DAY EIGHT: LIVE. DIE. REPEAT.

When Wayne Rooney scored last night, an opera singer knocked me off my feet and I landed in the lap of a Colombian lady.

And that's when I knew we were going out of the World Cup.

Because the extent of our celebration at a 75th minute equaliser was disproportionate. Fifteen minutes to go and we still needed a winner.

Calm down and go again.

Instead, today is Groundhog Day: a morning that occurs like clockwork every two years. Waking up to a major tournament that's come and gone. Let's not fool ourselves: England had to win. That's how we were going to get out of the group: by beating either Italy or Uruguay. We didn't. Not through lack of effort, not through lack of spirit, but through being the third best side in Group D.

D for death: with a cumulative FIFA world ranking of only 54, Group D is statistically the toughest of all the World Cup groups. For all you completists out there, Brazil's group rate 97; Spain, Holland & Chile are dragged down by Australia's harshly low ranking to 92; the hipsters in Group C total 89; the French have to navigate 82; Germany are crushing the second toughest group (56). The ones you really want to be in are Groups F and H (113 & 109 respectively).

Do the math: when a nation erupts because they've equalised in a must-win game, that suggests one thing. England have become the underdogs.

Rooney was outstanding last night. Gary Cahill was superb. Daniel Sturridge was excellent again, though leading the line really exposes just how one-footed he is. But our full backs aren't good enough to make 4-2-3-1 work. And we have nobody running late from midfield. Ever.

It's time for a bit of perspective. There are some seriously good sides in this World Cup - arguably far more than in previous tournaments - so let's not try and beat them at their own game. Let's be plucky.

I genuinely hope Uncle Woy stays on. He got Fulham to the Europa League Final.

Let's be Fulham.



THE STORY SO FAR

Match of the tournament: Spain 1-5 Holland

Player of the tournament: Guillermo Ochoa (Mexico)

Goal of the tournament: Tim Cahill (AUSTRALIA v Holland)

DAY THREE: EVERYBODY HURTS

I'm tired.

Tired of the late Brazilian kick offs.
Tired of commentators who don't understand that saying nothing is better than just talking to fill the silence.
Tired of potentially smart, opinionated terrestrial pundits being over-produced to the point of banality.

Tired of the commercialisation of the beautiful game.
Tired of the people who get into football for four weeks ever four years.

Tired of writing about all the things that piss me off about football, the coverage of football, the grotesque self-awareness of football, and how people behave within & around football.

But when Danny Sturridge equalised last night, I did a dance of pure joy.



I've realised that I'm tired because I ran 18K today and can't feel my legs.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go listen to Alan Shearer patronise Bosnians.

THE STORY SO FAR

Match of the tournament: Spain 1-5 Holland

Player of the tournament: Joel Campbell (Costa Rica)

Goal of the tournament: Robin Van Persie (Spain v HOLLAND) [1st goal]

DAY TWO: ORANGE CRUSH

There was a moment, after Giovani Dos Santos had his second legitimate goal chalked off, when I'd given up on this World Cup. Tears soaked my Mexico shirt as if it was me playing in the pouring rain of Natal.

But justice was done and then the Spanish were thrashed, to remind us all that with football: you just never know.

And that's why Woody Allen chooses sport over movies.

Because you couldn't have predicted, with Mexico having chance after chance written off my a combination of Colombian officials and their own inability to communicate in the final third, that the unluckiest team on day two would be Australia. The Socceroos dominated much of their match against Chile and were worthy of a point. Why? Because Tim Cahill is one of the best headers of a football ever to have played in the Premier League.

Right up there with Brian McBride.

Timbo's performance, coupled with Van Persie's swan dive, have led me to think about headers...

Houchen v Spurs; Letchkov v Germany; Steve Bruce v Sheffield Wednesday x 2.

But come on, let's keep it honest:



Having tried to enjoy these first 48 hours, there's a cloud over us all today. But I think England can do it. I think they can win.

