really was The Most Awful Goalkeeping Error In The History Of Football - to fumble a shot for which you are in perfect position, and which is not particularly hard, and which is not bobbling over the ground.... and then not recover the error, but actually help the ball over the line with your half-hearted lunge after it. Honestly, that was so bizarrely, inexplicably dreadful that it immediately raised doubts as to whether our man had been knobbled by a Malaysian gambling syndicate. If I were Fabio Capello, Rob Green would have been on a plane home at half-time. He certainly shouldn't be starting any more games in this tournament (even if he were in fact our best goalkeeper, which I don't believe he is).
Of course, the real misery of last night was not Green's howler, but the fact that despite a good start we were not able to assert any superiority over a pretty poor US side. This has been a regular failing of England sides through all the years of my suffering them: they may raise their game unexpectedly against sides who are better than them (oh, the exhilaration - and the disbelief - after a fairly poor tournament, of finding ourselves outplaying Germany in the 1990 semi-final!!), but against weaker teams we huff and puff and fail to blow their house down. It's frustrating, embarrassing, wretched.
To be frank, I've never been that much of an England fan. We didn't even qualify for the World Cup Finals during my '70s childhood, so I found myself rooting for Scotland in those two tournaments instead. I am now aware of a disloyal impulse in myself to hope for an early exit, so that I can just enjoy the football without having to take an interest in the fortunes of an habitually under-performing team who, even performing at their peak, are probably not deserving of a place in the last four.
And Rob Green must go.......
My pal Jeremiah (of Granite Studio history blogging notoriety) sent me a link the other day for An Open Letter To Men - a very entertaining little piece by the striking actress Christina Hendricks (who, I gather, has achieved mega-celebrity in the last few years through her role as the voluptuous office manager Joan Holloway in Mad Men; I still live in sorry ignorance of this series, though many of my male friends have raved to me about its wit and cleverness.... and the generously upholstered figure of Ms Hendricks).
