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I haven’t had time to get too worked up about this beforehand. Work and life and stuff and things. I feel like a textbook definition of the phrase ‘alienated.’ The game has kind of crept up on me as I’ve walked through life like a ghost. Still, you don’t not pay me to read about me and my life. You want football. I want football. Everyone wants football. If you’re a tennis wrong’un, fuck off. I hate your shit sport. I hate Cliff Richard. I hate Timmy. I hope he loses. I hate the mealy mouthed social commentary around football. There’s a fuck load of things wrong with England as a country but lumping them all onto football crowds is missing the point. You can see I’m not in a good mood here and by the end of the piece, I will be...
Shall we move on towards that before you stop reading? I think so.
Football is a beautiful escape. I haven't played football for years, but I remember when I first heard about ‘self help’ and people going on about meditating, reaching a state beyond thought, finding their inner selves, my honest response to this new concept was ‘yeah, I feel like that when I play football.’ I used to play centre half and on the pitch, everything else in life would disappear. There was only the ball and the other players, the angles, the pace, the bounce, the subliminal tells as your animal brain read the intent behind the movements of the player in possession. A state of total concentration. When I stopped playing football, I don’t think I’ve ever quite been the same person. I’m more anxious, more tense, just a bit shitter all round.
I never really played a match that meant anything. I always just played, for the fun of it, in largely informal football that no one watched other than a few girls that hung around with us who usually weren’t watching anyway. I can’t begin to imagine what it must feel like to play football in front of an audience of millions with the expectation of a nation on your shoulders.
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England start looking almost worryingly up for it. This isn’t calculating football. Sterling has a great run. Shaw leaves his studds on someone. The crowd is everything it often isn't at Wembley. It's almost Bloomfield Road- esque. A ball across the face of goal is just out of reach of Sterling. Southgate puts the lid on his water bottle with a reassuringly certain twist. His hand dallies, then with a definite flick of the wrist, makes the decision. The cap is on tight. Southgate is backing himself. Sterling dances free again but his cross is cleared. He’s a magician is that lad. He’s nearly in form Sullay Kaikai good.
Denmark have been pinned in for most of the opening. When they do break, it's swift and central but fortunately Kyle Walker is also swift and tidies up. Walker has ascended unnoticed to the level of players who are consistent enough to get forgotten. England are soon back on the attack, Mount and Saka combine to win a corner, it's cleared, but England's press has them straight back on it, Kane looking so much more decisive hits a first time diagonal, Sterling wriggles between defender but screws his shot weakly at Schmeichel.
Kane of the smoky eyes and 1950s hair hammers one a mile over the top. Pickford and Phillips make a pair of mistakes and the Danes drill the ball low but wide twice. It’s still not the calculating controlled football that we first bemoaned and now hope for.
The game first settles down for a bit, then Denmark have a good spell, they force Pickford into one of his glorious clearances. I’d love to photograph him in mid kick, a slow shutter speed capturing the blur of his arms and legs, but the relative stillness of his head and torso is in sharp focus. Denmark work a neat, patient move and an angle for Damsgaard who curls it but beyond the far post. Pickford beats his gloves together and screams.
It’s unheeded by the team though, the Danes creep forward through a series of free kicks, like a rugby league team going through a set of 6. From the last one, Damsgaard hits it, it rises, it curls, it fades, it drops, it sneaks beyond Pickford who has flown, hung in mid air, leapt almost past the ball. As the ball strikes the net, Pickford is falling to earth, hitting the ground with a jolt, crumpling in slow motion on the replays, a crash test dummy hitting the wall, thrown from the window of a car. You should have worn a seatbelt Jordan. You should have worn a seatbelt. The whole thing is hollow shock.
Kane turns on the edge of the box, drawing a foul. The England players conspire. Sterling hits the wall. The crowd hums with anxiety and frustration. Frustration turns to disbelief as Saka frees Kane wide right, Kane's cross finds Sterling who hits it as hard as he can from point blank range and somehow Schmeichel keeps it out.
It's the same three players again, but in a different order. Football is just patterns. Football is instinct. Football is chaos never quite tamed. This time Kane feeds Saka beautifully from a central position, threading it wide with a precision that belies his frame, Saka races free, crosses low, Kjaer slides with Sterling, beating him to the ball, but turning it into the net. Sterling falls as the ball heads home, his arms aloft in triumph, his fall unbroken… England rejoices.
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Decent at times but also shaky at times.
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Saka wins a free kick on the right. From it, Maguire gets booked for challenging for the ball. I imagine #gamesgone is trending. It usually is.