If we can just get the wicket of Sangakkara...

I thank you.

THE STORY SO FAR

Match of the tournament: Spain 1-5 Holland

Player of the tournament: Arjen Robben (Holland)

Goal of the tournament: Robin Van Persie (Spain v HOLLAND) [1st goal]

DAY ONE: BRAZIL 3-1 CROATIA

We could talk about the football if you like...

Neymar's overrated / It was never a penalty / Croatia looked the more accomplished side etc.

But I'd much rather discuss ITV.

The choice of pale blue shirts for pundits was peculiar - like Lee, Fabio & Pat were sixth formers on a school trip - as it left everybody looking bland and uninteresting. And that was before Adrian Chiles had said anything to confirm this was exactly how everyone was feeling.

This 'uniform' aside, I couldn't take my eyes of Fabio Cannavaro's make up. It was thick and extensive, rendering the 2006 World Cup Winning Captain & World Player Of The Year's face the only thing in the studio that seemed three dimensional.

And then, suddenly, there were three Brazilian footballers singing at us either side of the commercials. In split screen. Like the title sequence of 'Dallas', only with David Luiz replacing Priscilla Presley:



Diving into a jug of homemade caipirinha, I tried to pretend it wasn't happening.

THE STORY SO FAR

Match of the tournament: Brazil 3-1 Croatia

Player of the tournament: Ivica Olic (Croatia)

Goal of the tournament: Oscar (BRAZIL v Croatia)

JUST ONE MORE THING...

One should always hedge one's bets.

With this in mind, I'm entering the 2014 World Cup with my replica shirt, my £3 bet, and my blind patriotic faith spread across three different football teams.

Exhibit A: England
This is my home. Plus I'm a sucker for an inability to retain possession.

Exhibit B: Portugal
At 33-1 I've put the price of three quarters of a pint on CR7 to win the World Cup.
Here's why:
1) they speak Portuguese in Brazil
2) if Mexico '86 proved anything, in World Cups without a single dominant nation (I think 2014 qualifies) a well-organised side with the best player in the world can win the tournament.

And, speaking of Mexico '86...

Exhibit C: Mexico
My boys. My glorious dark green shirt. They've been my 'other' team since hosting the 1986 World Cup, during which the 7-Year-Old-Me fell in love with the beautiful game. Not only did Mexico give us Manuel Negrete's goal of goals -



- the North Americans also adopted my all-time favourite referee, Uruguayan-born Edgardo Codesal. Edgardo was
a) the first man to send anyone off in a World Cup Final
b) the 2nd man to send someone off in a World Cup Final
c) the spitting image of Columbo:



Quite the performance there.

One that Peter Falk would probably have considered a bit showy.

BLOOD, SWEAT, TEARS & FEARS

This entry was intended as a diatribe: a purge of negative energy ahead of England's successful World Cup campaign. And I wanted to start it with a number.

Preferably a high number.

That number was to represent the players in Uncle Woy's squad who, in my opinion, should not be anywhere near a World Cup. It turns out that number is only 7. Which leaves us with at least 15 capable footballers: surely enough to make a decent fist of things?

The problem is that, of those seven players, Woy may pick three of them.

It's not beyond the realms of possibility that England's starting XI will include a right back who doesn't know where to stand and two utility wide men who "work hard" and "show willing" in the absence of having an actual position.

I like Danny Welbeck. And I like James Milner. In the same way that you like some people you work with because you don't have to go out for a drink with them if you don't want to. You don't have to live with them. They're not really your friends. They're just there and you know they're there: being present. Dependable.

Willing runners.

But this is the World Cup. In Brazil. It should be about blood pumping, chest thumping, drum banging magic. The closest Dan & Jim get to Samba football is that they both live in Manchester and that's where the Hacienda is.

And that joke doesn't even work because, though many things, Bernard Sumner is no Seu Jorge. Though, oddly enough, Bill Murray could definitely play Hodgson in the inevitable Roy biopic.