Pickford, who I will forever defend because he looks like you or I would if we got picked for England, who looks aware of the scale and magnitude of what he’s doing, who is visibly trying to remember to breathe, makes a stunning stop from a from Dalberg snapshot getting down superbly to tip round the post. It was offside though, so no one will remember it. Denmark come again and from a cross, Pickford plunges forward and punches away. You can practically hear him talking to himself in his head.
“Good, back in your goal, calm down Jordan. Breathe. Think of summat nice. Ha, that mad time when I ate 10 ice creams for a bet. Well funny. My nan. Love my nan... Fucking hell. Wake up!!!! Watch what’s going on. Breathe. Back, forward. Point. Point. What’s for tea tonight? Fucking hell Jordan, sort it out lad, shit, run out, kick it! Breathe. Breathe. Not had Chicken Kievs for a while. Fucks sake Jordan, stay on it…try counting backwards 10,9,8,7, should have started with a higher number. You fuck stuff up Jordan. Don’t start with the negative voices. Shout at Harry. That’ll calm you down. Do some clapping… ‘HARRY!!! HARRY!!! *CLAP*CLAP*CLAP*CLAP’ C’MON LADS!!! ”
Kane buys a free kick by the corner flag. It's lifted in, Maguire the bouncy castle springs, glances it towards the bottom corner and Schmeichel pulls out an astonishing stop, two little dancer's skips to his right, and then he flings himself, longer than full length, arm nearly coming out of its socket, every ligament in every joint to his fingertips stretched to get a proper palm on the ball. Incredible.
Sterling takes it in the box, he races, then he just stops. Dead musical statues frozen still. Time slows down, then suddenly it speeds up as without any discernible movement he slides it to the overlapping Shaw who rattles it across the box, finding a deflection and seeing it roll beyond the far post. Honestly. This lad is so underrated I can’t find words to explain it. I like Grealish as much as anyone, but people sometimes talk about England as if we’ve got Pickford and ten Geoff Thomas’s without him. Sterling is just irresistible on this form. He’s as watchable as anyone in the world playing like this and I don't know why people don't seem to count him as a 'flair' player.
Challenges fly in. Phillips can crunch but he can also pass, he sets Mount away but boring Frank's favourite player hasn't got the final trick to beat his man, nor a few minutes later can he shape his drive to really test Schmeichel. Mount is a very good footballer, but I’m starting to feel like he’s too functional right now. This game needs another magician and Mount is a very competent magician's assistant.
There’s a string of 3 Denmark chances, a booming header from Maguire from inside his own half that runs through to Schmeichel at the other other end. Heading is beautiful. Grealish comes on to mass anticipation. It’s practically feverish. I’d got so caught up the game I’d kind of forgotten there’s another load of good players on the bench. It’s like being at a gig and the band announces they’re being joined on stage by someone else really famous.
His first touch draws a foul and a yellow card. His second is a pass that nearly goes out of play, his third a glorious crossfield ball. He dances on the edge of the box. He runs from deep. He draws fouls. He looks like he’s doing what he’s always done, forever, since when he first played football. The appeal of Grealish is, he doesn’t look coached in an era where coaching is everything. Systems, phases of play, recycling possession, game management. It’s all boring as fuck. Grealish just wants the ball and wants to make goals happen. You feel like he finds it all boring. It’s just shit old men talk about that gets in the way of having the ball and making goals happen.
Kane goes down in the box. A dive? A foul? VAR says none of the above and we continue. England press high. They look fit. A Denmark player pulls up,another change. Phillips shoots from distance, dropping to his knees to stun it with his chest, then bouncing up to drive it wide. Grealish loses the ball in his manic quest to stamp himself on the game, England win it back without any fuss.
The game has stayed fast but it's got stuck in midfield. The Danes win a corner. I get a bad feeling but it's a free kick to England. Shaw bundles into the box, it ricochets about. Kane runs across the box trying to find the angle for a shot but it just won’t sit for him. A quick free kick sees Sterling away but his cross hits a wave of red bodies washing back into the box. Seconds later, Sterling has an identical chance, this time he beats the defence but Kane brings it down and loses it, in the process, taking it always from Grealish who is two yards behind him and looking ready to pounce. Maguire has a far post header from a deep cross but it's straight at the keeper. Sterling beats one, then another, surges into the box and goes down, play on... Grealish crosses once, twice, a shout for handball unheard. Kane flicks on.. no one reads it.
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England have been dominant for a good portion of the second half but haven't made many clear chances. They need to gamble with a touch more attacking endeavour in the middle. It’s quite an intense game. I feel like Sancho might be a player who could make the time and space. He’s got a languid self possession about him. For Blackpool fans only, he kind of feels to me, like the player Fonz would have been had he been the player we hoped he was.
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England go down the right, Kane is free, he’s cutting inside, he's falling away under a challenge but he gets a shot in, it's good, it's drifting past Schmeichel even though the angle is tight and again, the keeper is superb, collapsing, thrusting out a hand, reading it perfectly, brain and body in total sync. It must be a dream to be playing this well.
Chances keep coming. A corner, deep, a crashing header, hooked off the goal line, it falls to Grealish, he belts it, Schmeichel hurls his arms up and deflects it away. He’s in the sort of form that makes you think he could stop 2 balls. Henderson gives it to Foden who has replaced Mount, then races down the line, Foden waits then slides a sumptuous ball along the whitewash, Henderson is beyond the defence and crossing but it's headed behind.
Now it's Sterling. He's been running and running for 103 minutes. He goes into the box, he goes to the line, he cuts back, he goes one way, then the other, he goes down. The whistle blows! VAR looks. It is what it is.
Kane breathes out hard, then again for good luck. He trundles in. He strikes it low, Schmeichel follows his intent, he dives, he saves, but Kane is still trundling in, the ball rebounds into his path, Schmeichel scrambles from the ground, Kane strikes it, the keeper dives the other way now, but Kane has clipped it just beyond him and before the ball hits the net, he's wheeling away. It takes an incredible amount of calm to not sink to your knees in despair when you see a penalty saved in front of millions but he never even broke stride.
Grealish is off at half time in extra time. Trippier is on. Grealish has a look of a kid who's birthday has been spoiled by getting the wrong games console but who is trying not to let on. He looks like he just wants to go up to his room and have a little cry.
Denmark probe. England close down. Denmark probe. Pickford hooks it out of play. Denmark probe, Shaw slices a clearance. Denmark flick on the edge of the box, Stones belts clear. England are sitting back. England are inviting pressure, this is what happens when you make subs like that, fucking hell. England, when will we trust ourselves to win instead of trying not to lose, England, fucking hell….. but then again he goes, Sterling, racing forward. He gets it under his feet, but he bobbles it out… he gets caught by a defender, but he accelerates, like a speedboat changing gear and just as you think he’s lost it, he’s away again. He takes on another, it’s just breathtaking and it switches the game on it’s head.
A shot from the edge of the box, Stone throws himself in front of it, Pickford sprawls and turns it round. It was probably going wide, but remember, Pickford is just a lad. He’s just a person, like you or I and he’s living a moment, the sheer magnitude of which, you or I can only imagine. The terror, the complexity of the decisions, the battle to just let himself do his job. Of course he turns it round the post. He’s got the ghosts of Shilton back peddling uselessly, of Rob Green, Scott Carson flopping over the ball, of every other howler or split second miscalculation, every calmly approached complete fuck up weighing on him. Of course he tips it round the post. Of course he’s wound up. Fucking leave him alone.
Then England play the most glorious bit of passing I’ve ever seen them do. I make it about 60 passes in a row. Passing, moving, passing, moving, down one flank, then back, down the other and back again, then they do it all over again. Every touch cheered, everyone touching it. Total control. Killing the game with metronomic calm. If boring can have flair, this is it.
Denmark are done. Sterling breaks with the orthodoxy of running it into the corner for one last ridiculous bit of skill, turning the Danes inside out on the right, cutting in, making an angle, firing low and drawing yet another stop from Schmeichel who simply doesn’t deserve to lose, but football has no respect for the individual and so he does lose.
The whistle goes. It’s one of those final whistles that sneaks up. Is it a free kick? A pause… No, it’s the whistle and they’ve only gone and done it.
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The penalty was a bit dicey, but England were also the better team by some margin. For about an hour, the game was quite even and Denmark looked dangerous and controlled spells of the match but thereafter, England has almost total control. There’s no point dissecting it endlessly. This is a very good England team. They are resolutely a team. The Danes were too. They played very well, but England have greater resources and a greater depth of better players.
It still feels as if England don’t make enough chances and it will be a huge test against an Italian team who possess a central midfield that combines terrier like bite and silk spun ability in equal measure. I’m not sure if the functional trio gives them enough to worry about. I don’t know. I still have a feeling that Sancho has the enigmatic quality to make something happen. But it this way, I can’t imagine Veratti getting sent off for slicing down Declan Rice. I’d gamble on winning this. Fire against fire. I imagine Southgate will choose the more practical option of fighting fire with a fire blanket. I’d also imagine that given a bit of time to get his head round the job, he’d make a better leader of a fire brigade unit than I would. I suspect if I suggested attending a house fire with flame throwers, I wouldn’t last long in the job.
Isn’t Ian Wright wonderful? He never lost his inner kid. He’s forever the ten year old we all were watching whatever tournament broke our hearts, forever hoping that this time Gazza reaches it, or Waddle doesn’t miss, or Rob Green plays a blinder instead of having a nightmare.
Blimey. A final…
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